Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery (10 page)

Penguin's sat on a small side street, two
lots away from Lomas Boulevard, a major street. I walked up to the
corner to check out further options. Why had I let my AAA
membership expire? About three blocks west I could see the lighted
sign of a tire company. I might be in luck after all.

The wind tore through my slacks, sending cold
all the way up my legs, as I fought it for the three blocks. The
windows were all dark and an employee in dark coveralls was locking
the door as I approached.

"Sorry, we're closed ma'am," he said as soon
as he saw me. He was about my age, with blond hair that separated
into greasy tendrils and hands permanently blackened from handling
tires. A patch above his pocket said his name was Bob.

"Please, I'm really in a bind." I hated
sounding like a helpless female. I explained about the flat and
told him I wouldn't need it repaired until tomorrow. Tonight I just
needed the spare put on.

"The service truck's locked inside," he
pointed out.

"I have the jack and the spare," I said.
"I'll pay extra."

Those must have been the three magic words,
although Bob wasn't exactly gracious in accepting my offer.

"Where's the vehicle?" he asked
grudgingly.

"Penguin's parking lot. You know where that
is?"

We'd walked across the tire store's parking
area during the conversation, and he unlocked the doors of a
seventy-three Mustang. Cherry red, restored to perfection, it was
obviously his pride and joy. "Hop in," he said.

Fifteen minutes later my flat tire lay in the
trunk of his car, and my Jeep was ready to go again. Bob told me to
come by the tire store sometime after ten in the morning and he'd
have the tire repaired. He said he didn't want to take payment for
the tire change, that he'd been on his way to Penguin's anyway. I
gave him a twenty and said I'd feel better if he took it.

Rusty was practically pawing at the windows
by this time, worried about me and eager to get out of confinement.
Probably hungry, too. I know I was starving. We turned west on
Lomas with only one stop on the way home—Mac's Steak in the Rough,
where I treated us both to a high-fat dinner of fried steak strips.
We munched them in the car and felt much better when we got
home.

I couldn't wait to get out of the wool I'd
worn all day, and Rusty couldn't wait to use the backyard. We each
rushed to our respective needs. I slipped on soft sweats, glad to
be rid of the itchy wool waistband around my middle. I heated water
for tea and peeked out the back window to check on Rusty. He was
busy rolling on his back in the dead winter grass, rubbing his nose
almost sensuously against its earthy smell. I noticed one small
light on in Elsa Higgins's kitchen. It had been several days since
I'd spoken to her. Tomorrow I'd better give her a call.

Taking my cup of tea to the living room, I
switched on some soft music and pulled out my notebook. I made a
few notes about the conversations I'd had today before I found
myself nodding off. Not even ten o'clock and I was beat.

The price of going to bed early is waking up
early. By six o'clock my eyes were staring fixedly at the ceiling.
By seven thirty I was at my desk, up to my elbows in tax returns.
When Sally paged me on the intercom to tell me that Bob from
Black's Tire Store was on the line, I nearly jumped. When had Sally
come in? I was amazed to look at my watch and find that it was
nearly noon.

"Ms. Parker? This is Bob, from last night?
Afraid I got some bad news for you about your tire."

"What's the matter, Bob?"

"I don't know if you realized this or not,
but that tire wasn't just punctured, it was slashed. We can't fix
it. You're gonna need a new one."

"Slashed?" It took a minute for his words to
register. "You mean someone did it deliberately?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's a big cut, at least four
inches long."

My mind raced back to the previous evening.
Had this been random vandalism or had someone targeted me? I
thought I'd stayed pretty low-key, talking only to Pete the
bartender and that other man who sat beside me. I know Pete
couldn't have done it, he'd been in sight all evening. But the
other man? He sure didn't look the type. And he'd been friendly
enough. What about the other patrons, though? Few faces stuck in my
memory—they'd come and gone all evening. I hadn't particularly
watched any of them. But obviously one of them had watched me,
probably listening in on my conversation at the bar.

I told Bob to go ahead and mount a new tire
on my wheel and I'd come by this afternoon to pick it up.

