“Sure. Brenda Johnston, Karla Deavers, Patti . . . I don’t know her last name . . . and my friends, Jill Edstrom and Ellen Kessler.”
“Your evidence against Patti is pretty thin.” Deb’s rings flashed as she typed the names, then she put the PDA aside to stack ham and Swiss on the bread. “You just suspect she bought cocaine from Enrique, and she happens to be Hispanic.”
“Karla said Patti had an affair with Enrique, but Ellen said she didn’t.”
“We need confirmation of her buying drugs, and her affair.”
Too anxious to sit, Claire paced the kitchen. “I planned to talk to Patti today, but then I found the death threat in my locker’s vent.”
“We’ll get back to her.” Deb typed a note into the PDA. “Now, Brenda’s situation is interesting. I’ve never known a drug dealer to lend money to his clients before. Could Karla have made up the story?”
“I could be wrong, but my impression is that she’d pass on gossip, maybe even embellish it a little, but she wouldn’t outright lie.”
Deb bit into her sandwich and chewed slowly. “Karla’s an interesting character. Apparently she and Ellen had this competitive thing going.”
“And they kept contradicting each other. Each said she ended her affair with Enrique and that Enrique ended it with the other one.” Claire held out her hands, palms up. “I don’t know who to believe.”
Deb licked her fingers then tapped the PDA. “We need another source, someone who may know about Enrique’s affairs but doesn’t have a personal interest. Also, someone who can confirm this loan to Brenda. I’m thinking Leon.”
Claire shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. Remember the warning he gave me last time we talked?”
“If he’s an informant, maybe Wilson can ask him these questions. Let’s move on to Jill and Ellen. Since they’re your friends, you probably don’t think they’re capable of murder. Right?”
“Right.” An image of Ellen, with feet planted in a wide stance and hands clutching a pistol, floated into her mind.
No, no, it couldn’t be.
Deb wiped her mouth with a napkin. “So you could’ve missed some clue about one of them. As I remember, Ellen gave you the coupon for the massage from Enrique, conveniently setting up the rendezvous. She also gave herself an alibi by claiming she and Jill were having lunch together when Enrique was killed. Did Jill confirm that?”
Claire reviewed her recent conversations with Jill in her mind. “I don’t think she did.”
Deb reached for the phone book. “Where did Ellen say they ate lunch?”
“The Broadmoor Hotel.”
“Which one of their restaurants?”
“She didn’t say, but it wasn’t Charles Court, because it’s only open for dinner, and the Lake Terrace only serves breakfast and brunch. And they wouldn’t have gone in the Tavern or the Golden Bee Pub.”
“What about the Golf Club dining rooms?”
“Maybe, but Ellen likes Café Julie best for lunches. I bet they ate there.”
“And with the Broadmoor being a fancy-schmancy five-star resort, I bet they made a reservation.” Deb flipped through the phone book then punched a number into the phone.
She winked at Claire. “Hello, my name is Ellen Kessler. I need to verify a charge on my credit card, and my memory is getting so bad. Do you have a reservation for lunch at one of your restaurants on . . .” She gave the date Enrique had been shot. “It would be under my name or my friend, Jill Edstrom.”
Deb waited a moment, then said, “Thank you very much. You’ve been so helpful. I’m sure I’ll be back again.” She hung up the phone and rubbed her hands together. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“They didn’t eat at Café Julie. They were at the Lake Terrace.”
“But—”
“Their reservation was at ten-thirty, for brunch, not lunch.”
Claire stared at Deb as a sudden chill pimpled her arms. “Oh-mygod. That means—”
“They weren’t lunching together when Enrique was murdered.” Deb crossed her arms and leaned back on her stool.
Horrified, Claire tried to resist the possibility worming into her mind that one of her friends hated Enrique enough to kill him.
“So one of them could have high-tailed it over here and shot Enrique,” Deb continued. “And with Ellen setting up the massage, she’s my number-one suspect.”
Claire pictured the murder weapon. “But she would have to have known he carried a gun.”
“Good thinking.” Deb swallowed the last bite of her sandwich. “If I was the killer, I’d bring my own gun to do the job. But if I saw Enrique’s gym bag in your hall and knew he kept his gun there, I’d use his instead. Then the cops couldn’t trace the ballistics to my gun and me.”
Claire shuddered. “That’s cold-blooded.”
