Gossip Can Be Murder Read online

  Drake pulled out the accident reports from the other three incidents, thankful that he’d anticipated this line of questioning. Browne quickly glanced at them and asked that copies be made for his files.

  The lawyer continued questioning, throwing in a number of queries that didn’t appear to Drake to have much at all to do with the case.

  When Drake asked Valdez about it during the mid-afternoon coffee break, the chubby attorney shrugged. “Some guys like to think they’re clouding the record with stuff like that. It might work in front a jury—throwing out a lot of irrelevant stuff to confuse them—but in this kind of proceeding it just wastes time. My guess is that he doesn’t have much else. He was counting on being able to get you to admit that the engine design could have been at fault.”

  They were in Valdez’s office with the door closed, having coffee and cookies that his secretary had left on the cherry credenza. “Why?” Drake insisted, “Why does everyone seem to think that corporations want to deliberately make their products fail? There’s no logic in that.”

  “Logic, no. Money, yes.” Valdez topped up his mug. “Get a case like this in front of a jury and nine times out of ten they want to sock it to the corporation with a big money award. Ratwill and Browne know that. They want enough evidence for the judge to let them take it to trial.”

  “No wonder every part on the damn aircraft costs so much,” Drake fumed.

  “Hey, the corporations know it too. It’s easier for them to agree to pay ten million in a settlement than to risk having a jury hit them for a hundred mil. And the cost of appealing a judgment like that—it gets unbelievably expensive. They’ll pay out of pocket—well, their insurance will.”

  “And everyone’s insurance rates skyrocket because of it.” Drake found himself pacing the carpet, remembering how his own insurance company had notified him last month that his rates would go up twenty percent come January first, despite the fact that he’d never filed a claim in his entire career. “It’s not right, not when the fault lies with some mechanic’s mistake. A mistake he might have made simply because the phone rang at the wrong moment or the boss pushed him to finish early so they could get the aircraft back in service by the next morning.”

  Valdez shrugged. “I know. There are no easy answers. People died and their families want somebody to pay.”

  “The word ‘accident’ has slipped from our vocabulary in recent times. Everything has to be someone’s fault. And the more money it appears you have, the more likely it is that the ‘fault’ is going to be yours.”

  Valdez set his cup back on the silver tray and took Drake’s. “I don’t know what to tell you, other than we’ve got to go back in there and you need to unwind a little.”

  Drake sighed. “I know. I know I’m going to want to spout off to the creep, the same things I just said to you.”

  “Well, don’t. If you think it’s going to be a problem I’ll ask that we continue this another day. Antagonizing these guys isn’t going to change their ways. They’ll either go after you with a vengeance, more determined than ever to win this case, or they’ll just blow you off and go find another witness who’ll say what they want.”

  Drake felt the tension go out of his jaw. “You’re right. Pissing them off isn’t going to help.”

  “So, shall we go back in there or shall I ask for a recess?”

  “No, I’ll go back in there. Let me visit the men’s room first.”

  Drake knew his own nature. He’d simply go home and stew about it all night. Build an even greater anger and then come back the next day with a worse attitude. As he splashed water on his face and dried his hands he forced himself to calm down. Make your points, hold your ground, he told himself. Don’t let the bastards get you down, as Charlie would advise.

  Browne seemed subdued in the late afternoon session. He’d probably spent the coffee break with cell phone to his ear, down in the lobby of the building somewhere out of earshot, demanding that somebody come up with some evidence to contradict Drake’s testimony. But Drake knew there wasn’t any. He’d spent months digging through records, looking for anything that might weaken Valdez’s case, and he hadn’t found it. FAA and NTSB records on accidents were thorough. There hadn’t been a case since the introduction of the S-Jet 1200 engine that would say differently. That knowledge kept his temper in check, and he found himself almost able to see the humor in the opposition’s desperate moves earlier.

  The gray-suited attorney resumed the questioning. But his queries were routine, re-covering ground that they’d already been over. As five o’clock approached it became apparent that the other team had no new information and Drake began to relax. As the others put on their jackets and gathered their files, they thanked him for his time.

  “No problem, gentlemen,” he responded. “It’s really all about doing the right thing, isn’t it?”

  The lawyer gave him a funny look. Malcolm Browne almost hung his head but caught himself in time. No one from that side was going to admit that they weren’t on the side of truth and justice—maybe just the American way.

  “Let’s go get a drink,” Valdez suggested. “You’ve had a rough few days.”

  They stepped off the elevator and Rick’s phone rang.

  “Yeah?” Valdez said. A moment later. “What!”

  Drake watched as the attorney’s face registered shock. He stood still as Rick nodded a few times then ended the call. The stocky attorney turned to him.

  “Manuel Salazar is dead.”

  Chapter 26

  I rolled over and realized with a start that it was after ten o’clock. I’d slept like the dead after Drake got up and left, early. With a groan I pulled the covers up and rolled over again. The week of early mornings, combined with the assaults on my body, clearly left me needing extra rest. Finally, I dragged myself out of my comfy nest and into the shower, where I indulged in the full round of pampering that included both skin and hair conditioners.

