Wicked Eddies (18 page)

“How are you?” Mandy asked.

“Sore and mad as hell,” Rob said, his voice sounding stuffy since his nose was packed with gauze. “Mad at that idiot Jesse for punching me, mad at myself for not ducking, mad at you for bringing me here, and mad at the doc here for not warning me before he wrenched my nose back in shape.” He breathed heavily through his mouth between each phrase.

The doctor grinned. “Believe it or not, it's less painful that way, because you're not tensed up. You got acetaminophen or ibuprofen at home?”

“Both,” Mandy said.

“Good.” The doctor handed a prescription for antibiotics to her and an information sheet labeled “Treatment for Broken Nose”
at the top. “Get this filled for him and follow the directions on this sheet.”

He turned to Rob. “You can come back here or get your regular doctor to remove the gauze in two days. In the meantime, I suggest lots of sleep.”

“Great,” Rob said, “and I've got a business to run.”

“We'll manage,” Mandy said. “I'll call in Gonzo to run the office again tomorrow. Good thing he's done it before. And it's my day off, so I can come in, too.”

She steered Rob back to her car, stopped off at the pharmacy to fill the prescription, then took Rob to his house. She fixed him a can of chicken noodle soup to have with his painkillers and antibiotic while her own stomach growled in protest. As she watched him eat, misery in each slurp, she said, “I've got to go home to clean up and take care of Lucky. I'll come right back after that.”

“Don't bother,” Rob said. “I'm just going to hit the sack.”

So much for make-up sex.
But it wasn't Rob's fault. She'd feel lousy with a broken nose, too. She stood and tousled his hair and kissed him on his forehead, the only place on his face that didn't look bruised. “I'll miss you.”

“Me, too,
mi querida
.”

While she drove home, Mandy replayed the fight in her mind. Jesse Lopez got mad enough to punch Rob, one of his friends, hard enough to break his nose. Could his temper lead him to kill his arch rival? A man he called a cheater, whom he obviously hated?

Fifteen

The gambler is like the fisherman, both have beginner's luck.

—CHINESE FORTUNE COOKIE

When Mandy walked into
Detective Quintana's office Friday morning, he put down his coffee cup. “I heard about the fight outside the SteamPlant yesterday. How's Rob?”

Mandy slid into his visitor's chair with a sigh. “He was not a happy camper last night. I thought I'd let him sleep in this morning, so I haven't checked on him yet.”

“I'm sure it hurts like hell,” Quintana said. “I remember when mine was broken in a wrestling match in high school. The worst part is not being able to breathe except out of your mouth until the swelling goes down.”

“Hopefully he'll sleep a lot today,” Mandy answered. “Gonzo's working the front desk for us. What concerns me, though, is how mad Jesse Lopez got. He was so blind with anger that he didn't realize he was punching one of his friends. Made me wonder if he could have axed Howie in a rage, too.”

Quintana nodded. “Maybe, but we've contacted quite a few of his gas station customers from the Sunday when Howie was killed. Most of them remember Jesse being there.”

“But not all of them, huh. Is there a time window when he could have gotten to the campground and back?”

“It takes about twenty-five minutes to get there from his station, so I figure he would have needed over an hour to make the round trip and kill Howie in between. Some of the customers' memories were hazy as to when they went to the station, but I haven't found a gap that long in their sightings. Jesse's alibi seems pretty solid.”

Damn,
Mandy thought.
With the other suspects falling by the wayside, the noose around Cynthia's neck is getting tighter.
“What about those saboteurs? Did you guys find out why they were pulling up beat stakes? Could they have killed Howie as part of their plan to derail the tournament?”

Quintana leaned back in his chair, making it squeak. “Funny how a murder accusation will loosen tongues. As soon as we asked Mutt and Jeff what they were doing the day Howie was killed, and they realized they were suspects in his murder, too, the sorry asses fell all over one another to explain themselves. Turns out one of the North Carolina teams had gotten into a shouting match with them at a convenience store last week over which state, Colorado or North Carolina, produced the best fly fishermen.”

“But why would they take out their anger on the tournament instead of directly on the team?”

“Because their brains are the size of these nuts.” Quintana pulled
a jar of dry-roasted peanuts out of a desk drawer, poured some in his hand, and offered the jar to Mandy.

When she shook her head, he continued. “The North Carolina guys outnumbered and outweighed them, so Mutt and Jeff didn't take them on that night. That was one thing they were smart about. But they weren't competitive fishermen themselves, so they knew they wouldn't be able to beat the other guys in the Rocky Mountain Cup. They wanted to defend the glory of our fair state, though, so they kept scheming—over lots of beers—about how they were going to ruin the Southerners' trip to Colorado. Finally they hit on the idea of sabotaging the tournament so the North Carolina guys wouldn't have a chance to take home a prize.”