Ron was gone at the moment; besides, I really
didn't want to tell him about this yet. After swearing Sally to
secrecy I told her about the whole evening. She didn't give it much
importance. "Maybe it was just plain vandalism," she suggested.

That answer didn't satisfy me. I stomped
rather grumpily into the kitchen to refill my coffee mug, then went
back to my tax returns. By two o'clock my head was spinning with
numbers and I was ready for a break from the tedium. Rusty and I
decided to quit for the day. We headed uptown toward Black's Tire.
Bob showed me the old tire with the clean cut in the sidewall. I
waited in their customer lounge while he replaced the spare with
the new tire on the car and flinched as I paid the bill. It had
turned out to be a very expensive beer last night.

Thinking back over the notes I'd made last
night, something came to mind. I decided to pay another call on the
Detweillers. Maybe I could catch Jean before she left for work.

Last night's wind had howled all night, but
it left a beautiful day in its wake. The brown cloud of pollution
which sits over the city for months at a time, held in place by a
winter inversion, had blown away, leaving a clear blue sky that
almost dazzled the eyes. The sun came through, deceptively warm.
Growing up here I've seen sixty degree days in January and twenty
degree days in March. Winter's not over til it's over. But that
doesn't stop me from enjoying the pretty days when they happen.

Apparently Jean Detweiller felt the same. I
found her on the front porch, attacking the door with sandpaper.
She wore jeans and a faded sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up.
Her hair was held back by a red kerchief.

"Hi, Charlie." She was breathing hard from
exertion. "I've decided I can't stand this place any more. I've
gotta clean it up or burn it down."

"Spring fever, maybe," I suggested.

"Maybe so."

I noticed the drapes were open today and the
windows had been freshly washed. Leaves and debris had been raked
from the rock landscaping around the shrubs.

"You really have been working at it," I
commented.

"I need to stay busy," she replied. She
resumed sanding at the flaky paint.

"This has to be hard on you," I told her.

She paused a moment and straightened up,
fixing me with an even gaze. "You know, I don't know if I ought to
say this but losing Gary was probably the best thing that ever
happened to me."

"What do you mean?" I asked, faintly startled
that she'd voice her feelings to me.

"You know how some people act one way around
others and completely different at home?"

Most people do, I thought.

"You know, around his friends Gary was Mr.
Generous, the good guy who said what they wanted to hear, gave 'em
what they wanted. Gary was a dreamer. He made people believe that
he really could make those dreams come true. I guess that's how I
got attracted in the first place. But later, it . . . well, it
wasn't really like that." She suddenly got busy working on one
particular spot.

"What do you mean?" I prompted. I thought of
Josh's comments about his father chasing after gold mines.

She sanded more furiously. I waited.

"I don't know," she hedged, not wanting to
say. "It's just that, you know, I got so tired of scrounging by on
my measly paycheck. Life was always such a struggle, trying to
afford things for Josh, trying to pay the bills and keep the house
up. And then Gary would get his hands on some money, and instead of
helping with the bills, I'd find out he bought drinks for everyone
down at Penguin's."

I waited, letting her get the feelings
out.

"Or worse, I'd find out that a
business
trip
he said he took was really an excuse to sneak off with
some woman and spend a weekend at the race track." She dropped her
sandpaper onto a heap of crumpled pieces and picked up a fresh
one.

"I put up with that shit for years, Charlie.
For Josh's sake I probably would have put up with it still. But
truthfully, I'm just as glad it worked out this way."

"How's Josh doing, by the way?"

"Okay. He'll get over it."

"They were close?"

She didn't answer right away. When she did,
her tone was cynical. "They were alike," was all she said.

"Is Josh home now?" I asked. "I thought I'd
try to talk to him again, too."

"He's not home from school yet," she said.
"Today's my day off, so I doubt he'll be back anytime soon. He's
going through this independent stage, wants to be off on his own.
Spending time with Mom wouldn't be cool."

"Has Josh ever been in trouble? Drugs, gangs,
any of that?"

