1st Impressions Page 12

  “The sheriff should be stopping by soon, Dunk. My advice to you is to be totally up front with him on this. The only thing he hates worse than a criminal, is somebody who lies to him. You definitely don’t want to get on his bad side. You catch what I’m saying here, Dunk?”

  He nodded slowly, the angry specks in his eyes smoldering.

  I left, hoping I hadn’t gone too far before Booker could get to him. I decided to give Booker a call from the pay phone in front of McGregors and let him know what I’d learned. Naturally he was out, and the best I could do was leave a brief message on his voice mail. I barely got to the part about Dunk when I was cut off. Hopefully it would be enough to get him started on interviewing the boys. I was pretty much convinced that the Three Musketeers, as Jessie called them, had been involved in the arson. I still didn’t know how or even if it tied in with Trinidad’s murder, but at least I was making progress.

  I walked for about a block, trying to make up my mind about whether to head to the fort or to go back over to question Tommy. I also needed to check up on Ed Beechcomb’s whereabouts Wednesday and Friday, and even though it wouldn’t prove much, I was dying to get a look at Alan Pinkerton’s team jacket to see if it was torn. The missing formaldehyde still had me puzzled. I’d begun to imagine all sorts of yucky things floating in glass jars. My first assumption about someone wanting to preserve Trinidad’s privates may have been a little rash, but I couldn’t help thinking that someone was preserving something somewhere. I thought of all those notices on the bulletin board at McGregors about lost animals and had to shake my head to get rid of the ghastly image that floated up.

  While I stood on the sidewalk pondering my choices, the wail of an ambulance siren sounded out on Highway One. It approached from the south and I expected the noise to pass right on by, on its way to an accident somewhere up the highway. I was surprised when the ambulance turned into Cedar Hills and went screaming down Main Street, right past me. Right behind it came a police car, its lights and siren adding to the din. Sirens were beginning to become a regular sound in Cedar Hills. For some reason, I found myself following the sirens.

  It didn’t take long to catch up to them, and by the time I got there, a crowd had gathered. Along the side of the old, seldom-used road leading to North Lake, a green Cadillac had gone off the road into a ditch. The car lay on its side, and paramedics were working to free the trapped driver. I looked around for someone I knew in the crowd and spotted Tommy, shirtless under Levi’s coveralls.

  “What happened?” I asked, coming up beside him.

  “Guy’s trapped inside that old Cadillac down there. Must’ve been there all night. Probably drunk as a skunk and run himself off the road.”

  “How do you know he’s been there since last night?”

  “On account of because his lights are still on and them old classics don’t have the automatic headlights like the new cars,” Tommy said, looking at me like I was an idiot.

  “Oh.”

  “Mrs. Townsend was walking Bonkers this morning and the dog started going crazy when they got near that embankment. She could hear the guy moaning and stuff, and she run all the way back home to call the police. Me and Mr. Townsend come back here with her, but we couldn’t budge the guy. He’s caught purdy good by the steerin’ wheel and can’t get out.”

  “Any idea who it is?” I asked.

  “Some old geezer. Never seen him before. Must have plenty of money though, be drivin’ an old classic Caddie like that. Them things is pricey. Course, it won’t be worth much now. It musta rolled a couple of times before it hit bottom. It’s banged up real good.”

  Another police car came thundering to a stop, and I was surprised to see Martha and her new partner climb out to join the others. A few minutes later, the crowd broke into cheers as an elderly man was finally freed and lifted onto a stretcher. He was clearly agitated, one arm gesticulating weakly to the officers while he was being hefted up the embankment, the other arm an improbable angle. I could hear him wailing but couldn’t quite make out the words.

  Once the ambulance whisked him away, the crowd began to thin, and Tommy disappeared before I could question him further. I knew if I stuck around long enough, Martha would spot me and come over. I wasn’t sure if I was up to talking about last night, but I still wanted to fill her in on my findings and get her opinion. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.

