Deadly Sanctuary (13 page)

I congratulated Lupe on her birthday. By her bleary smile and unfocused stare, I gathered she was already half-plowed. Harry and Rick were perched on bar stools gulping beer in a haze of cigarette smoke.

“Where’ve y’all been?” Ginger demanded as I sat down next to Bradley and Jim. “I pert near sent the sheriff’s posse over yonder to fetch you.”

“I’m sorry, I got hung up on the phone.”

“Anyone we know?” came Jim’s innocent question. I hesitated a mere fraction of a second but it was enough to cause Bradley to say with just a touch of scorn, “I’m sure she had to phone her...father to thank him for the flowers, right?”

So he was still sulking. I met the flinty accusation in his eyes and said coolly, “You’re so perceptive.”

Turning away, I detected the mirth sparkling in Ginger’s eyes. I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head and hoped, for once, she’d keep her mouth shut.

The conflicting jumble of emotions confounded me. Why should I feel disloyal to Bradley just because I’d accepted a simple dinner invitation from Eric Heisler?

When the waitress asked, I ordered white wine and had to endure some good-natured jeering. Someone called me a “dude” and Jim chimed in with, “Get real. This ain’t the Ritz. Nobody orders white wine at Angelina’s. I suppose this means you’re ordering sushi for dinner?”

There was more laughter. “Hey, I’m easy. What do you suggest?”

Jim hoisted a frosty pitcher, poured the remainder of the liquid into a salt rimmed glass and shoved it under my nose. “This is what you drink at Angelina’s!”

“What is it?”

“That,” Bradley said helpfully, “is a Margarita. The main ingredient is tequila. It can sneak up on you so I’d go easy if I were you.”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can handle it,” I said taking a swallow. It was a mild, refreshing drink with no taste of alcohol. When tortilla chips and hot sauce were passed around Bradley again warned me about overindulging.

“Mexican food is a little like the heat. You have to become acclimated to it. It’s not for delicate damsels nor the faint of heart,” he said meaningfully.

Sparks seemed to ignite in the air between us as we exchanged a long look. I could tell he was deliberately goading me just like he’d done last Saturday night. And like then, I found our verbal sparring stimulating. I felt half elated that he was behaving as though he were jealous, and half irritated that he would use that superior, macho tone of voice on me again. But rather than pick a fight, I gave him a beguiling smile. “Since I’m neither delicate nor faint of heart, I believe I’ll survive, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” he said rocking back on two chair legs, folding his arms behind his neck. His eyes shimmered with mischief.

I sensed everyone at the table watching me as I popped the first sauce laden chip into my mouth. It took me about five seconds to realize I was in trouble. Even the hottest Thai food I’d eaten didn’t compare to this. Scalding tears jumped to my eyes and I stifled the gasp forming in my throat. My God! What was in this stuff? Gasoline? I grabbed the Margarita and gulped it down.

Everyone roared with laughter and after I caught my breath, I inclined my head in Bradley’s direction. “Okay, you win that one.”

A large table in the far corner of the room had been reserved for us, so we picked up our drinks and trooped over. On the way, person after person called ‘hello’ to Bradley and some of the others. It was like one big family, I thought, so different from the impersonal restaurants in large cities.

As I scanned the crowded room, I noticed Claudia Phillips. She was apparently giving someone the business. Her pale face was intense, angry almost. I craned my neck, but couldn’t make out who was sitting opposite her in the booth near the swinging kitchen door. Her edgy behavior toward me during our interview, coupled with Ginger’s admission, was still fresh in my mind. It might be interesting to see who was the target of her wrath.

While the rest of my group argued good-naturedly over who would sit where, I pondered several options. A leisurely stroll past Claudia’s booth would reveal the identity of her companion, but I was positive the moment she spotted me, her conversation would cease and I would learn nothing. A more sensible plan would be to somehow overhear what she was saying, and that would best be accomplished if she didn’t see me.

I faked a cough. “Excuse me for a minute. The smoke in here is pretty thick. I need to ah…go to the ladies room.”

“You okay, darlin’?” Ginger inquired. “You want me to come with you?”

