Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery Page 2

  Her heart filled. Yes, she needed this time alone with him.

  And to find her destination wedding location.

  Despite her mother’s wishes.

  Her mother, Serefina, expected her to get married at St. Peter and Paul’s Church in San Francisco’s North Beach. Angie’s parents, Serefina and Salvatore, as well as her four older sisters, had all been married there. How boring was that?

  Earlier, Angie had agreed to let her mother handle her engagement party so that she could plan her own wedding, without any interference. But the agreement was already becoming shaky. She had to admit, though, the engagement party was a great success. It was beautifully elaborate, and San Francisco society talked about it for two weeks afterward, which was a long time in that city. Serefina had kept the location a secret from Angie until the last moment. When Angie and Paavo walked in—they were both an unsightly mess, but that’s another story—Angie had burst into tears of joy at the sight of so many friends and relatives gathered together, and at how beautifully the Maritime Museum had been transformed into a setting reminiscent of the elegance of the gold barons and seafarers of San Francisco a century and a half ago.

  Just the thought of the party, now, made her sigh with wonder at how lovely it had been. She and Paavo had danced the night away….

  The problem, of course, with having had such a unique and successful engagement party was that the wedding was going to have to top it.

  She hadn’t mentioned this little fact to Paavo.

  But because of that, she was in full wedding-location-search mode.

  And Jackpot, Arizona, was about as unique a wedding spot as she could imagine.

  “You ready to order?” The annoying waitress stood over them, pad and paper in hand.

  Angie pulled her thoughts away from weddings to glance at the basic American menu. She ordered a turkey-and-Swiss wrap. Paavo asked for a chiliburger.

  The food came quickly, and they devoured it with equal speed. A few customers came and went, but none were Ned Paulson.

  Paavo called Ned’s business number, which went to messaging, as did Ned’s cell phone.

  “How about some dessert?” the waitress asked. Angie noticed a slight frown and could feel her scrutinizing her clothes and hair. Considering the waitress’s bad peroxide job, she should have been asking for some pointers instead.

  “No thanks,” she said, returning the perusal. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Passing through, are you?” The woman’s gaze narrowed as it leaped from one to the other.

  “We’re staying at the Ghost Hollow Guest Ranch,” Angie replied.

  “Is that so?” The waitress’s brows lifted, but she quickly composed her face. “It’s a nice place. Not too many guests out there lately, of course….”

  “Oh?” Angie said, waiting.

  “My name’s LaVerne Merritt, by the way,” the waitress said. “I’ve owned this café so long that I can remember back when the Ghost Hollow Guest Ranch was Hal Edwards’s home.”

  Angie glanced at Paavo and couldn’t help but smile—Hal Edwards’s death had been the reason for Doc’s concern. Paavo had often told her that in his investigations, the best way to learn anything was to let others do the explaining. “His home?” she asked.

  “I thought everybody knew that.” LaVerne’s mouth shifted sideways and pursed as she considered her customer’s woeful lack of knowledge. “Hal Edwards was once the richest man in the whole state. Owned all the supermarkets from Yuma to Flagstaff. Halmart stores were the Wal-Mart of Arizona—and every bit as profitable. In fact, Hal always said Wal-Mart got their name from Halmart. His home was beautiful. Everybody in town still calls it the hacienda. You’ll know why when you see it. Things have changed a bit since those days.” She frowned. “And now it’s all going to go to his son, Joey.”

  “The resort was a hacienda?” Angie asked, feeling her excitement growing about seeing the home of a man who’d once been the Sam Walton of Arizona. No wonder Doc thought there could have been something odd about his death. Excessive money and mysterious death—how often had she seen that combination since she began dating Paavo?

  “You didn’t know about that either?” LaVerne sounded surprised. “Just why did you come here?”

  Paavo jumped in. “We’re here to fish at the lake. Our contact at the boat and equipment rental suggested we stay at Ghost Hollow. He planned to meet us here, but apparently, he isn’t going to make it.”

  “Sounds like Ned Paulson,” LaVerne said. “If you want, I can phone and see what’s keeping him.”

