Murder in a Hot Flash

  “I’d already said hello when you yelled at me. I was kind of committed. It was just your boss again.”

  “Richard? You didn’t tell him who you were?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Tell me everything he said.”

  “Said to tell you he was sorry and then he said, ‘Wait a minute, who the hell is this?’” Mitch’s impersonation was damn close to the reality. “And when I told him, he was quiet for a while and then he laughed, called you a good girl, and hung up. What did he say to get you so pissed anyway?”

  “Don’t ask.” She tried to step out of the tub but he barred her way.

  “Look, I spilled my guts to you last night and all I get from you is. ‘Don’t ask.’ What kind of a deal is that?”

  “I told you about my getting knocked up in a cemetery at sixteen, didn’t I?” And, boy, had that heated things up.

  “Why wouldn’t you answer my question about why you didn’t have an abortion or have the baby adopted out?” Mitch returned her to her place under the hot water and washed her back.

  “I was a real little shit, okay? I probably kept her to spite Edwina. It was all a big mess. Might have hastened Howard’s death, nearly ruined my life. I decided it wasn’t going to ruin Libby’s. And I thought I had it made, until she turned thirteen. Then I realized the jury was still out on that one.”

  The last three years had been hell. If Charlie hadn’t had a job she loved, she didn’t know how she’d have lived through them. How women who stayed home and raised kids kept their sanity, she’d never understand.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d considered quitting Congdon and Morse because of Richard Morse and this time the old chauvinist had really shown his true colors. But what if she couldn’t find another job in her field? Charlie rinsed off her back and washed his.

  “No kid’s a ‘real little shit’ for no reason. Were you spiteful because you were adopted?”

  “Howard was sort of distant, but kind. I never lacked for anything important. They loved me, but they were involved in their work. Like I am now.” Charlie was rebellious like many kids that age. But Charlie got caught, and then refused to admit she could have been wrong. And, because she’d been through this and understood it, she thought she’d be a perfect guide to help Libby through these difficult years. But Libby had decided her mother didn’t know anything, just as Charlie had decided the same about her own parents.

  Charlie’d put Libby on the pill at the first scary signs. But Libby stopped taking it when she gained weight.

  “Besides, it can’t protect you from AIDS like a condom. And even besides that, I’m not doing anything.”

  Would some potent adolescent have the control to reach for the slender packet as smoothly as had the man whose back she’d just washed? No questions. No apologies. Barely a pause in the foreplay.

  What if Charlie became a grandma at thirty-two?

  Last night Charlie had forgotten about Libby and Edwina and murder and her job and even that this guy was a superstar. (And possibly a murderer, but that now seemed as farfetched as Edwina’s being one. Innocent by reason of intercourse.) Just as Edwina had feared she would forget. Just as Charlie feared Libby would, was doing, with someone else. To Edwina, it was just plain wrong. To Charlie, it was just plain dangerous.

  They were toweling when the phone rang again. He didn’t even make a move for it this time.

  It was Libby. “Like, I guess you’re all mad at me. I’m sure Maggie and Larry made everything sound much worse than it was. Of course my friends can do no right. Your friends can do no wrong.” Charlie’s daughter started in on the attack before her mother could get in a salvo. Maggie had probably insisted she call and apologize and Libby probably really was sorry, but that tended to make her more defensive than contrite.

  And there stood Charlie Greene dressed in her skin and goose bumps, staring back at a naked movie star in a tiny run-down motel room and her with only seconds to make decisions that could affect Libby’s life forever and hers too.

  She could threaten to make Libby pay for all or part of the damages to the condo with the money she earned on her summer job. Charlie could ground Libby for the rest of the school year. But she knew her daughter would simply run away, as Charlie would have once.

  “Mom, you still there?”

  “Yes, honey, I’m still here.”

  And there were streets in L.A. where a nymphet could live and hide a long time before being found. Charlie had read of one who’d lived two years that way before she committed suicide. The autopsy showed her body racked with drugs and venereal disease.