  “How’s my favorite detective?” she asked, flashing a contagious grin.

  “Pretty good, considering. What’s the story here?” I said, indicating the crash site.

  “Looks like the guy got run off the road. Even in his condition, he’s madder than hell. Says he was minding his own business and this red sports car came up behind him flashing its lights, tapping his bumper, finally pushing him right off the road. It sounded pretty wild, except sure enough there’s red paint on the driver’s side of the car. It’s amazing he wasn’t hurt worse. These old cars don’t have airbags. The steering column collapsed, trapping him in his seat. His left arm was broken so he couldn’t reach to move the seat back. Once they figured that out, getting him out was pretty easy.”

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “Just a tourist, I guess. He had California plates, so I’m assuming that. Actually, I should say plate. The rear one is missing.”

  “Was it on there before the accident?”

  “How would I know, Cass? Why?”

  I quickly told her my theory about the Hendersons’ missing sign, the missing formaldehyde, and the possibility that whoever was committing the crimes in town was taking trophies from each crime scene.

  “You telling me you think the fire and Trinidad’s murder were committed by the same perp, and now this accident too? I don’t know, Cass. I mean, that license plate could have been lost before. Or maybe it came off when it rolled. And besides,” she went on, “what’s the motive? I just don’t see it. This guy was passing through. At least as far as we know. People don’t just go out and randomly commit crimes like this. There’s no pattern. Or if there is, I sure as hell don’t see it. What’s the common link between Erica’s uncle, the Hendersons and this guy? Find me that and I’ll buy it.” I wondered vaguely if this guy had been in town long enough to meet Betty Beechcomb and shook my head.

  Even though she made sense, I found myself getting angry with Martha. I didn’t have all the answers, but I at least expected her to take my questions halfway seriously.

  Our conversation was interrupted by shouts about two hundred feet farther down the road. One of the officers was waving and shouting excitedly. We raced over with the others and I could finally make out what he was saying.

  “There’s another one down here! And it’s red!”

  I stood by, heart pounding, as the cops scrambled down the embankment where the crumpled body of a red Miata lay crushed against the rocks. All I could think of was Erica.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was probably less than a minute before it was clear that no one was trapped inside, but it felt like an eternity. After searching the area, in case the driver had been thrown from the wreckage, most of the cops returned to the side of the road where I stood unable to move.

  “There’s green paint on the passenger’s side of the Miata that sure looks like the color of that Caddy back there,” Martha said. “I guess the man was telling the truth.”

  “What about the license plates?” I said.

  “They’re both there,” Martha said, not looking at me. At least she had checked.

  “Martha, I think that Miata is Erica’s.” I shrugged. “She’s got one just like it. It’s been parked at the marina and I didn’t see it this morning, unless she moved it to the lodge. Do you think Erica could have—?”

  “Erica never left her room last night.” She cut me off. “There’s no way in the world she’s involved in this, okay? She was still sleeping when I left her this morning.”

  My heart, which had been racing with anxiety, plummeted. It was
as if my best friend had just sucker-punched me. “Oh,” I said, “well, thank God. It must be some other Miata.” My words sounded far away, as if spoken by someone else in a tunnel. I felt myself moving away, my feet going faster and faster until I realized I was running.

  “Hey! Cassie, wait up!” Martha grabbed my elbow. “Slow down, damnit, you’re making me look bad.” I slowed to a walk, turning away from her, refusing to let her see the tears which had welled up.

  “Would you like to tell me what the hell’s gotten into you?” she asked, tugging again at my elbow.

  “Fuck off,” I said, pushing her away.

  There was a stunned silence.

  “Fuck off?” she finally said, dumbstruck. “You’re telling me to fuck off?” Her voice had risen at least two notches. I continued to walk, wishing she’d just turn back. She kept pace beside me, the silence between us building unbearably. At last, I stopped, and wheeled on her. “Look, this is my problem, okay? You can sleep with anyone you want to. I made a mistake, that’s all. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I told you to fuck off. Let’s just forget it.”