  “No need,” Paavo said. “I’ve used my cell phone. He’s not answering.”

  “Oh. A cell phone.” LaVerne’s lips pressed together. “Those cell phones don’t always work around here, you know. And, sometimes, folks might be somewhere besides home or work. I’m usually pretty good at tracking people down. Just trying to be helpful. How about some pie while you wait? We’ve got berry, rhubarb, and peach. Homemade and fresh.”

  Both declined. “We’ll just finish our coffee,” Angie said.

  LaVerne shifted from one foot to the other. Her one eyelid sagged halfway over her eye as she said, “Suit yourself,” then headed back to the counter.

  They were about to leave when a woman entered. She stood in the doorway. Her eyes quickly scanned the customers and paused ever so slightly at the man at the counter. Then she spotted Angie and Paavo, and hurried over.

  She appeared to be in her early thirties, with shoulder-length black hair, olive skin, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes. Her dress was an umber and turquoise print, and the colorful Southwestern pattern seemed strangely at odds with her troubled demeanor.

  “Are you Paavo?” she asked when she reached them, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

  He stood. “I am.”

  As they shook hands she said, “Ned told me all about you.”

  Uh-oh, Angie thought. Paavo being a homicide inspector was something he’d hoped to keep under wraps. How many others had Ned told?

  She glanced toward LaVerne who was watching the encounter with blatant interest. Had the waitress no shame? No job to do? At the same time, the skinny, long-haired fellow abruptly got up from the counter and left the restaurant, his hand raised in a way that shielded his face. The gesture struck Angie as strange.

  The newcomer extended a hand to Angie. “You must be Paavo’s fiancée. I’m Teresa Flores.”

  Paavo invited her to sit, and she hunched down in the seat as if trying to hide.

  Angie introduced herself, but had barely finished when Teresa asked Paavo, “Has Ned been here yet?”

  “No,” Paavo said. “I was going to ask you if you knew where he was. I’ve phoned, but there was no answer.”

  “I see.” She rubbed her arms as if chilled. “I thought—”

  “What is it?” Paavo asked.

  Her eyes darted, constantly surveying the café, the street, and she clasped her hands before explaining. “We had a—a little misunderstanding. Today he’s not answering my calls. I thought that if I could see him in person …” Her smile was tense. “It was just an idea. I should leave.”

  “You’ll work things out,” Angie said, sympathetic and remembering how dreadful she felt whenever she and Paavo fought. “Should we tell Ned you were looking for him?”

  Teresa’s eyes met hers, and understanding passed between the two women. “It wouldn’t hurt.” Her gaze fell to Angie’s hand. “That’s a beautiful engagement ring. It’s different.”

  “Thank you,” Angie said, holding out her hand so Teresa could better inspect the expensive pale blue Siberian diamond.

  Teresa’s voice turned wistful. “When is the wedding?”

  That was one of the questions that gave Angie her wedding-plan blues. Until she decided where she wanted the reception to be held, she couldn’t find out what dates the place would be available. And until she found out what dates it was available, she couldn’t contact her church to reserve a time for the wedding, and until she did that …

  Bottom line, she had no idea when her wedding would be held.

  “The date isn’t quite settled yet,” she said in a strained voice.

  Paavo seemed to sink lower in his chair.

  “You’ll work it out. You’re very lucky. Both of you.” She stood. “Ned is looking forward to your visit. I’m surprised he isn’t here yet.” A worried frown crossed her face. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong. I’ve got to run.”

  Angie stilled at the sound of something odd in the woman’s voice. Her whole visit struck Angie as peculiar.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay and wait?” Paavo asked.

  “No. I’m sorry. I’ve got to get back to work—Maritza’s. It’s a Mexican restaurant. My mother and grandmother own it.” She gave a wan smile, then those exotic green eyes rested on Angie’s diamond ring once more before she hurried out the door.

  Chapter 2

  About four miles from town, Paavo turned onto a rutted macadam road. Angling toward the northwest, the landscape slowly rose. As they neared the Colorado River, the terrain grew less arid and sandy. Although far from lush, it had scrub, cacti, a mixture of rugged grasses and weeds, and even a few cottonwood trees and tamarisk. In the distance, mountains loomed with a dark, stern air of indifferent permanence.