  “We’ll discuss this when I get home,” Charlie said finally. “Meanwhile, you get yourself to school and stay with Maggie at night and—”

  “Whoa, no way. You know what that bitch made me do? Scrape crud off the carpets where people got sick. You can’t make me stay over there again tonight.”

  “You still want that driver’s license?”

  An extended pause and then an outraged whisper, “You wouldn’t … You have no right. It isn’t fair … you—”

  Charlie hung up, fear making the breath in her chest hurt. Libby was a formidable adversary. And the trouble with this kind of decision was that you might not know if it was the right one for years.

  “Hey, let me grab a shave and then let’s get you out to breakfast before that phone rings again. You can’t take much more of this.” Mitch crossed the room to comfort her and Charlie started feeling guilty and one thing led to another. Again.

  Well, I’m not going to say one word to him about Phantom of the Alpine Tunnel and I am going to look for another job as soon as Edwina’s out of this mess, but before I quit the old one, Charlie thought while watching Mitch shave later. She tried not to admit to herself how marvelous she felt, just hated that sappy postcoital look she knew she wore. He was growing increasingly limp with all this stimulation, but at least he hadn’t learned his lovemaking from Playboy.

  He used foam and a safety edge, his chin screwed up toward the ceiling so he could scrape away the foam and whiskers under it while trying to look down past his nose to see into the mirror. Charlie wondered briefly what it would be like to be married and then clamped her mind shut on that idea. Marriage was not for career-women-mothers. Any more complications in her life and Charlie would drop dead of the strain by thirty-five.

  Until last night she’d been celibate for almost two years and preferred that blessed state. But the emotional upheaval and the time of the month and the fact that this guy was the second most gorgeous man Charlie’d ever encountered had ganged up on her.

  The most gorgeous was Larry Mann, her assistant at Congdon and Morse. But he was unavailable, untouchable. So every now and then Charlie took him out to lunch just to look at him.

  Chapter 16

  “… a sense of serenity and quiet beauty on the mighty Colorado River. Don’t miss The River by Night!” the local cable TV channel implored them, with scenic wonders and a voice-over and ethereal music, as they dressed.

  But when the local news began, Mitch nearly caught himself in his zipper.

  A man seated on a kitchen chair behind a wooden table said, “You’ll be glad to know that Ed Buchanan, night watchman out at the old Texas Petroleum mill, has been found safe and sound. Missing for three days, Ed was discovered wandering along the cliff road up north of town last night by Bud Hawly and son, Gary. According to Bud, Ed has no memory of where he’s been.”

  The speaker wore a red-and-black-plaid shirt like John B.’s and he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, unconsciously rocking his body from side to side as he talked. A floral arrangement took up half the table and hid most of his face when he rocked to the right, as if he were playing hide-and-seek with the viewer.

  “Latest on the gruesome murder out at Dead Horse Point of Gordon Cabot, the famous Hollywood director, is that Rita Latham, noted defense lawyer, is due in from Salt Lake today to decide whether she wants to defend Mrs.
Edwina Greene, whose ax it allegedly was that killed Mr. Cabot. Mrs. Greene’s daughter, Charlemagne Catherine Greene, a self-styled psychic, was one of those who found the director’s body out at the campground.

  “Meanwhile, the Animal Aliens pic should wrap location shooting in a day or two. Sheriff Sumpter himself agreed to take a minor role and died—I understand very nicely—yesterday while trying to stop the giant rats invading the earth and Mrs. Regina Ottinger over on Fifth Street is due to meet a similar fate today.” He went on to note other local notables who either had performed as extras or were scheduled to, but Mitch interrupted.

  “Charlemagne Catherine Greene?” His incredulity overcame the story of the watchman found wandering the mesa.

  “Howard was a history professor.” And who told the local news? Only one person seemed likely. Edwina. And damn it, the news wires were in town and probably everybody’s stringers. Charlie’s belly burned like the flush on her face. “And I’m not a self-styled psychic.” No mention of her real job.

