Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (46 page)

Laura did, stretching the corner over the mattress.

“So he didn’t seem to have anything on his mind? Nothing he was worried about?”

“Nope. Although he said his father was dying, and that’s why he came out here. I mentioned that, didn’t I?”

Laura felt something inside her go still. She tried to remember what the sister, Ruby Ballantine said, but couldn’t.

She thought Ruby said he wasn’t going to bother to come. Or he didn’t reply. Something like that. “Was he close to his father?”

“I don’t think he liked him very much. Just the impression I got, like he felt it was his duty as a son to come out and see him before he died.”

“Did he go see him?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t seem to leave this canyon from the moment he got here.” She added hastily, “Of course I wouldn’t know, since I don’t keep track of my guests’ comings and goings.”

“Did he mention his sister?”

“I don’t think so. Mostly he was talking about how rich his father was. Of course with him, it couldn’t just be that he was well-off.
His
dad had to be in the Forbes Top 100.”

“Did he say how his father made his money?” Laura asked.

“He said, venture capitalist. I don’t know what that is, do you?”

Laura knew, vaguely. “I think it’s someone with capital who will help a promising business get its start. Or infuse money into a business that’s not doing well.”

“Oh, yeah. And then they fire a bunch of people and put the company in bankruptcy?”

“Could be.”

“Sounds like the father was as big a liar as his son. Doing something like that where working people are involved.” She launched into a story about her uncle’s job in Wisconsin, and how the company first busted the union and then closed the plant.

Laura thought about the plain woman who ran the tiny shop on 4th Avenue. The place had been little bigger than a closet. Her clothes weren’t fashionable, either. But then you couldn’t pigeonhole what rich looked like.

“He told me his father owned a baseball team.”

“Can you remember which one?”

“Nope. I didn’t believe a word of it. Said he had a private jet, too.”

Laura thought that Sean Perrin could have taken advantage of that private jet when he was on the run with Aurora Johnson.

Even though apparently, Aurora wasn’t on the run at all.

Laura was getting frustrated. She tried to keep it out of her voice. “Was there anything he said that you believed?”

Barbara Sheehey folded her arms. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Laura found Cody washing down the wooden deck. He seemed a little brighter today—a little more used to the idea that his friend Sean Perrin was gone.

“So did you track down the guy who killed him?” Cody asked.

“Not yet. I could still use your help.”

“Is the guy who killed him, like, an untouchable? One of those gangsters who have the fix in with the police? I hear they can buy off anybody. Those Las Vegas criminals.”

“Did Sean tell you that?”

He turned off the hose and grabbed a push broom to push the excess water off the planks and into the little ravine down below. “He didn’t have to tell me that. That’s the way it is with the mob. Everyone knows that. He just got in with the wrong people.”

“He said that?”

“Uh-huh.” He shoved the broom hard and the water flew.

“Other than his sister, did he mention his family at all?”

“Yeah. He said they’re rich. His father owned a piece of the San Diego Padres. But his father didn’t want anything to do with him—he disowned him. Which is sad. You should’ve seen his house.”

“His house?”

“Yeah. He showed me a picture of it, in Tucson. It’s like this mansion on a hill.”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah, on his phone.”

And of course his phone was gone. “What did it look like?”

Cody described it, in depth. A desert hill with a road winding up it (“like those pictures you see of a mountain with the road going up to a dragon’s lair”) to a large house.

Laura had seen photos like that; a few houses in the Tucson Mountains would fit that description. Houses owned by people who thought they were King of the Hill. He could have swiped it off Google Images.

It suddenly occurred to her—how could she have missed it?—that Sean Perrin was exactly the kind of guy who would love Facebook. He could be anything he wanted to be, and tell as many stories as he wanted to. “Did Sean have a Facebook page?”

Cody stopped sweeping and leaned on the broomstick. “I don’t know. My Mom doesn’t want me to be on Facebook. Plus, as you can see, the Internet capability sucks around here.”

Terry Delmonte drove in just as Laura was leaving. Laura backed up and rolled her window down. “Terry, you mind if I ask you a few more questions?”

