A Basket of Trouble (27 page)

ward on his desk. “The reason you had to wait for me was that

I was talking to someone to confirm Vince Donahue’s alibi the

night Mendoza was killed. He said he was having some beers with

a friend that night while watching a rodeo they’d recorded off the TV. The friend confirmed it and showed me a credit card receipt

for a delivery pizza they ordered.”

This wasn’t like Wilson, to share so much with her. Claire fig-

ured he was in a magnanimous mood because she had gotten Var-

gas’s address for him, and he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. “Until how late?”

“Until the wee hours, the friend said. Between one and two.

They kept stopping the recording to play back the roping events

in slow-motion. Apparently the two of them have aspirations to

compete some day.”

“I remember Brittany telling me that Vince was practicing to

compete in rodeos.” So one suspect had been ruled out. Claire

tossed her empty coffee cup into Wilson’s trash can. “What about

her mother, Nancy Schwartz?”

Wilson nodded. “I talked to her, too. She says she has nothing

against your sister-in-law’s nonprofit, that there are plenty of clients for both.” He cocked his head. “Think she’s lying?”

Claire snorted. “That woman’s sure changed her tune. I guess

love will do that.”

“Love?”

Claire told him about Nancy and Jorge Alvarez’s relationship.

“Regardless of that,” Wilson said, “her story about her actions

that night matches her daughter’s description. She used the port-

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a-potty behind your brother’s trailer office, then went right back to the car. She claims she never went in the barn.”

“But she doesn’t have someone who saw her, like Vince does.”

“No, but I went over the timeline with both her and her daugh-

ter separately a couple of times. Their memories weren’t real clear, but their stories sync up. I couldn’t find enough time in there for Mrs. Schwartz to go into the barn, drag Mendoza into Gunpowder’s stall, poke the horse, return the rake to its hook, then get back to the car. Even if she was running the whole time. Same goes for Miss Schwartz.”

“I know Brittany well enough now that I don’t think she could

have done it. She really liked Kyle.”

Wilson raised a brow. “She could be a great actress, playing a

role for you.”

“So you think Brittany and her mother were in cahoots or

one’s providing an alibi for the other?”

“Could be.” He shook his head. “But I think it’s a long shot. No, my money’s on the known criminal here—Oscar Vargas.”

He held up the paper with the man’s address on it. “Thanks for

getting this for me. I owe you.” Then he stood.

Claire knew that was a dismissal. She stood, too. “You’re wel-

come. I’m glad I could do something to help solve the case. I’d love to get my brother’s stable out from under the dark cloud of suspicion that’s been hanging over it. Will you call Charley and me after the raid?”

“Of course.” Wilson came around his desk to shake her hand.

His step had a real bounce to it. “I know you’re both anxious to

put this behind you. Hopefully it will be business as usual for your brother by the end of the week.”

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“That would be wonderful.” Claire smiled at Wilson and

walked out of the bullpen area.

Her steps weren’t so bouncy, though. She didn’t feel as hopeful

as Wilson. Any number of things could go wrong during the raid.

Even if they caught Vargas, was he really the one who killed Kyle?

For no good reason?

And it would be awhile before Charley’s stable was back to

“business as usual.” With most of his staff gone, the immigration issues, and the murders on his property, even if someone wasn’t

deliberately ruining his business, the effect was the same. Trouble kept piling onto Charley’s shoulders, almost as if by malevolent

design.

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sixteen:

memories and confessions

Claire stood nervously in the lobby of the Liberty Heights

retirement facility in Colorado Springs late Thursday morning,

awaiting her brother Charley’s arrival. She hated to bother him in the middle of all his business troubles, but they had a decision to make about their mother. The facility director had called Claire

that morning and said they couldn’t wait any longer.