  “That’s the local gab on this morning’s edition of ‘Cliff Notes,’ folks. We’ll go off the air now until three this afternoon when Jake ‘Jeremiah’ Johnson will bring you his ‘River Watch’ program. And this evening, there should be an interview with Sheriff Sumpter on the latest developments in the murder investigation.”

  “I can’t believe it, Charle—”

  “Oh, knock it off.”

  But it was a knock at the door that saved the superstar. Charlie yanked it open to stand eyeball to eyeball with Ralph Sumpter.

  Her day was complete. And she hadn’t even had breakfast.

  “I didn’t think Mormons drank coffee,” Charlie told the sheriff, sitting across from him and beside Mitch at the River Palace Café and Grill. The sheriff ordered a pot brought to the table and refilled his cup before she’d taken a sip of her milk.

  “Bap-tist,” he pronounced, drilling her to the back of the booth with a hard stare. “South-errn.”

  Charlie felt instantly like a fallen woman. But he gazed at Mitch with cloying respect.

  Hey, you found him in that room too, don’t forget. It’s always the woman’s fault because she asks for it. A guy asks for it because he’s supposed to. Like nature tells him to.

  You’re just jealous. It’s penis envy.

  No, it’s privilege envy.

  The special was huevos rancheros and you could get it with pinto beans instead of yuppie black, and corn tortillas instead of pasty flour. And they’d all ordered it. Wel-l-l, Charlie’d used up a lot of energy last night. And the doctor had warned her not to skip meals.

  “Wanted to tell you how much the wife and I enjoyed Bloody Promises,” the official prick told the superstar. “When you died I didn’t think I was ever going to get her to quit bawling.” He nodded as if thinking about it awhile and then refocused on the present. “Suppose you heard about the watchman out at the mill? That’s all we need on top of a murder. Getting to the bottom of that one’s going to gain us nothing but ridicule.” He poured himself more coffee. “Why in my county? Why?”

  “Plenty of lawmen have lost their jobs over this kind of thing,” Mitch said importantly.

  “Don’t I know. No matter how things appear during a scare, they look pretty silly by the time the next election rolls around. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

  And of course good old Mitch had to tell good ol’ Ralph about the sort-of-shadow thing over the generator truck and they proceeded to argue over whether unidentified flying objects came from outer space or another dimension.

  “Oh stop it,” Charlie worked up the nerve to say, refusing to be seen and not heard. “If there was really such a thing as UFOs somebody with a camcorder would have captured them on video long ago. And they’d get something more recognizable than nebulous shadows too.”

  That at least gave them pause and gave her time to do a jump cut. “Sheriff, you never did tell me why you came to my room at the Pit Stop. Was there something you wanted?”

  Other than to discover me en flagrante.

  “Well now, yes, there was, Miz Greene. Two things. Just want you to know the serologist has finished with your mother’s camper and Jeep. He took samples out at the campground and the vehicles are still there. You can move them when you’re ready. Serologists study body fluids of all kinds. He can pin down identities even from dried semen, sweat, blood … and the other thing is your mother wants to see you.” He goggled meaningfully between Charlie and the limp hunk beside her. “If you can spare the time, that is.”

  Charlie sat in the tiny interrogation room again with the woman cop and Edwina. Edwina looked rested, almost happy, as if she thrived on jail cells. And she knew exactly what she wanted.

  “I want you out of here, Charlie. As a mother I have the right to request that. I want you home looking after my granddaughter and I want the high-falutin’ lawyer to stay in Salt Lake. I’ll take care of my own problems, thank you.”

  “What should I do with Howard’s Jeep?”

  “What?”

  “And the tent camper? And your house in Boulder? I mean, if you’re going to fry for a murder you didn’t commit they’re going to come after me to help make decisions on your possessions. The state takes a third, the lawyer takes a third—have you left a will for what little taxes and legal fees won’t eat up? Oh, and then there’s CU. Do you want me to call the head of the department or the president of the university? I don’t know the protocol here. And do you want to be cremated or buried next to Howard?”