I tapped my chest and waved her away. “Not necessary. It’s just a little asthma attack. I’ll use my inhaler and be right back.”

Luckily for me, the restrooms were down a narrow hallway not far from Claudia’s booth. I hastily washed my hands and then hurried back out. A telephone located close by would serve as a good prop. I held the receiver to my ear and leaned as far as the cord would allow.

Their voices were all but drowned out by the clatter from the kitchen and the music from a nearby speaker. At first, I got only bits and pieces of conversation. The man’s voice was little more than a muffled whine, but all at once I could hear Claudia. Her angry voice carried above the constant din. “We both agreed to do our part. How dare you even think of leaving after all he’s done for you!” The man said something I couldn’t understand and then Claudia answered, “If she’s upsetting the rest of them, you’ll have to do whatever is necessary to control her. There’s too much at stake. We can’t afford to be careless…”

The rest of her sentence was lost when someone nearby dropped a tray. The place was frustratingly noisy. When it quieted I heard her say, “He wants to try it his way. If that doesn’t work then you and I will put an end to this once and for all.”

Put an end to what? I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know who she was talking to. I banged the receiver onto the phone and moved to her booth. I stretched on tiptoe and almost got a glimpse of the man when Ginger came up behind me. “Y’all fall in the pot or somethin’?”

Startled, I motioned for her to be quiet, whispering, “I’ll be along in just a minute.”

“Land sakes, girl,” she complained, grabbing me by the arm. “Get your buns in gear. Everybody’s waiting on you to order.”

It was either go with her or cause a scene. Sighing with frustration, I took a quick glance backward.

“Come on, O’Dell,” Jim shouted as we approached the table. “You’re holding up the party.”

Harry bawled, “Jesus! My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

Ginger was blabbering something to me, but I was so preoccupied by what I’d overheard, it was difficult to concentrate. By the time I had an opportunity to turn and look, the booth was empty. Damn. How had she gotten away so fast?

I was mentally kicking myself when I spotted her near the cashier’s counter. Craning my neck to look around Harry’s ample frame, I froze in surprise to see Claudia headed toward the front door, followed closely by Sheriff Roy Hollingsworth.

Wait a minute, I warned myself. Don’t jump to conclusions. So, Claudia and the sheriff left together at the same time. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d been the one having dinner with her. Nor did it mean he hadn’t.

The party was now in full swing so I had to push the puzzle aside as dinner arrived. While balancing five huge platters, our cheerful waitress solemnly issued a warning that the plates were very hot.

“So, for the full effect,” Jim shouted to all. “Grab on to them with both hands.” That brought howls of laughter as everyone attacked their dinner with gusto. I stared down at my dish of food, swimming in red sauce and melted cheese.

“Come on,” Jim urged, loading up his fork. “Dive right in.”

After the first few tentative tastes, I decided that, while savory, this must be akin to swallowing molten lava. The sensation of heat spread from my throat and stomach right down to my toes. I grabbed the water glass hoping no one would notice my teary eyes and dripping nose.

I met Bradley’s amused gaze over the rim of the glass. “Don’t worry. That’s the sure sign of really well-prepared Mexican food.”

With a laugh Jim added, “Yeah. If it clears out your sinuses and melts the wax in your ears, you know it’s the best.”

I dabbed the end of my nose with the napkin. “Interesting side effects.”

We’d just finished singing “Happy Birthday” to Lupe when a tall, auburn-haired woman approached the table. She was introduced to me as Bradley’s sister Ronda, and I didn’t miss the startled expression on her face, nor the meaningful look she exchanged with him. I wondered what each of them was thinking. She was soon joined by Lucinda who’d obviously had way too much to drink. In her desperation to be noticed by Bradley, she laughed too loud and made a fool of herself by trying to sit in his lap. He handled it with grace, but after she and Ronda left, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her.

My pig-headedness got me into trouble as usual. I had ignored Bradley’s advice to go easy on the Margaritas and hot tamales. The combined results proved explosive, and I spent a good portion of that night in my bathroom wishing I was dead.