  As I’d told Drake, I needed to go back to Santa Fe today. If nothing else, I’d left most of my things there. It didn’t seem right to ask Linda to clear out the room and deliver my stuff home to me. Plus, there were still too many unanswered questions. It’s bull-headed, I know, but I wasn’t going to just ‘let it go’ that I’d now been attacked twice. Someone thought I knew something incriminating. Somewhere amid the questions I’d asked or the files I’d copied from Light’s computer, there was information that might help catch a killer.

  I walked into the kitchen to look for something to eat. There on the kitchen table lay a gun. It was my Beretta 9 mm, freshly cleaned and loaded, along with a note from Drake. Don’t let anything happen to you, it said. He was right, of course. Foolish of me to go back near the scene of the crimes without protection. I carried it to the living room and stuck it into my purse.

  Back in the kitchen I stood at the open refrigerator door, debating among the various choices. Breakfast or lunch? The cool air was rushing out and Rusty now joined me to see what he might snag, as long as I was taking my time about it. I finally just picked up a package of deli turkey and made myself a sandwich, tossing small bits to the dog, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t quite as spry in catching them. How old was he now? I really couldn’t remember.

  A tap at the back door interrupted, saving me from having to think too hard. My neighbor, Elsa, stood there, visible through the panes of glass.

  “I know you’re busy,” she said.

  I felt a guilty stab that I hadn’t been over to check on her once this week.

  “I brought you some tomatoes from the garden.” She held out a bag and I savored the fresh, outdoorsy smell of them. “And I wanted to tell you that I’m going to be away for a few days.”

  Now that really was news. Since her sister in Denver passed away over ten years ago, I couldn’t remember a single time Elsa had been away from home overnight.

  “A lady from my church talked me into taking a trip with her,” she said. “It’s a bus trip t
o Vegas. We’re going to clean out the slots!”

  “Really? But there are casinos all over New Mexico. Why Vegas?” I had to admit that I’ve not seen that much sparkle in her eyes in a long time.

  “Because we can, sweetie.” She patted my hand. “At our age, there’s no sense putting off anything.”

  “Well, I agree. You go and have a great time.”

  I watched her walk back through the break in the hedge, to her own back door. I could feel a smile coming on. Why not? I silently wished her luck. A glance at the kitchen clock told me that I better get myself in gear. I tried to explain to Rusty that he couldn’t come along and that we would all be back in time for dinner. All he really got from the whole conversation was that he would get a rawhide chew in return for staying home.

  All the way back to Santa Fe I contemplated the unsavory doings at the conference. For a bunch of people who were into peace and love and all that, there sure were a lot of unloving things going on. Like having my neck almost broken and then being knocked in the head. David Ratwill and Trudie were still my main suspects, although the more I thought about it, Stanworthy/Light was right up there too.

  I negotiated the winding road to Casa de Tranquilidad and spotted Linda near the lobby entrance. I tooted my horn at her and went on to the parking lot. She was still standing by the door when I caught up with her.

  “Have you seen Trudie today?” I asked. Stanworthy had too high a stake in this place and in his business to take a chance on being caught assaulting one of the attendees, even if he did have a lot to hide. Trudie, on the other hand . . . anything could be possible with her and she’d been here every day of the conference.

  “How’s your head?” she asked, ignoring my question as we walked to our room.

  “Amazingly well.” I remembered the nearly euphoric feeling when Samantha Sweet had helped me up. The lady had some kind of healing touch, for sure.

  Nonetheless, Linda made me sit on the edge of my bed and submit to another head feel-up before she pronounced me fit for light duty.

  “I need to track down Trudie. If she’s the one who hit me I want her to know it didn’t work.”

  “Charlie, don’t get yourself into—”

  “I just have a few questions for her.” Like why hadn’t she acknowledged that she knew Rita from California, and where had she been yesterday when I got whacked in the parking lot.

  “I’ll be either here or in the library if you need me,” Linda said.

  I walked next door to Trudie’s room and knocked. Thirty seconds later I knocked again. I pressed my ear to the door but couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe Shirley would know her schedule. As I recalled, most of the classes had wrapped up this morning but there were probably spa appointments and such this afternoon.

  I cut through the hotel lobby and entered the reception area for the conference section of the building. No one attended the desk at the moment so I headed down the hall. Shirley’s office was on the left, next to Light’s. Her lights were on and I tapped at the partially open door.

  “Hi, Charlie,” she greeted. “Just getting a few things organized for tonight’s farewell gathering. You’ll be there, right?”

  “I’ll try.” I tried to look regretful but couldn’t imagine listening to Celius Light speak for hours. I noticed a canvas bag on the floor in the corner.

  “That’s Rita’s,” Shirley said, following my gaze. “The police couldn’t decide who to give it to so it ended up here.” She looked back up at me. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to find Trudie and she’s not in her room. Do you know if she had a spa treatment this afternoon?”

  She sat down and hit a few keys on her computer. “Let’s take a look at the schedule.”

  I took the chair opposite her desk and willed the computer to work a little faster.