Charley strode through the lobby doors. He had changed out

of his typical stable wear and was dressed in black jeans, a white pearl-buttoned shirt with black trim, and a black bolo tie. He wore the same fancy maroon-tooled cowboy boots and fawn-colored

felt cowboy hat that he had worn to the stable’s opening event, just two and a half weeks before.

Relieved to see him, Claire approached and gave him a hug.

“Thanks for coming. This is going to be so hard.”

He returned the hug, then stepped away but kept a hand on

her back. “Seems like today’s my day for tough decisions. I had to 228

let Jorge go this morning. I couldn’t wait any longer because ICE

could show up anytime. The immigration lawyer said it was the

only thing I could do right now.” He heaved a great sigh.

Looking up, Claire could see how much that decision had

cost him. She hoped he had enough emotional reserves left to get

through what was yet to come. “I’m sorry. Did he go to Nancy

Schwartz’s place?”

“Yes, but he said he’d volunteer—” Charley made quotes in the

air. “—for me two days a week after ICE is long gone. We agreed to swap his time for the fees I’m paying the lawyer.”

“Sounds like a good arrangement.”

“For however long it lasts.”

“Speaking of arrangements, did you tell Hank that Outlaw has

equine distemper?”

Charley grinned. “Oh yeah, and he ate up the whole story. I saw

him leave the barn soon after that, and I followed him. He took

out his cell phone and made a call. I heard the words Park and Rec.

before I ducked back inside. I bet Tom Lindall’s got all of his wranglers scrubbing stalls now.”

“Sounds like Hank’s definitely your spy. Are you going to have

to fire him?”

“God, I can’t do that. He’s the best wrangler I’ve got left. Maybe I can just keep him on and feed him stories that will yank Tom’s

chain.”

Claire grinned. “That’s downright evil, Charley.”

“Nah, I’m just joshing. I think I’ve caused enough trouble for

Tom. I do plan to keep Hank on for awhile, though, until I can hire some new wranglers and get them trained. Then I’ll let him go.

I’ll just be careful about what gets said on the grounds until then.”

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He took off his cowboy hat and ran a hand through his hair. “So

what’s our agenda here?”

“Lunch with Mom first in the dining room, then we’ll meet

with the director.”

“Think she’ll remember us this time?”

“Who knows? If not, hopefully she’ll have a nice lunch with

two kind strangers.” Claire smiled lamely at Charley, but his re-

sponse was just a worried frown.

She linked her arm in his and steered him toward the elevator.

In the semi-twilight of mid-stage Alzheimer’s, their mother was

currently housed in the Assisted Living section of the complex.

Claire had moved her out of an independent living apartment a

few months ago. That was when the director had told her that her

mother could no longer be trusted with a kitchen after leaving

burners or the oven on for hours at a time. Now, she and Charley

had another decision to make.

When they arrived at her mother’s room, they found her sitting

primly on the edge of her favorite easy chair next to her bed. She was dressed in a nautical-themed pantsuit and clutching a purse.

A staff member had opened the door for them. She whispered to

Claire that her mother was having a pretty good day, then left.

Claire surmised that the young woman had helped her mother get

bathed and dressed. Otherwise, her hair would have been a mess

and her clothes would have been mismatched.

Claire walked over, squatted in front of her mother, and lightly

touched her arm. “Hello Mom, it’s your daughter Claire.”

Her mother tsked. “I know who you are, dear.” She peered at

Charley, though, with no sign of recognition on her face.

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Claire decided to help her mom out. “My brother Charley and

I are here to take you to lunch.”

Claire motioned him over and he bent to take his mother’s

hand. “Hi, Mom.”

She looked flustered for a moment. “Charley, oh Charley, how

nice of you to come so far to see me.”

Charley opened his mouth to say something, but Claire shook

her head. He had been in to see their mother a week and a half ago, and at least twice a month since he and Jessica had moved from

Durango to Colorado Springs. Every time, he’d had to tell her that he was living nearby now. Maybe it was time to just drop it.