The next day, I was thankful Bradley had gone to Phoenix for three days to cover the Little League finals. Pale and weak, I’m sure I looked every bit as wretched as I felt. My stomach churned, my head ached, and my tongue felt like it was covered with a thick coat of moss.

“Oh, honey,” Ginger soothed as she provided me with alternate doses of aspirin, Kaopectate and sympathy, “it’s just a bad case of the trots. Hereabouts, they call it Montezuma’s revenge. It happens to a lot of folks when they eat Mexican food.”

Positive that my insides were scorched for life, I solemnly vowed I’d never eat the stuff again.

By Wednesday afternoon I still hadn’t heard back from Deputy Potts about the missing medical records, so I decided to stop by the sheriff’s office on my way to cover a city council meeting. It was probably a foolish wish, but I hoped he’d not mentioned my request to Roy. No point in tipping my hand when, at this point, all I had was a growing list of unsubstantiated suspicions.

The weather forecast had called for a record high temperature of 109° and as I left the office and walked to my car in the blinding white sunlight, I felt every stinging degree. Heat waves shimmered from the asphalt and left me feeling slightly dizzy.

“Jesus H. Christ!” I shrieked as I grabbed the door handle. It was so hot I had to use the hem of my skirt to pull it open. Seated in the suffocating interior, I rolled down the windows and blasted the air-conditioner. It puffed out a pathetic stream of warm air that did little to relieve my misery.

At the only stoplight in town, I braked behind a battered pickup. A large golden retriever stood in the truck bed panting furiously in a vain effort to cool himself.

While sweat trickled down the back of my neck and between my breasts, I shifted my weight and muttered sympathetically, “I know how you feel, Buddy.”

Overhead, spanning the intersection, a colorful banner announcing the commencement of Gold Dust Days snapped in a brisk afternoon wind so hot I’m sure it must have originated from the gates of hell.

At that moment all I could think of was immersing myself in a cool, blue lake high in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania.

When I stepped inside the sheriff’s office, the effect of cold air against my feverish skin made goose bumps thrive on my arms and the pounding in my head resume.

Roy Hollingsworth looked up from reading material on his desk and said pleasantly, “Afternoon, Miss O’Dell. It’s hotter ’n’ the strings on a square dance fiddle, out there, ain’t it?”

“Terrible,” I sighed, patting my damp forehead.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I wonder.”

“Say, that was a real fine piece you wrote in today’s paper about the fund-raiser last Saturday. Now, that’s a real worthy cause.”

“Well, thank you.”

He leaned back in the chair and propped one boot on the desk. “So,” he inquired. “I guess you must like your job a lot, huh?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, now, that’s good. Real good.” He gave me a broad smile. “I was just wondering something.”

“What’s that?”

“You coming from Philadelphia and being a big-time reporter and all, I figure you must sort of miss all the big city action. We don’t get a whole lot of excitement around here, you know. Oh, we get a few people who want to stir stink, but not often.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you’ve stayed on. I thought maybe our little town would be a mite too slow for the likes of you.”

I wondered if there was some hidden meaning behind his words. “I didn’t come here for excitement. I came for my health.”

“Asthma.”

“Word does get around.”

“Not too much gets past me.” His smile was warm, his eyes weren’t. “So, what can I do for you, Miss O’Dell?”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to Duane for a minute. He promised to find some information I asked for.” By the light in his eyes, I knew that he knew.

“Yeah. He said you’d been in here last week asking to see the files on those two little gals. Something about doing a story on these runaway kids?”

“Yes.” I gave him an encouraging smile. “By the way, I heard you’d been in Las Vegas. Was your trip successful?”

His face sagged with disappointment. “Naw. I don’t know why I waste my time going up there. I’ve had a hellacious string of bad luck at the blackjack table the last couple of months.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged and said nothing. In the momentary silence that fell, all I could hear was the rhythmic whine of the ceiling fan overhead. So far he’d made no move to get the files. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to look in those folders again.”

“Uh-huh.” He rose from his chair, took a few steps toward the file room and then turned back to me. “Now, you know these cases are still active so if you come across any new information, you’ll report it to me right away.”