  “This land is quite different from what we came through to get to Jackpot,” Angie remarked.

  “The greenery you see is because of a creek that runs through this area.” Paavo pointed to the left. “It’s out that way.”

  “You remember a lot, don’t you,” Angie said.

  “I’m surprised at how much,” he murmured. A crack of vulnerability, of the child he once was, came through as he said, “I guess I enjoye
d it here more than I thought.”

  Even as she smiled at his words, he seemed to push away the memories, and the serious inspector returned. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight as the car bounced and rocked. They made a steep ascent. At the crest, they saw spread out below them an unexpected valley. Dotting it, much like toy houses from a train set, stood one large home circled by cottages and other small buildings. They were looking at what was once Hal Edwards’s personal estate, his “hacienda,” as LaVerne Merritt had called it. Once they began their descent, the buildings disappeared from view.

  Nearing an open gate in a barbed wire fence, Paavo slowed. As they crossed over the gate’s cattle guard, the car vibrated and clamored with a loud metallic rattle. On the fence, a weathered sign announced, GHOST HOLLOW GUEST RANCH.

  Determination filled Paavo’s face. “Relax,” Angie said. “They way you look right now, no one will talk with you. Even the coffee shop owner asked if you were with the FBI. Remember, you’re a tourist, not a cop.”

  “Right.” His expression didn’t ease one iota.

  The SUV stopped in front of a small building with a trailer behind it. The adobe brick-and-wood-trimmed building had a small sign that read RANCH OFFICE.

  Angie stepped from the car. The sun beat down and there was no breeze. Still, as she looked around, the size and elegance of what Hal Edwards had built surprised her.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I never would have imagined such a place way out here. The Spanish architecture, the wood and adobe, is gorgeous—and the plaza looks like one in a small Mexican town.”

  A fountain made of reddish clay with a tall center spire stood spewing water in the middle of the plaza, and beyond it was the sprawling white adobe home, two-stories tall with wooden balconies on the second floor and a red-tile roof. The hacienda, she thought.

  Beside it was a newer one-story building with similar architecture.

  “It’s like something out of a travel brochure.” Angie headed toward the fountain. Listening to the water splash, just looking at it, felt cool and refreshing in the hot sun.

  “Hal Edwards was a man of good taste,” Paavo said as he examined the area.

  “Definitely.” She turned back toward the office. She blinked once, then again, but the image before her didn’t change.

  Three of the biggest, ugliest birds she’d ever seen had stepped out from behind the trailer. They stopped and gawked, as if as surprised to see her as she was to see them.

  She’d seen pictures of such birds before, and maybe one or two in a zoo, but never out in the open. They must have stood seven feet tall, and Angie was only five-two. She pointed and when she found her voice cried, “Ostriches!”

  At her cry, Paavo turned. His jaw dropped. So this, at least, was different from the way he remembered it.

  “I was expecting cows and horses,” she said. “Not gigantic birds.”

  Just then, a grizzled man of medium height sprang from the trailer. “Goddamn!” He waved his arms, swatting the air in the direction of the birds. “Get your mangy, ugly, smelly, soon-to-be-cowboy-boots hides out of my sight!”

  The beasts took several long-legged loping steps away from him but remained near.

  Ignoring them, the man approached Angie and Paavo. “Welcome to Ghost Hollow Guest Ranch.” He was thin and wiry, his gray hair long and uncombed, and his pockmarked face unshaven and bristled. Red, watery eyes observed them. “The name’s Lionel Edwards. I’m the manager here.”

  Angie and Paavo shook his hand and gave their names. Angie found the sour reek of whiskey on his breath overwhelming.

  One ostrich left the others and walked toward them. Its skin was blue, its feathers gray and brown, and its eyes were enormous shiny black balls. On the top of its head, a small tuft of feathers bent forward rather than back, almost like a cowlick. It stopped behind Lionel and peered over his shoulder first at Angie, a long while at Paavo, then at Angie again. She didn’t like the way the bird looked at her. Its eyes seemed to narrow and its long black lashes slowly blinked a couple of times.

