Deadly Gamble: A Girl and Her Dog Cozy Mystery

At the intersection of Academy and Wyoming, I pulled into a grocery store parking lot. Pulling my yellow sheet of notes from my purse, I reviewed the names I'd compiled this morning. According to my city map, two of the addresses were in the Tanoan Community. I headed east on Academy once more. This time the guard waved me right on through with a little salute, like I was a resident. I found the address for Charles Tompkins with no trouble. The house looked like an elder sibling of Stacy's place. Obviously they'd come from the same gene pool. The place looked deserted and the cascade of pealing chimes brought no one. I got the same non-response at the second address I tried.

  Still only two o'clock. I didn't particularly feel like sitting around another three or four hours until the residents came home. Plus, I imagined anyone sitting in a car in this neighborhood, day or night, would attract attention from the roving patrol I'd seen cruising the area.

  Detweiller's place was sort of on my way back to the office, so I thought I'd see if I could catch Josh Detweiller at home. I got half-lucky. His mother's car was also in the drive. Jean was sure to question me more closely if I showed up twice in two days. That wouldn't do. I cruised past the place and stopped about four houses away. Rearview mirror surveillance is neither easy nor inconspicuous, requiring a person to keep their head and neck in one position for hours. After about twenty minutes I decided I had to turn around. I started the Jeep and drove to the next driveway where I could make a turn. Just as I was getting positioned again, this time facing the correct way down the street, I noticed activity at the Detweiller house.

  Jean Detweiller emerged from the front door, turning to speak back to it. Last minute instructions for Josh, I imagined. She proceeded toward her car, rummaging in her purse and not paying much attention to anything else. She started the car, gunning it loudly while a puff of gray smoke whoofed from the tailpipe. The car clunked into gear with a jerk and she backed out carefully, turning in my direction. I ducked down in my seat until her car passed me, praying she didn't remember my vehicle from yesterday.

  When the coast was clear I drove up to the house, hoping Jean had left for work and not some quick errand. Rock music thumped heavy bass clear out to the street. Obviously Josh didn't expect his mother right back. I pounded on the door twice, realizing the futility of it. I waited for a break between songs, then pounded again. The music came back on, about a hundred decibels lower this time, and the door opened.

  Josh Detweiller was almost a double for a very young Elvis. Except for the hair, which he wore chin length, the sultry face was nearly identical. He wore faded blue jeans, nothing else, and the sight of his smooth muscular chest was most distracting.

  "Josh?" My voice finally began working. "Hi, I'm Charlie."

  "Hi." His grin reassured me that I'm not completely over the hill.

  "I'm investigating your father's death," I explained, flashing one of RJP Investigations' business cards. I didn't offer to leave the card with him.

  "Oh. Come in." He pushed the screen door outward and stepped back. He was pulling a t-shirt over his head when I got in.

  "This must be hard for you," I said. "Your mother said you stayed home from school for a few days."

  He shrugged.

  "Look, I don't have a lot to go on, but I'm trying to find out who did it. Can you tell me what happened that night?"

  "I dunno," he said. He disappeared into his room for a minute and shut off the music. "I wasn't even here when it happened. I came home about midnight and Mom was all shook up and she was crying and all, and that's when she told me."

  "You'd been out with your friends?"

  "Yeah, a coupla guys from school."

  "Your dad had been out of town, right?"

  "I think so. Coupla days, I guess." His face contorted with anger. "Hell, I don't keep track of him. Nobody did. He was probably out with some chick in some fancy hotel someplace. I don't give a shit." He slumped and turned his face slightly. "Sorry."

  "It's okay, Josh. You gotta say what's on your mind."

  He flopped down on the couch, oblivious to the pile of newspapers he was crunching. I perched on the arm of the vinyl recliner.

  "Did you and your dad get along pretty well?" I tried to ask the question kindly.

  ". . . Oh, okay, I guess. Dad did a lot of macho image shit. You know, he bragged all the time, played the ponies. He always, you know, dreamed about hitting it big. Couldn't just have a job like everyone else's dad, bring home a paycheck every week. He was always chasing some gold mine. Always thought he'd make a million next week. It just gets old hearing it, you know."

  "Your mom was pretty tolerant of all this, wasn't she?"

  He huffed a sharp breath out his nose. "What choice did she have? My mom works hard." He pointed his index finger, stabbing at the sofa cushion. "But she still doesn't make enough to get us out of this rat trap."

  "Can you think of anyone with a reason to kill your dad?"

  He shrugged again. "Maybe lots of people. Hell, I stayed away from most of his friends. Well, his one friend really. This guy Larry Burke. A slimeball. Just like Dad."

  He stood up and disappeared into his room again. I thought he was coming right back, but the music came back on loud again and I realized that was all I'd get from Josh Detweiller. I let myself out.

  I keep a set of phone books in my car, so I checked out Larry Burke. His address was only a couple of streets away. It was still a little early for anyone who worked a nine-to-five job to be home, but I decided to take my chances. The Burke house was a little larger than the Detweiller place, but in about the same condition. A gum-popping redhead answered the door. She wore black Lycra pants and a luminescent pink top that might have been applied to her model-thin body with a vacuum sealer. Her makeup looked freshly done, like the "after" in one of those makeover ads. Unfortunately, she was made over to look twenty when she was really closer to forty.