Terry parked and they took a walk. Terry said she was early so she had a little time.

But Laura heard nothing new. Yes, Sean had bragged about his wealthy father, and showed her the photo of the house on the hill. The only thing new she learned was one thing Sean had mentioned to her the first day they’d met. She’d asked him what brought him to Madera Canyon and he’d told her how he used to go there as a kid. He said when he got the call about his father, he decided that he might as well stay in Madera and drive in to town to see him.

“Did he go see him?”

“I don’t know.” She took a drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “That was the plan, though.”

“You say he got a call to come down here?”

“Uh-huh. Said his dad was ‘on his last legs.’”

Laura drove out of the canyon and called Anthony. He answered on the first ring. “Do you remember when we interviewed Ruby Ballantine?” She looked down at her notes from that day. “She said she never asked Sean to come down here.”

“That’s what she said.”

“I talked to Terry Delmonte and she said he told her he got a call to come down here, that his dad was ‘on his last legs.’”

Silence on Anthony’s end.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Anthony said, “Ruby was surprised when we said he was here.”

“She
seemed
surprised.” Laura thought back to their interview. “Ruby did say she told him once about her father—a while ago—and he never replied.”

“A while ago,” Anthony said. “What do you think? She summoned him?”

“That’s what he told Terry Delmonte.”

“Yeah, but can we believe anything he said?”

Laura thought about it. “We have to at least factor it in. Terry said his father was a wealthy man.” She almost winced when she said it. “According to Terry, he lives like a king on one of those hills outside Tucson.”

“And Terry heard this from … ?”

“Sean Perrin.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, you find out where the father lives when he’s not on a breathing tube in the hospital, and I’ll wrap up on the Decker case. Call me if he lives in a mansion on a hill, okay?”

It was lunchtime so Laura headed into Continental in the valley and found a place for lunch. The wide spot in the road at the edge of a pecan orchard she remembered from years ago had morphed into a medical center. Lots of housing complexes and townhouses for the elderly, and plenty of specialists to provide services.

One of the nice things? A new coffee shop had just opened. Better yet? It had Internet service.

Laura always carried her laptop, which she preferred to do research on as opposed to her phone.

The place was almost empty. She managed to snare Wi-Fi and got to looking. She didn’t even have the first name of Ruby’s husband, but she knew the last. She Googled Ruby Ballantine.

At the top of results was a mention of her store, All Souls Shoppe. Its location, hours—in the Internet yellow pages.

She had Ruby’s address in her notes: 14509 Candelaria Way. She punched it in and it came up on Google Maps.

The house
was
in the Tucson Mountains.

The house
was
all by itself.

The road to the house consisted of two concentric circles, the lower one straightening out and meeting up with Gates Pass Road.

She switched to Satellite, although she hardly needed to. It was easy to see the rise in elevation. She switched again, this time to Street View.

Yup. Palace.

Sean Perrin had told the truth for once.

It turned out Sean did have a Facebook page. For some reason, it was still up. Perhaps because no one had notified Facebook of his death. Perhaps because he didn’t seem to have any real friends.

Apparently, his sister Ruby hadn’t bothered to post on his page.

His timeline was filled with the usual crap—sharing photos. He favored Grumpy Cat and muscle cars—and photos of Hollywood stars, all of whom he knew. “My Pal Johnny Depp.” “I told Beyonce she looks like herself in this pic.”

In Photos there were pictures of his fake wife and his two fake kids. The same ones he had in his apartment.

In fact, Sean’s photo of
himself
wasn’t Sean. It was a handsome man, same coloring—the guy looked like a cross between Bradley Cooper and Matthew McConaughey.

He also had a photo of his childhood home. Laura recognized it immediately; it was the house on Candelaria Way. His father’s house.

But there was no photo of his shabby apartment in Las Vegas. Instead, he lived in a villa. Typical nouveau Vegas: cobblestone drive, stucco fountain, massive house complete with palms and a new Corvette. Maybe he got it from an ad.