  Martha was staring at me, her big brown eyes looking mortally wounded.

  “You think I slept with Erica? Is that it? You think I slept with the first woman you’ve even shown the slightest little interest in in over three years? That’s what you think of your best friend?” Her voice had reached dangerous decibels and I wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t about to deck me.

  “You just said you did,” I stammered.

  “No, Cass. That’s what you heard. That’s the conclusion you jumped to. Yes, I spent the night in Erica’s motel room. In fact, we drank ourselves silly. Stayed up half the night talking. About you, asshole. The woman is totally smitten. Not with me, you dumbfuck. With you.” Martha was so mad her face had turned crimson and her brown eyes flashed angrily.

  I stood looking at her helplessly and she turned to leave. “Please don’t walk away right now,” I said, my voice weak with emotion.

  “You’ve really pissed me off here, kiddo. I’m hurt, okay?” She stood, her back to me, her fists bunched at her sides.

  “I’m really sorry, Martha. I swear to you. I don’t know what else to say. I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  She turned, and it broke my heart to see she was crying. She held her arms open and I hugged her with all the strength I had. We stood there long enough to make the passersby wonder. Long enough to earn a whistle from one of her colleagues way down the road.

  Finally, I broke away. “You really talked about me?” I asked, rubbing the tears off my face with my sleeve.

  “All fucking night.” She grinned. “That girl has got it bad for you, babe. I just hope you get your damned act together before you screw it up. That’s twice in two days you’ve gone off half-cocked, you know.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It must be hormonal. I’ve spent three years ignoring the damn things and now all of the sudden they’re raging out of control.”

  We started walking back toward the others, and I could see that our favorite person, Sergeant Grimes, had joined the other officers.

  “Listen,” Martha said. “You better go warn Erica that a Miata’s been found and that Dickhead Grimes is on the scene. God help her if it does turn out to be hers. The registration’s missing, but it won’t take them long to identify it. I can vouch for her whereabouts, but I’d rather not have to. The man just lies in wait for me. If you jumped to the conclusion that we were sleeping together, I can just imagine what Grimes is going to think.”

  Feeling like a total heel, and yet at the same time strangely exhilarated, I jogged all the way to the Cedar Hills Lodge, hoping I wasn’t too late to find Erica.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was beginning to think I’d missed her when finally a disheveled Erica opened the door a crack, peering out with what was clearly a whale of a hangover. Her eyes were red and watery, and her hair stuck out in various directions, but she was still incredibly beautiful.

  “You look like hell,” I said. “What did Martha do, try to drink you under the table?”

  “Thank you very much,” she said, stepping aside and ushering me into the room. She shuffled back toward her bed and sat down with a plop. She caught me smiling at her and scowled. “What?” she demanded.

  “You tried to outdrink her, didn’t you?”

  In answer, she held her head between both palms and began massaging her temples.

  “I’ve done that a couple of times myself,” I said. “It never works. Martha has an incredible capacity for food and liquor. And she never really gets drunk. Just happy. Here, let me do that.”

  Erica had begun rubbing her neck and I moved behind her, using my fingers to knead the knotted muscles, massaging the tense spots, working my way to her head and back down again until I felt her finally relax. Touching her sent surges of electricity rippling through my body and I had to steady myself to keep from swaying.

  “Better?” I asked.

  Her answer was something between a purr and a warble.

  “About last night,” I started, but she reached up, her hands covering mine.

  “Please don’t say one word about that.” She pulled me down on the bed beside her, cupping my face with her slender fingers. “You were wrong and so was I. Okay? So we’re even. So let’s forget it.” She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. Swarms of giant butterflies took flight, threatening to make off with my heart.

  “You have no idea how you make me feel,” I whispered.