Charley nodded at Claire and turned to their mother. “No dis-

tance is too far to come to have lunch with my mother.” He cupped a hand under her elbow. “Ready to go?”

She let him ease her out of the chair.

When the purse slipped off her lap, Claire grabbed it and rose.

“We can just leave this here, Mom. You shouldn’t need it.”

Her mother put out a hand. “A woman always needs her purse.

What if I have to pay for a taxi?”

They weren’t leaving the building. Charley’s gaze at Claire over

their mother’s head was tender with sadness.

“Here you go, then, Mom.” Claire looped the purse over her

mother’s arm. She followed her and Charley out of the room and

down the hall to the elevator.

Over lunch in the Liberty Heights dining room, Claire realized

her mother thought they were at a restaurant, and Claire didn’t

bother to try to correct her. Also, her mother was treating Charley as a stranger again, which Claire could tell was bothering him.

231

Finally, her mother took a sip of iced tea and dabbed her

mouth with her napkin. “You remind me of my son,” she said to

Charley.

Before Charley could respond, Claire said, “In what way? What

do you remember about Charley?”

Charley shot her a pained look, but Claire gave her head a little shake. Maybe their mother’s memories of Charley would help her

recognize that he was sitting across the table from her.

“Poor Charley.” Her mother shook her head. “Always in the

shadow of his big sister, trying to compete with her.”

Uh oh, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

But their mother went on. “I remember when Claire brought

her first spelling paper home from first grade with a big red A on it. She was so proud. Charley was just four, not even in … what’s it called?”

“Kindergarten?” Claire offered.

“Yes. Well, he took a page out of his coloring book and scrib-

bled all over it, like he was writing. He was learning his al … letters … then but couldn’t write any words. Then he put a big red A on the top and brought it to me.”

She chuckled. “Of course, I had to praise him as much as I did

Claire. Or even more. It was so sweet. Charley needed my love

more than Claire did.”

This was a mistake. Not only had her mother forgotten that

Charley was her son, she was talking about Claire in third per-

son now, too. And Charley was blushing and glancing around the

crowded dining room awkwardly.

Claire patted her mother’s hand. “I’m sure you love both your

children.”

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Before Claire could change the subject, though, her mother

said, “Oh, of course, though Charley was harder to love. Claire was easy, with her good grades and smiles. But Charley would … do

this—” She made a pout with her lips. “—whenever I praised his

sister. Then I’d have to find something good to say about him

so he wouldn’t act up.” She paused. “I guess I should have found

more good things to say to him first.”

“Like when I lettered in football and baseball the same year in

high school,” Charley said between gritted teeth.

Their mother waved her hand. “Oh sure, sports are important

for boys, keeps them out of trouble, but they’re not as important as grades. I wish Charley had been able to make A’s like Claire instead of B’s. I used to worry how he’d make a living.”

“But Charley’s doing great now.” Claire waved her hand at her

brother, whose expression was pained. “Running his stable busi-

ness and everything.”

Now her mother looked pained. “Something’s wrong.”

Claire leaned over. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

“No, no, something’s wrong with Charley’s business. He has to

sell it. Right?” Confusion showed on her face, and Claire realized her mother was thinking of the situation with Charlie’s old stable in Durango months ago.

“It’s fine, Mom, just fine.” Charley was gripping his napkin

tightly on the tabletop. When Claire looked at him, he shook his

head, obviously not wanting to update his mother—again—on

the move and to describe the murders and other current problems

to her. She would just forget them anyway. “Shall we have some

dessert? You like tapioca pudding, right?”

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Their mother was looking confused, probably because Charley

called her ‘Mom,’ but then she brightened. “Oh yes, and those red fruits.”

“Strawberries?” Claire asked.

“Yes, yes, that’s it.”

After they had eaten their desserts and taken their mother back

to her room, Claire turned to Charley while their mother was in

her bathroom. “I’m sorry about pushing Mom to talk about you. I