  “No, I don’t see anything here,” Shirley said. “In fact, I seem to remember her mentioning that she planned to take a nap, organize her papers, something like that. She’s not leaving until tomorrow. I think we asked the hotel to arrange a shuttle pickup to the airport around noon.” She looked away from the screen and turned her attention to me. “She’s probably asleep in her room, just didn’t hear your knock. You look like you could use a nap, too, Charlie. Take advantage of a couple of free hours.”

  “Yes, maybe I will.” I stood up. “Is Dr. Light in his office?”

  “I doubt it. He usually goes to the spa for a long massage before our final evening. Relaxes him.”

  I thanked her and left. Instead of exiting through the courtyard, I veered out to the main lobby. Two young clerks who’d been lounging against the front desk snapped to attention and became busy as I approached.

  “Excuse me, my roommate went off this afternoon and must have taken my key with her. Can I get another one? Room 14.”

  The brunette picked up a blank card, hit a couple of keys and swiped it through a slot on her computer keyboard. “Here you go,” she said.

  That was way too easy. Her supervisor would have at least required a name and ID.

  I headed down the hall and used the key on Trudie’s door. It opened easily with nary a safety latch to stand in my way. As I’d suspected, she wasn’t there. I poked my head into the bathroom and even whisked back the shower curtain to be sure. I made sure the door was closed tightly and decided to do a quick snoop-through.

  As I’d noticed from my previous peek into the place, Trudie wasn’t exactly a neatnik. Clothes were strewn over bed and chair. Her open suitcase lay on the floor in one corner, hair care gear and cosmetics lying haphazardly inside as if she tossed them there each time after using them.

  Her conference tote bag and pages of handouts lay on the desk, again scattered about as if she tossed each day’s new batch on top of the old. I riffled through them seeing notes in scrawling, lopsided script. Many of them were barely readable but those I could easily decipher seemed to pertain only to the class discussion.

  My eyes landed on another note, this one on a small sheet of hotel notepad paper, stuck under the edge of the desk lamp. Trudie hadn’t written this one; the handwriting was too different--bold, slanting letters, decidedly masculine. Meet me in the parking lot 4:00. I glanced at my watch—it was after five. I didn’t like the feel of this.

  I took the note with me and rushed back to Linda’s and my room. I startled her at the desk.

  “Trudie’s missing. We’ve got to look for her,” I said.

  Linda stared at me as if I’d gone mad, but quickly recovered. My friends soon become accustomed to my dashes into the unknown. She pulled on a pair of sneakers while I recapped what I’d found.

  “She was to meet someone in the parking lot,” I said as we locked our room and headed across the courtyard. “I don’t know whether Trudie is a victim or an accomplice but somehow this feels like it’s tied to the attacks on me.”

  The parking area appeared unchanged since I’d arrived. There may have been a few different cars; I hadn’t taken close notice of them the first time. We walked the perimeter of the lot, watching for anything out of place. I debated whether it would be worthwhile to note license plates and check them, but that would take a lot of time and something about this felt urgent. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  After fifteen minutes with no results, Linda began to get impatient. “Other than the note, is there any reason to think she actually came here?” she asked.

  We stopped beside the last car on the last row. “No, I guess not.”

  “Does she have a car here?” Linda asked. “Maybe we should find out which one is hers and concentrate on that.”

  I thought about it. “No, Shirley said she was taking a shuttle to the airport.”

  “Then the other person’s car? Have you figured out who she was meeting?”

  I’d thought about that. Celeus Light’s car, the pearl-white Lexus, sat parked in its usual spot and I’d surreptitiously laid a hand on the hood when we walked by it. It had not left recent
ly.

  “Charlie, she could be anywhere, couldn’t she?”

  “Technically, yes. But I have a feeling about this. She’s somewhere here on the grounds.”

  “Then let’s be logical about it. Maybe she’s having a massage.”

  I didn’t tell her that I’d already asked Shirley about that; after all, it was possible that Trudie had walked in and they accommodated her. “Okay, I’ll try that. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ll give it another fifteen minutes. I have some patient calls to return and I really need to have a shower and wash my hair before the evening meditation starts.”

  We walked toward the lobby and circled through it, paying attention to its various alcoves and overstuffed leather couches and chairs. No sign of her. The doors to the dining room were closed, and a peek through the glass panes showed it to be empty of customers.

  On to the spa, where a lone attendant stood behind the reception desk, flipping through the day’s receipts, tallying something on a calculator.

  “Sorry, all the appointments are finished,” she said. “The last client left about ten minutes ago.”

  “Was Trudie Blanchard one of them?” I asked.

  She looked a little put out, but pulled out her gilt-edged appointment book and opened it to the right page. “No, nothing for her, either scheduled or walk-in. I write those down, too.”

  “Could she be in the locker room? We’ll be quick if you can let us look.”

  She barely concealed the expression that said ‘it’s Friday night and I have a date’ and waved us through.

  Linda and I took opposite sides of the corridor. She walked into the glassed-in hot tub room, scanning the water’s surface and pushing aside the fronds of potted plants, while I took the locker rooms. At the Men’s door, I tapped and called out loudly. The place echoed back hollowly. In the Ladies locker room an attendant stood by her station, folding towels.

  “Is anyone still here?” I asked.