  “Shhh,” she whispered back, pulling me over on top of her. Our lips, sensuous and wet, fit together in a kiss like no other I’d experienced. Spasms of pleasure shot down my body, and I gave in to the falling sensation I’d been fighting for so long. The relief was unimaginable. Eyes closed, I searched her face with my fingers, tracing her nose, her smooth cheeks, her full lips, trailing my hands down the soft skin of her neck and sliding my hand inside the warm, terry robe.

  A low moan escaped her lips as I reached her nipple, its velvety bud hard in my palm. Kissing her, my own nipples grew hard in response. I didn’t want to leave her mouth, yet I found myself sliding downwards, circling her breasts with my tongue, taking first one, then the other, sucking them until she gasped.

  For a moment, I feared that that was it, but Erica began to move in a way that caused me to tremble, and I knew we’d just begun.

  Slowly, while we kissed, I helped her unbutton my blouse. She began to kiss my breasts, rolling me over onto my back, her fingers deftly sliding my pants down over my hips. It was clear she’d done this before but I scarcely cared, secretly praising whichever lover had taught her to move like that, down my belly toward the wetness between my legs.

  She was doing to me what I’d always done to others, and whatever weak protest I might have made got lost in my own pleasure.

  She was everywhere and I couldn’t concentrate, I didn’t want to. Her fingers slid in effortlessly, thrusting in rhythm with her own body as she straddled my leg. We moved together, unafraid, unaware of anything but each other.

  What had begun as gentle lovemaking turned suddenly fierce and demanding. We were taking each other with reckless, unbridled passion. I buried myself in her, tasting the warm, tangy seawater against my tongue. I was drowning in her and did not care. She was drowning with me.

  There was no part of her I did not explore, no part of me not pulsing with desire. Each time I reached what I thought was the final pinnacle, my heart hammering in my chest, my lungs gasping for air, she’d wait just a minute and then slowly, tortuously, start to move again. And again, our dance would begin.

  I had never known a woman who could match me orgasm for orgasm. Never known for myself how far I could go. Erica, it seemed, was intent on breaking me, and I was not inclined to stop her.

  But it was Erica who finally whispered, “Enough!” after one frenzied moment in which both of us, fingers deep inside, climaxed together. I collapsed on top of her, our
sweaty bodies pressed together, our hearts thundering a percussive duet. I buried my face in her hair, breathed in the raw, sexy perfume of her skin, as content as I’d ever been.

  We must have drifted off, although it couldn’t have been for long. I awoke with a start at the piercing shriek of a siren shattering the calm, jerking me back into reality. I felt Erica stroking my hair, letting her long fingers slide down my cheek, my neck, circling my breast before continuing downward.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when I pulled away.

  “I just remembered why I came to see you.”

  “You mean you didn’t come to seduce me?” She pulled me back toward her, her eyes laughing. I tried murmuring something about her Miata but the words got lost in a kiss so long and passionate that by the time it was over both of our bodies were again soaked in sweat, our throats hoarse from our own cries and our nerves so sensitive that the slightest touch threatened to send us straight to the highest peak again.

  In the end, it was Erica who pulled us up from our incredible passion, getting out of bed for a glass of water.

  “I think we’ve just discovered the cure for a hangover,” she said, laughing.

  “In that case,” I replied, “let’s get drunk every day.”

  She laughed again, her deep sexy voice spreading through me like warm syrup. “What was that you said about my Miata?” She climbed back onto the bed, handing me the glass of water which I gulped gratefully.

  I forced myself to sit up. All of my muscles seemed to be in some gelatinous state, and I had to cross my arms just to hold myself together. My insides hummed but my extremities were shaky as hell. Doing my best to keep from touching her as I spoke, and failing a good deal of the time, I told her about the morning’s events, starting with what I’d learned from Jess’s daughter about the fort, my intimidation of Dunk at McGregors and ending with the two cars found over the embankment. After some hesitation, I also told her about my scene with Martha, which she found hilariously amusing.