  "Mrs. Burke?" I asked.

  She gave me a blank look.

  "Excuse me, I'm looking for Larry Burke. Is this his residence?" The smell of frying onions wafted out around her.

  "He ain't home." More gum action.

  "When will he be back?"

  Her eyes narrowed as she checked me out head to toe. "Who wants to know?" Oh, please. She couldn't honestly believe I was after him for personal reasons.

  "I'm looking into Gary Detweiller's death," I explained. "Larry was his best friend, wasn't he?"

  "I don't know when he'll be home," she said. "He don't answer to me." She closed the door in my face.

  Some help that was. No answers, and I was getting hungrier by the minute. My nine dollar salad at lunch sure wasn't sticking with me. There was a McDonald's about three blocks away, so I set my course in that direction. The drive-up window yielded a Big Mac, Coke, and fries, which I sampled on my way back to Larry Burke's house. That floozy didn't honestly think she'd get rid of me that easily, did she?

  I parked two houses south of theirs and proceeded with my little picnic. By the time I'd licked the last of the special sauce from my fingers the temperature had begun to drop. My ankles were really feeling it. Wearing a dress, pantyhose, and heels is not my usual style. I kicked off the shoes and tucked my legs up under me, wrapping the wool coat securely around myself.

  Lights came on in the surrounding houses, and one by one cars pulled into driveways. A streetlight glowed almost a block away. I snuggled deeper into my coat. I thought about Rusty, waiting at the office, which would now be dark. What was I doing here anyway?

  I had just decided I was being foolish and had reached for my shoes when a car pulled into Burke's drive. It was a sports car of some kind, flashier than anything I'd seen so far in the neighborhood. The brakes gave a little squeal as he stopped about six inches from the garage door. I came out of my car before he had a chance to disappear.

  "Mr. Burke? Could I talk to you a second?" I was almost breathless from dashing the length of two houses. He stopped in his driveway and looked at me curiou
sly.

  Larry Burke was about five foot six, slender, wearing a pair of dark slacks and plaid polyester sports coat. His blond hair looked like it had been molded from polystyrene. When he moved, it stayed in place. He had straight capped teeth, which showed through a well-practiced grin. I was reminded of a TV evangelist or a cookware salesman. In the time it took me to cross his driveway, he had checked me over twice.

  "Hey, babe, what can I do for you?" The voice was like thick grease.

  I do not take well to being called babe, honey, sweetie, or dear by someone I do not know intimately. My teeth clenched and my smile became a straight line.

  "Charlie Parker, RJP Investigations," I said as officiously as I could manage. "I've been asked to look into the death of Gary Detweiller."

  Burke shifted his weight from one foot to the other, backing away from me a couple of feet.

  "Yeah, that was a shame about ol' Gare."

  "You were his best friend, I understand."

  "We hung around, yeah." He implied nothing as sentimental as real friendship, I noted.

  "When did you see him last?"

  "Prob'ly just before it happened. We'd gone to Vegas for a coupla days, got back Wednesday night, and he dropped me off here. Guess it was right after that somebody got him."

  "What were you doing in Vegas?"

  "Just fun stuff. Gary'd come into some money, so we celebrated. Went to the races, ate in some good restaurants, partied with a couple of babes." He glanced toward the front door as he revealed this last part.

  "Where'd he get the money?" I asked, wondering just how far he'd let me go with these questions before he closed up.

  "Said he managed a big score. I don't know, I wasn't his mother. Gary and me was like that. We shared the wealth. When one of us got lucky, we took the other one along."

  "So, who'd want to kill him?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Gary was a good guy, you know, liked to have some fun. He didn't mean nobody no harm, though. I mean, you know, he'd get involved with some chick from time to time. For him it was just fun, somethin' to do with somebody new. I guess sometimes they got a little pissed when he didn't stick around."

  Or when he ripped them off.

  He kept glancing toward the front door, probably wondering how long until the redhead came sailing out with claws extended. No doubt she'd heard his car arrive.

  "Look, thanks," I said. I gave him one of my business cards and asked him to call if he thought of anything else.

  Back in the car, I started the engine and let the heater warm up. I wondered again how many women Detweiller had robbed over the years. Was Stacy only the latest, or had he kept several going at once? I wished I'd asked Burke a few more questions. Maybe later.

  I drove as quickly as I could to the office, where Rusty greeted me like I'd been gone years. We headed home, where I rewarded his patience with a bowl of nuggets followed by a rawhide chew. For myself, my reward was to strip off the pantyhose and slip into snugly sweats. I made a cup of hot chocolate, prepared to sink into the sofa cushions and ponder all the new information I'd gathered today. Until I remembered that I'd have houseguests sometime around midnight.

  I dusted the guest room and put extra towels in the guest bath. My office required a little more screening. Everything that might appeal to kids, such as calculator, computer, and stapler either went into locked file drawers or got covered up. A box of games and puzzles, which I keep in the closet for such occasions, came out. I hoped it would provide enough distraction to keep the little critters out of my own stuff. I checked my supply of extra blankets and pillows, just in case they forgot to bring their own sleeping bags. I took one last look around and hoped I was ready.

  Chapter 6