“Just smart. Look, you’ve already talked to Ellen about the lunch
meeting.” Deb stood. “I think a pow-wow with Jill is in order.”
“But what about Roger?” Reluctantly, Claire rose to put away the lunch fixings.
“Leave him a note to call your cell phone when he gets home.” Deb shrugged on her coat.
“I should phone Jill to tell her we’re coming.”
“Surprising her is better. She won’t be able to prepare. She could very well have been in on the plot with Ellen.”
TWENTY:
NOTHING STUPID
On the way to
Jill’s house, Deb laid out a plan. Claire was to do most of the talking while Deb observed Jill’s body language. She briefed Claire on the questions to ask.
Slick with sweat, Claire’s hands slipped on the steering wheel as she turned onto Jill’s street. “I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t worry.” Deb patted the pistol hidden under her jacket. “I’m prepared if Jill comes after you.”
That wasn’t exactly what Claire had been worrying about, but she added it to her growing list of anxieties.
She pulled into Jill’s driveway under the ice-cold shadow of a towering blue spruce, and cut the engine.
Deb gave her a thumbs-up. “Let’s go.”
With Deb following, Claire walked to Jill’s porch and rang the doorbell. They waited, with their breaths puffing little clouds.
The door opened, but the woman standing in the hallway wasn’t Jill.
Claire clutched her chest and gasped. “Condoleza.”
Condoleza’s eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. “You! Why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I work here.”
Thoroughly confused, Claire blinked, hoping to clear her whirling brain. “Doing what?”
“Mrs. Edstrom is one of my cleaning customers. Why did you follow me here? I thought Leon told you to buzz off.” She dismissed Claire and Deb with her hand.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Deb said.
Claire tried to make sense of the situation. “I didn’t follow you here. I’m a friend of Jill’s. I came to see her, not you.”
Deb peered at Condoleza. “Is she Enrique’s—”
“Shush.” Condoleza glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t say anything to Mrs. Edstrom about me and Enrique.”
“How did you wind up working for Jill?” Claire asked.
“When Enrique heard her tell someone she needed a new cleaning woman, he asked another lady at the gym whose house I clean to recommend me.”
Claire remembered the worker she’d spotted at the gym. “Do you clean at the gym, too?”
Condoleza looked puzzled. “No. Why do you ask that?”
Staring at the woman, Claire wondered if Condoleza was lying. Or maybe she’d only visited the gym to plant the death threat, and the mop bucket was a prop. “I just—”
“Condoleza? Who’s at the door?” Jill’s voice came down the hall, followed soon after by footsteps clunking on the hardwood floor.
“A lady says she’s a friend of yours,” Condoleza shouted back.
“Why the big secret about you and Enrique?” Deb asked.
Condoleza glanced down the hall, fists clenched, then whispered, “She would not like it. I need this job. If you make me lose it, I’ll go to Leon.”
Claire turned to Deb.
With eyebrows raised, Deb shrugged.
Jill arrived at the door. “Claire, what a surprise. I assumed you’d be holed up in your house after”—she shot a curious glance at Deb—“you know, what happened at the gym.”
“I’d just drive myself crazy with worry at home.”
“Did you go to the police?”
“Claire’s been with me since she left the gym,” Deb said before Claire could reply. “I called to tell her I was in town and got the whole story.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “I should have introduced you two. Jill, this is Deb Burch. We roomed together in college. She’s down here from Denver. I thought I’d bring her around to meet you.”
“It’s not a great time, since Condoleza’s in the middle of . . .” Jill looked at Condoleza, who stood wringing her hands. “What’s wrong?”
Condoleza backed away. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I will finish the kitchen.” She scurried down the hall.
With a puzzled frown, Jill watched her go. “What got into her? I’m sorry. I was going to introduce you. She’s my cleaning lady.”
“We’ve met,” Claire said.
Damn.
“When?”
“Just now at the door,” Deb said as she sidled past Claire into the hallway and looked around. “Claire told me about your beau
tiful home, Jill. I really like the frame around this mirror. Hand-tooled, isn’t it?”
“Thanks. An artist in Manitou Springs made it.”
Deb traced a finger along the carved wood. “I’d love to see what you’ve done with the rest of the house. Can I get a tour?”
“All of Condoleza’s stuff is out right now. Perhaps another time.”
