Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

“I don’t know,” I said irritably. “Wade, Ray, the man in the moon. Apparently, Marla has been with them all. I’m going out to the Harper Ranch today to see if Sandra knows anything.”

“After what’s happened between you and Wade? Maybe you should take one of my brothers with you.” She took a sip of her drink. Her shiny lips left a reddish-orange crescent on the side of her cup.

“I know Wade’s schedule,” I said. “He’s usually not around the house in the late afternoon. I’ll drop by then. Now, help me think of a way to find this Hart woman.”

She leaned back in the rose-colored executive chair, her dark eyes amused. “I’d rather hear about what happened last night with you and Chief Ortiz. Miguel says the station house is just buzzing.”

“Miguel ought to mind his own business and quit gossiping like an old biddy.”

“You know, you’re going to be wearing a bandage around your whole body when Ortiz finds out you have this information.”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” I drained my cup. Maybe an overload of caffeine would make the aspirin work faster. “Now think. Where would you go if you were taking blackmail money?”

“You’re not certain she is, though.”

“No, but it looks like it. What would you do?”

“To tell you the truth, I’d get as far away from the scene of the crime, or whatever you call it, as I could.”

“That’s what I thought.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “But where?”

“Stop that,” she said automatically. I continued to chew. “Or I would stay as close as possible to the person paying me my money.”

“Oh,” I said, deflated. “I never thought about that.”

“You sure this Suzanne wasn’t someone associated with the co-op? Maybe she worked with Marla at Trigger’s.”

“Of course,” I said, hitting the desk. “That is so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. I’ll go ask Floyd if she was an ex-employee.”

“Do you think he’ll tell you?” Elvia said dubiously. “And do you really want anyone to know you’re asking about her? You don’t know who’s involved with this. Don’t forget why Ortiz spent the night at your house last night.”

“Okay, Watson, then you do it.”

“Oh, no,” she said, holding up a coral-nailed hand. “I’m not going to some country-western bar and play Charlie’s Angels.”

I picked up her phone and sat it in front of her. “You don’t have to move out of this office. Call him. Pretend you’re her sister or something.”

Elvia’s face looked interested but wary. “That’s a possibility. But not her sister. That’s information he could know.” She tapped a long nail on her tiny cup, then pointed at me. “I have it. Her bank. I’ll say she has some money coming to her and we don’t have her new address. Give me Trigger’s number.”

Within three minutes we were a tiny bit closer to finding Suzanne Hart. Elvia’s hunch was right. She did work at Trigger’s about nine or ten months ago. Floyd sent her last paycheck to a post office box in Salinas. I grabbed the phone and dialed information in Salinas. No listing for a Suzanne Hart.

“Well, that’s that.” I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Now what?”

“Stake out the post office?” Elvia suggested.

“For a whole month? Who knows when she collects her mail?” I inspected my bandage. It was already looking a bit grungy. I picked at the graying edges of the tape. “I could go up there, I guess. If she’s a cocktail waitress, chances are she’s still doing that. How many bars can there be in Salinas?”

“You’re going to cruise the bars looking for her?” Elvia shook her head and rolled her napkin into a ball. “That sounds appealing.”

“What else can I do?”

“Dare I suggest you take this information to the police?”

“Forget it, Elvia. I told you, I’m going to find her first. Then the police can have her.” I pointed my finger at her. “And you better not rat on me.”

“I won’t,” she said. “But I don’t like it.”

“You never like anything I do.”

“And that’s never stopped you before.”

“I’ve got to go. I want to go see Sandra while Wade isn’t there. I’ll probably leave tomorrow morning for Salinas. Hopefully, I won’t have to spend the night there, but don’t get worried if I’m not back until the next day.”

“I always worry, gringa,” she said. “Drive careful. Be careful.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, dodging the napkin ball she threw at me.

It had been a couple of months since I’d visited the Harper Ranch. Driving under the wrought-iron arch with the “Lazy J-Flying H” brand felt familiar but discomforting, like talking to someone you haven’t seen since high school. The oak trees lining the long driveway, planted by their dad, John, almost twenty years ago, dappled the truck as I drove past. A passel of young Hispanic kids played on a new swing-set in front of the ranch’s original house, where Jack and I had lived. A pretty young woman I assumed was their mother sat in a lounge chair under a tree, reading a newspaper. It surprised me until I remembered Sandra telling me that they’d rented the house to their new foreman. I wondered if the foreman’s wife had trouble with the pantry door sticking.

Sandra sat in a brown wicker chair on the long front porch of the new house, a six-bedroom two-story built by Jack’s dad when beef prices were high. Her face lit up when she looked up from her needlework, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t seen her since the craft festival. Though I never minded the isolation of the ranch, I knew it was lonely for Sandra.

“Hey, stranger,” she called and gestured at the matching chair next to her. “What brings you around here?”

“Just thought I’d drop by and see how you all were doing. Brought the money Mom Harper made for the baby quilts at the festival.”

“Good,” Sandra said, looking back down at her counted-cross-stitch sampler. “You missed her, though. She went to town with Mrs. Larson