  “Charlie, stop it.”

  “No, I’m not going to. You may not care what happens to you at the moment, but I’m the one left to deal with it if you cop out.”

  “I always thought I’d be the one to say that. What do you want?”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

  “Then talk to the lawyer. But talk to somebody.”

  Rita Latham was a slender, graying woman in a Chanel suit of red and black. Her gaze was direct and mischievous, her lips thin and pressed tightly between thoughts as if working hard not to grin. “So, what’s the score here with your mom? She’s holding back on me.”

  “Yeah, me too. But I’ve got a gut feeling,” literally, “that it doesn’t have anything to do with Gordon Cabot.”

  “She’s going to ‘let’ me represent her only if I promise to help you and your daughter take care of the aftermath of her state-induced demise for the axing of Cabot, which she claims she didn’t do but doesn’t care if she ‘fries’ for. This is a university professor?”

  “Please stick with us, Ms. Latham. I can’t get anything out of her either but I haven’t talked to everyone else involved yet.” Charlie described the meager results of her search so far. “I haven’t talked to anyone who couldn’t have picked up her ax on the way by or anyone who might not wish to use one on Gordon Cabot. And I’m sure the sheriff is sure he has his murderer and isn’t looking any further.”

  “Your mother’s in really deep, Charlie, I won’t lie to you. You keep asking questions and help me and I’ll help her. But we have to find out what’s behind this brick-wall attitude she’s putting up. She doesn’t really come on as suicidal so much as—”

  “Resigned.”

  “That’s it. Resigned. Why? Help me.”

  Charlie and Mitch headed out of town in his Bronco that evening to find the cliff road where Ed Buchanan had been found wandering. Charlie visualized the night watchman as an older man, in his sixties maybe, wearing bib overalls, his eyes red-rimmed and lonely-looking.

  She’d spent the afternoon out at Dead Horse Point, with little useful result for Rita Latham but with a dismaying revelation for Charlie Greene.

  They were traveling along a highway next to the river and deep in the bottom of a canyon. Fading sunlight still highlighted the canyon wall above them but the river was shadowed for night. Mitch turned off on a rutted road that started up a side canyon and Charlie w
ished she’d stayed in Moab.

  “The police will have gone over it pretty thoroughly,” she said.

  “Doesn’t mean they’d tell us if there was something there. Even Sumpter knows something’s up but can’t admit it or he’ll lose the next election. You heard him this morning.”

  Get real, the watchman drank too much and some mean-spirited jokesters drove him up there and left him. Of course he couldn’t remember how he got there. But Charlie didn’t have the heart to dump on Mitch’s fantasies and didn’t voice the obvious aloud.

  This was not a very good road to be traveling on at night.

  Charlie wondered what Libby was up to about now. She’d have had cheerleading practice after school. And that exam in chemistry. She probably went to Lori Schantz’s after practice.

  Lori’s parents had never been married to anyone else. Lori’s father was a lawyer who could afford to keep his wife home raising Lori and her younger brother. The woman played bridge and even baked cookies. And she didn’t approve of her daughter’s coming home with a latchkey Libby. Which made sense.

  “Mitch, the fact that all those noted scientists say the whole UFO thing is a lot of bull, that there’s no proof any of it exists—doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Only means they haven’t proven it exists,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t.”

  “I suppose you believe in ghosts and the whole enchilada.”

  “I don’t even believe in life after death.”

  “Just because no one has proved that ghosts exist,” Charlie countered, “doesn’t mean they don’t.”

  “That is not fair.”

  Charlie concentrated on wondering why handsome was out in actors. Not the classic, perfect, surgically induced kind—but the natural with warts and unaffected charisma kind. Mitch had lots of moles on his back but it was still gorgeous.

  They were on a shelf road again, one big rock with a ledge cut in its side, rather than merely a rocky shelf. Their ledge tilted toward the abyss like ledges always do. Charlie closed her eyes and breathed a lot. But she could see the faded orangy-red tint of the rock in her head.