“But I won’t be in town for long.” Deb patted Jill’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll ignore the cleaning supplies and look at your decorating. I really like this wallpaper.” She walked farther down the hall.
With a reluctant sigh, Jill held the door open for Claire.
“Thanks.” Claire stepped inside. “It was getting chilly out there.”
Jill led them through the main floor of her house.
Deb kept up a running commentary. When they reached the dining room, a large pot with black-and-white geometric designs sat on the sideboard. As she stepped closer to examine it, she said, “This is a lovely example of a Ute Corn Ceremonial pot.”
“Yes. I bought it at the Pow Wow three years ago.”
“Excellent workmanship. Probably made by one of the Cloud sisters.” Deb reached to pick up the pot. “May I?”
Jill nodded.
After turning the pot over to study the bottom, Deb carefully replaced it. “I was right. It’s signed by Beverly Cloud. You have good taste.”
Jill glowed with pride. “How do you know so much—”
“Deb’s a Ute Indian herself.” Claire could see that Deb’s magic was working on Jill.
When they entered the kitchen, lemon wax and ammonia fumes permeated the air. Condoleza swept up her cleaning supplies and trotted upstairs.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Jill said. “It’s like you two have the plague.”
“Has she been here all day?”
“Since I got back from the gym.” Jill’s brows knitted together. “What’s that got to do with how she’s reacting?”
So Condoleza could have been at the gym this morning.
Claire tried to shrug off the question. “I thought she may have been tired and our visit was an added bother to her.”
Deb said, “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”
When Jill went to the cupboard, Deb signaled Claire to sit at the kitchen counter then joined her. After sipping her water, Deb said, “Jill, Claire tells me you’re quite a connoisseur of the local restaurants. I’d like to take Claire and Roger out for brunch tomorrow before I leave. What do you think of the Broadmoor?”
“You can’t beat the Lake Terrace for brunch, especially the Sunday buffet.” Jill licked her lips. “I love their crepes. You can choose any of a dozen fillings, like blueberries, whipped cream cheese, or even chocolate chips.”
“When was the last time you ate brunch there?”
“Last week with Ellen.”
“Is the service quick? I have to get on the road pretty early in the afternoon.”
“The service at the Broadmoor is always impeccable.”
“Give me an idea,” Deb said. “How long were you and Ellen there?”
Jill shrugged. “We probably finished eating in an hour, but we stayed and talked awhile.”
“They didn’t try to rush you out of there after you paid?”
“Heavens no. We only chatted a few minutes, anyway.”
“That should work out great. We’ll have a nice brunch, and I won’t be late starting my trip home to Denver.” Deb raised her water glass. “Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome.” Jill scratched her head, as if confused.
Not wanting Jill to draw any conclusions from Deb’s questions, Claire groped for a new topic. “I’m grateful Deb’s here, because she can provide me with some protection.”
“Because of the death threat, you mean?”
Claire nodded.
“How can Deb protect you?”
“She’s a private investigator, so she has a concealed weapons permit and is a crack shot.”
Deb pulled aside her jacket, exposing the semiautomatic pistol in its worn leather case attached to her belt.
Jill’s eyes widened, and she took a step back.
“Lots of people carry concealed these days, especially in Colorado Springs.” Deb let her coat fall back in place. “You’d be surprised at the number of people who’ve applied for permits. You ever know anyone to carry a gun?”
Jill shook her head.
“The police told me Enrique owned a gun,” Claire added, watching Jill closely. “That’s what was used to shoot him.”
“Really?” Jill seemed genuinely surprised. “How did Roger get Enrique’s gun?”
“He found it on the floor of our hall.”
“So Enrique dropped his gun there?”
“No, the killer did, after he or she shot Enrique. Then Roger picked it up when he heard me screaming and came upstairs to investigate.” Claire glanced at Deb.
Nonchalantly sipping her glass of water, Deb kept her gaze focused on Jill’s face.
Jill looked distressed. “I admire your loyalty to Roger, Claire, but you have to consider the possibility his story is just that. A story.” She glanced at Deb, as if for support.
Deb remained mute.
Jill returned her gaze to Claire. “I think this death threat is a sure sign you need to stop and let the police handle things their way. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Deb put down her glass and stood.
“Thanks for your concern, Jill.” Understanding Deb’s signal, Claire gathered up her purse. “We need to get going. I’m glad you two could meet.”