"Not gangs. It'd be too hard for him to hide
that. Drugs? Who knows? I've never found the stuff, but then I
don't go into his room. Josh and his friends seem to be more into
rock music and noisy cars."

And probably girls. Given Josh's stunning
looks, I'd be willing to bet he had girls trailing him everywhere.
Maybe that's what Jean meant when she said Josh and Gary were
alike. I thanked Jean for her time and wished her well with her
fix-up projects.

It was nearly six o'clock now, and I realized
my chances of finding Josh hanging around school were probably
worse than zero. I assumed he went to Highland High, it was the
closest to their home, although I should have asked Jean.

The sun had ducked below the horizon minutes
before, giving the city a curious pink-gold glow. This might have
been what Coronado and his men sought when they heard rumors of the
seven golden cities of Cibola. Not gold at all, but the appearance
of it. Without much hope, I cruised by the high school anyway. Its
adobe colored stucco walls stood silent and golden in the fading
light. The parking lot was completely empty. A couple of nearby
hangouts were similarly deserted. I yawned. It had been a long
day.

Rusty lay stretched out on the back seat, so
I figured out what he would vote to do. We headed home. I spent the
evening going over my notes again. The facts just weren't telling
me much, and I didn't yet know enough about the personalities to
know what emotions lay under the surface. I went to bed
frustrated.

Chapter 10

Tuesday morning I awoke early with Josh
Detweiller on my mind. Maybe I could catch him before class. I
dressed quickly in jeans, t-shirt, and tennies, then added a denim
jacket which I hoped would be warm enough. I had neither the time
nor inclination to do much with my hair, so I pulled it up into a
pony tail. It was seven thirty when I pulled into the student
parking lot at Highland High. A few cars dotted the lot. I was
early enough to watch most of them arrive.

I parked in a spot at the far edge of the
lot, near the gate. This should give me a clear view of the
incoming traffic, which seemed headed toward the parking spaces
nearest the buildings. Josh's car wasn't difficult to spot with its
primer gray body and blackened windows. I started my engine when I
saw him approach and followed him to his parking place. He didn't
seem to notice me pulling in beside him.

"Hey, Josh, remember me?" I called out to him
as he stepped from his car.

He gave me a blank look.

"Charlie Parker. I came by your house the
other day."

His mind struggled to figure out who I was
and what I was doing here. I used the time to circle the front of
my car and join him. We fell into step walking across the parking
lot.

"I was asking about your dad the other day,"
I reminded. "How are things going now?"

Recognition finally dawned, but he acted like
he'd remembered me all along. "Fine."

"Fine? Just—fine."

"Yeah, just—fine."

"Have you heard any more about who might have
done it? Have the police been around again?"

"I don't think so. I haven't been home
much."

"How's your mom doing?"

"Okay, I guess. We don't see each other
much." His tone was neutral, not revealing whether this was his
idea or hers.

"I visited Larry Burke the other day," I told
him. "From what he told me, he must have been the last one to see
your dad alive. Except for the killer."

We followed a series of sidewalks between
buildings. I followed Josh's lead, turning when he did.

"Do you think there's any chance Larry might
have killed your father?" I asked. "He could be lying about the
sequence of events that night. Maybe your dad didn't really take
him home first. Maybe they went to your house, Larry shot him, then
walked home."

Josh shrugged. "How would I know?"

We walked quietly for a few minutes. What
motive would Larry Burke have, anyway, I reasoned, now that I'd
brought up the question. Apparently Gary Detweiller shared the
wealth, so why would Larry kill him? Unless they'd had some
argument over a woman, or money?

"Have you had any other ideas about it since
we talked the last time?" I asked Josh.

"Not really." We stood now in the doorway to
a classroom. "Look, the bell's gonna ring in just a minute." He
nodded toward the room, looking for a way out of the
conversation.

"Yeah, okay. I gotta go anyway. Could we meet
after school some day for a Coke?"

The request took him by surprise. "Sure, I
guess. We usually hang out at Video Madness."