“Which shows their lack of faith in the Colorado teams! Do you believe their story? Did they have an alibi for the Sunday Howie was killed?”

Quintana finished munching on his handful of peanuts. “We're checking their alibis, but I expect they'll hold water. These two were ready to piss in their pants when they thought they were going to be booked for murder instead of just vandalism.”

Mandy exhaled. “Darn. Any other news on the case?”

“CBI confirmed the gardening glove was Newt's, found some of his hair and skin cells inside. But they didn't find anything of Howie's on the outside. And after three visits to his campsite, I finally caught one of his buddies, who confirmed Newt was there both Saturday and Sunday evenings.”

“Could the buddy have been lying for him?”

“Possibly, but remember, Howie's time of death is Sunday afternoon. A tourist staying at Hecla Junction recognized Newt's photo, too, and said that he was there Sunday afternoon. She remembers seeing him still sorting through trash when they sat down to supper, because it disgusted her.”

“So he's no longer a suspect either.” Mandy sank lower in her chair. This was not going well. Then she remembered her conversation the day before with Emma Crawford. She straightened. “You know, I talked to Arnold Crawford's wife yesterday morning, and she has no memory of him going fishing with Lee and Craig Ellis on the Sunday Howie was killed. And with Arnold still not turning up, I'm wondering if he might be a victim, too.”

Quintana smoothed his mustache. “How do you mean?”

“Well, what if Lee or Craig killed Howie then picked out Arnold to be their alibi? Suppose Arnold refused to lie for them and maybe even threatened to go to the police. Could one of the Ellis men have killed him, too? If Lee or Craig could kill a brother-in-law or uncle, why not a friend who was going to snitch?”

“Interesting theory,” Quintana said, but before he could continue, someone knocked on his office door frame and walked in. When he saw who it was, Quintana's eyes widened.

Mandy turned, and her jaw dropped.

The man held out a hand to Quintana. “Heard you were looking for me. I'm Arnold Crawford.”

When Quintana didn't respond immediately, Arnold looked from him to Mandy. “What's up with you two? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Quintana recovered first and shook Arnold's hand. “In a way, we have. We were just discussing whether or not you were dead. Where the hell have you been, man?”

Mandy blinked. Yep, Arnold Crawford was still there. Same glasses, bit of a beer gut, and thinning black hair as in his photo on the Missing Person fliers. She realized he was staring at her. She clamped her jaw shut and licked her lips. “Sorry, I'm Mandy Tanner, river ranger. I was one of those who searched the river for your body.”

They shook hands while a flush crept up Arnold's face. “I owe you all a huge apology. I was gambling in Cripple Creek.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. “With my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?” Quintana repeated, then raised a brow at
Mandy
.

Mandy found it hard to believe that Arnold could attract a mistress, but she hadn't seen the woman yet either.

“Could we talk in private?” Arnold asked Quintana, with a nervous, sidelong glance at Mandy. “Man-to-man?”

“Mandy's a member of our investigative team, so she needs to hear this, too,” Quintana replied. “But you can close the door before you tell us about your trip.”

Looking even unhappier, Arnold shut the door and eased his back against it. After hemming and hawing some, he said, “My girlfriend picked me up at Ruby Mountain and drove us to Cripple Creek. The plan was to spend a few days there, with Emma thinking I was camping and fishing. Then I'd go home with no one the wiser.” He looked down and dragged a shoe across the floor. “Didn't quite work out that way, though. And now I don't have a home to go to. Emma kicked me out.”

Good for her,
Mandy thought. “But it's been more than a few days. What happened?”

“During what was supposed to be our last night there, I hit a winning streak, and it went to my head. The casino comp'ed us a room, and we were living high, drinking a lot, too. I forgot about everything except chasing the next big win. Over the next few days I lost all the money, and more. I woke up this morning hung over and broke and realized I was supposed to be home ages ago.”

He scratched a hand across the stubble on his unshaven cheeks. “Boy, the shit hit the fan once Emma got over her surprise at seeing me. In between her crying and shouting and cussing, she told me how you river rangers and the fire department had searched the river for me.”

He nodded at Mandy. “I was trying to avoid the doghouse at home, and I didn't realize all the other trouble I was causing until I got back. I'm sorry about that.”

Mandy was so aghast at Arnold's tale that she had no answer for him.

“Anyway,” he continued after an awkward pause, “when she said the sheriff's office was looking for me, too, I figured I should get over here and straighten things out. Why were you looking for me?”