Deb held out a hand to Jill. “I loved seeing your house, and thanks for the brunch recommendation.”
Looking distracted, Jill shook Deb’s hand. “You’re welcome.” She followed them to the door and let them out.
As Claire walked with Deb to the car, she waved to Jill.
Before Jill shut the door, a thoughtful expression passed over her face, as if she were trying to puzzle out what this visit had been about. Claire replayed the visit in her own mind. “Jill seemed to be telling the truth.”
Deb opened the passenger-side car door. “Either that, or she’s a better actress than you.”
“I’m not sure about Condoleza, though. I thought I saw her at the gym this morning.”
“She
was
awfully jumpy.”
As she slid onto her seat, Claire saw a light blinking on the cell phone lying between the two front seats. “Damn, I forgot to bring my phone inside. I hope that message’s from Roger.” She punched the right buttons and held the phone to her ear, almost afraid to listen.
Roger’s voice was listless, flat. “The spineless bastard did it. Might as well have fired me. Didn’t have the faith in me to stand up to the board.” Suddenly, the phone went silent.
Oh, God.
Claire put her hand to her mouth and stared out the window, fighting tears. She felt Deb’s hand on her shoulder.
“Was it Roger?”
“He sounded terrible.”
Deb squeezed Claire’s shoulder then reached for her seat belt. “Let’s go back to your house. If he’s not there, we’ll set a plan in motion to find him.”
Half-blinded by unshed tears, Claire started the car and backed out of Jill’s driveway.
___
After leaving Jill’s house, Claire headed north. She planned to take the shortcut through the tourist haven of historic Old Colorado City on her way home. A black limousine passed her then pulled into her lane a couple of cars ahead before the traffic stopped for a red light.
“That looks like Leon’s limo,” Claire said.
Deb leaned forward. “Follow it. If it’s him, we can ask him the questions we came up with earlier.”
Claire stared at Deb. “Are you crazy?”
Deb stayed focused on the limousine. “Nope. Opportunistic. I never pass up a chance to find out something about a case. And if that’s Leon, this opportunity just dropped in our lap.”
“But I want to find Roger, not talk to Leon.”
“I’ll ring your house to see if Roger’s there.” Deb picked up Claire’s cell phone, punched in the number, and waited. After a long pause, she hung up. “No answer. We’ll keep this with us. When Roger gets home and sees your note, he’ll call.”
Claire wasn’t so sure, but she couldn’t talk to him if she had no idea where he was.
The light turned green. Claire hesitated.
“Follow that limo and step on it.” Deb chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“This is serious.” Claire didn’t see anything funny in the situation. “And it sure fits the definition of doing something stupid.” She prayed the limousine belonged to someone else.
Deb shook her head. “In my book, this is a smart move. Remember, we have questions for Leon.”
Claire followed the long, black car onto Colorado Avenue. An eclectic mix of eateries, antique shops, art galleries, clothing boutiques, and Colorado souvenir shops lined the now-quiet street, awaiting the summer vacation crowds. Normally Claire would pop into the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory for sinfully rich truffles, or La Baguette for a fresh loaf of crusty French bread, but she was on a mission now. The limousine turned onto a side street and stopped in the parking lot behind a Southern-style barbecue restaurant.
Claire parked her car on the other side of the lot.
As Deb put her hand on the door latch, Claire said, “I wouldn’t do that. If Leon is in the limo, I bet they know we’ve been following them. And they won’t let us approach until we’ve been frisked.”
“Gee, I haven’t had a date in awhile.” Deb cracked a smile, then grew serious. “But if they frisk us, they’ll find my gun.”
“Why don’t you put it in the glove compartment?”
“But then you won’t have any protection. Leon could have been the one who wrote the death threat. Do you trust this guy?”
“In an odd way, I guess I do. He’s the one who told me to investigate the gym ladies. And he cleared Travis and Condoleza.”
Deb looked skeptical. “He could be covering for them.”
“I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have waited so long to tell me if that’s the case. He’s got a different set of morals, but he seems to stick by them.”
One of the limousine’s doors opened and a large, bald-headed white man stepped out.
Claire grabbed Deb’s arm. “That’s Leon’s bodyguard. I recognize him. Hide the gun.”
“I hope I can trust your judgment.” Deb unclipped the leather gun case from her belt and slipped it under her seat.