  “Nice birdie,” she said, her voice shaky. Are ostriches friendly?

  Lionel’s head whipped back and he jumped away from it. “Dang useless beasts! Watch out that it doesn’t peck at your earrings, ma’am. They like bright objects.” Quickly, Angie covered her ears, but then she noticed the creature’s black eyes zero in on her engagement ring.

  Lionel shooed the bird away with his hat.

  “Why do you have three ostriches?” Angie asked Lionel when he faced her again.

  “Three? We got over a hunnert. All females, too. And if you can figure out why, please let me know.”

  She waited, confused, but he didn’t elaborate.

  Lionel then pointed across the plaza. “Anyways, that two-story house is where my Uncle Hal used to live. The new building is for guests. It’s got a dining room and a common room with a pool table and a bar. We’ll have a happy hour there at five, dinner after that. Behind it, you’ll find stables, a cookhouse, workers’ cabin, and maintenance building.” His rubbery, stubbled face contorted into a grimace as he warned, “Those are off-limits to you.”

  Angie and Paavo nodded.

  Lionel waved his arm toward the area behind them. “Those are the guest bungalows.” Ten cottages in a semi-circle faced the plaza. They looked well kept up, roomy, and charming. “I’ll take you to yours now.”

  As they walked, Paavo asked, “Are we the only guests here?”

  “For now. The winter folks have gone, and I like taking a break after putting up with them. Then, I didn’t do no more booking after Uncle Hal showed up dead. His ex-wife, Clarissa—Hell-on-Wheels, I call her—and his son, Joey, are here. You and your lady are the only paying customers in a while—as a special favor to Ned Paulson, you know.”

  “Hal showed up dead?” Paavo repeated.

  “Oh, yeah. Guess as newcomers you don’t know. Couple weeks ago, some Injun found Uncle Hal’s body in a cave out in the desert. Rich old guy like that, too. Just never know, do you?”

  “How did he die?” Paavo asked innocently, although Angie knew he’d heard one version already from Doc.

  Lionel shrugged. “Who knows? By the time he was found, the animals had gotten to him. I think the coroner decided he must have had a heart attack or stroke. Hell, the guy had been in bad health for years.”

  “How long was he missing?” Paavo asked.

  “About three months,” Lionel answered.

  “Three months? Didn’t you do a search?”

  “Hell, no. Why should we? Everybody just figured he’d taken off again like he’d done in the past. Before that, he’d been gone for five years. Took a couple years before we knew for certain he was alive back then. Lived like a hermit down in Mexico best anyone can tell. Then he came back here, went out to the caves, and died.”

  Angie and Paavo glanced at each other. “I see,” Paavo said. This was exactly the kind of information they were hoping to get from people in the area.

  Lionel unlocked the bungalow door and gave Paavo two keys. The cabin had a comfortable living room with Mexican-style décor and furnishings, a bedroom, bath, and a fully equipped kitchen.

  “This is lovely,” Angie said, then faced Lionel with her eyes bright. “Everything is. And hearing about Hal Edwards is fascinating!”

  “Yeah, guess so.” He offered to help Paavo carry in their luggage. Paavo headed out to the car, Lionel following, but just before he stepped from the bungalow, he turned back to Angie. “Glad to hear, ma’am, that you don’t mind staying at the ranch of a man whose body weren’t found till it weren’t nothing but a skeleton. That’s kind of rare in a woman.” He hesitated. “That, along with the other stories about this area.”

  Angie glanced toward the door, but Paavo was already down the walk near the SUV. “What other stories?”

  Rheumy eyes met hers. “This place is called Ghost Hollow, you know.”

  A chill rippled along her spine. “And I’ll bet you’re going to tell me why.”

  “It’s because of the stagecoach.” Lionel folded skinny arms as he watched her, then continued without prompting. “Years back, a stagecoach and its passengers all disappeared. The coach was carrying a shitload—I mean—a lot of money. Cash. Local folks said their ghosts could be seen out here at night, near the caves, still searching for the lost stage and their money.”