Quintana stood and folded his arms across his chest. “For one thing, we thought you had died in Brown's Canyon. A very expensive search was conducted for your body.”

Arnold raised his hands out then let them fall to his sides. “As I said, I'm real, real sorry about that. But I heard that during the search you found a young woman's body.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't let you off the hook. I hope you're also planning to go by the fire station and ranger's offices and apologize.”

“Sure. You think bringing some donuts would help?”

Mandy snorted. “Maybe if you brought them every day for two weeks!”

“Another reason we were looking for you,” Quintana said, “is that we need to know what you were doing Sunday before last.”

Arnold frowned. “The day Howie Abbott was killed? Why?”

“So you heard about that.” Quintana put his hands on his hips. “Just tell me what you were doing.”

“I went fishing with Lee and Craig Ellis.”

“Where and for how long?”

“All day. In the Department of Wildlife day-use area north of Granite. We were wading up the river all day, except when we stopped for lunch.”

“Catch much?” Mandy asked

“Quite a few brookies,” Arnold replied, “a rainbow, and Lee caught a good-sized brownie. Didn't keep any of them, though. It was all catch-and-release.”

To Mandy's eye, the man didn't seem to have anything to hide. “How come your wife didn't know who you were with?”

“You know, that's all part of our problem. She has no interest in fishing or my fishing friends, so I gave up long ago telling her anything about my trips. I just tried to tell her when I'd be home.”

“I suppose your girlfriend fishes,” Quintana said.

Arnold sighed. “No, she doesn't. Gambling's her thing, and I'm beginning to think that woman's passion is too expensive for me, in more ways than one. I've made quite a mess of things.”

“Can't disagree with you there,” Mandy said.

“Yeah, well, is that all you need me for?” Arnold asked.

Quintana gave a curt nod. “Let me know if and when you plan to leave town next, though, in case I need to follow-up.”

Arnold gave a sad smile. “Don't think I'll be going anywhere for awhile. I'm broke, and behind on my plumbing jobs, so I'll be working every day for a long time.”

“Maybe you should look into some counseling, too,” Quintana said. “About the gambling. Before it becomes an addiction.”

“I hear ya.” Arnold turned and walked out.

“Well, how about that?” Quintana said to Mandy while he resettled back into his chair.

“Quite a surprise,” Mandy answered, worried about the way Quintana was studying her.

“And now the only one in the Ellis family without any sort of alibi is Cynthia,” Quintana said. “And no one outside the family is a valid suspect anymore either.”

Mandy's stomach dropped into her shoes. “You can't think Cynthia actually killed her uncle.”

Quintana held up three fingers. “She had means, with access to the murder weapon and the strength to use it.” He pushed down one finger.

“She had motive, with Howie's abuse of her and the probable discovery that he was abusing Faith.” He pushed down the second finger.

“And she had opportunity, with owning a car and having access to Vallie Bridge. With no alibi for the Sunday Howie was killed, she could have been there.” He pushed down the last finger and leaned forward.

“Her thumbprint on the hatchet is the clincher, Mandy. I can't build a case for any other suspect, and I've got physical evidence pointing to her. I've got no choice but to bring Cynthia in and arrest her for the murder of Howie Abbott.”

_____

Like a caged tiger, Mandy paced a circular path in her backyard later that afternoon, waiting for Cynthia to be processed into the Chaffee County Detention Facility. Lucky had long ago given up on begging Mandy to play with him. He lay in the shade with his head on his paws and watched his mistress go round and round.

Mandy clenched her cell phone in her hand, anxious for Quintana to call. He had told her that he'd put her on the list of Cynthia's official visitors. That way, she wouldn't have to wait to see her until Saturday afternoon, when friends and relatives could visit. And he promised to call once she could get in to talk to Cynthia.

Thank God for small favors.
Mandy kicked a stick out of her way and circled again while thoughts flitted in and out of her brain.
How had it gotten this far? How soon could she get Cynthia out of jail? Would the bail be something she could afford? Would Cynthia's mom or the Ellis family help pay it? And how could she prove Cynthia's innocence?

There was one question Mandy refused to ask herself.
Did Cynthia do it?

The phone in her hand rang, causing her to stumble over a stick as she halted her pacing. She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hello Mandy, this is Bridget Murphy.”

Shit, not now.
But Bridget didn't give Mandy a chance to speak.

“I've got some wonderful news,” Bridget said, her voice high with excitement. “The couple who are interested in buying your uncle's place have countered with a bid that's ten thousand more than their first offer. That's only five thousand less than your counter and the appraisal.”

“I need some time to think it over,” Mandy began. “I've got a lot going on, and—”