Dead in Hog Heaven (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Three) Read online

  "A diamond mine!"

  "Yeah." Now it was his turn to jump up and pace out his thoughts. "Remember yesterday when we went out to my place and I showed you the dirt work I was so curious about? I told you one of my first thoughts was that it was some kind of mining claim. I even thought about diamonds, but shot down my own theory, because I couldn't find any proof for it. Now here, voila, a diamond."

  He picked the stone up and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "Coincidence? You bet, but I'm not sure coincidence counts when murder is involved. I think we're on to something, Thea."

  "As in...?"

  "Well, maybe the person who's looking for this," he poked the innocuous stone with his fingertip, "doesn't want anybody to know that the diamond exists. Maybe Opal found the stone."

  "Found? Where?"

  "Out on her land somewhere. And the killer didn't want her or anyone else to know it was there, or that there might be more."

  "Because she was going to broadcast the news?"

  "Or wanted a piece of the pie."

  "But it's all family, Max. Clyde, Opal, Ronnie Mae and Dan. Opal even gave Ronnie Mae and Dan some land; they're building a house on it. Or were. Wouldn't they be in on this together?"

  "Not necessarily. I always thought there was some big secret Danny and Ronnie Mae were trying to protect. Now Opal is dead, and Ronnie Mae, too. Both murdered. That leaves Dan Lorenzo again. Coincidence? I don't think so. I think he's in this up to his neck, Thea. Maybe he has a partner of some kind, I don't know, but as far as I'm concerned, your first instincts were right as far as Dan's concerned."

  His theory also left Clyde, I thought dismally, but I refused to believe he could have had any part in his wife's death. His heartbreaking efforts to make Opal "more comfortable" in her death, straightening her clothes, smoothing her hair, would remain with me forever and, I supposed, bring tears to my eyes every time I thought of it, as they did now.

  "What... what about Clyde?" I felt I had to put his name out there.

  "I don't know, Thea. He could be mixed up in it, too."

  "But he couldn't have killed Opal. Believe me, I know that as fact," I insisted.

  "Maybe not, but he might know more than he's letting on."

  Could I accept that much guilt on his part? I think I had to, I'd even wondered as much myself. Wondered why he was so willing to take my side, believe in my innocence.

  Dan was another story. I could easily see him as the villain. Now I was more certain than ever. But to kill his own wife? I shuddered.

  "Oh, Max, it all sounds preposterous. We're basing so much on assumption. We could be totally wrong. What if the diamond has nothing to do with this? What if it's just a specimen Opal collected years ago?"

  "And kept wrapped in a gum wrapper in a bowl of agates? I don't think so."

  "But how does Ronnie Mae fit in to all of this?"

  "I don't know. I just know that instinct, intuition, whatever you want to call it, has played a big part in my success as an oilman so I pay attention to it. I think we're right about our general assumption even if the details are fuzzy."

  Max was revved up. He couldn't sit still. He emptied the wine and got another bottle from his truck as if he were some kind of prairie sommelier with a never-ending stash. He poured us each a glass and took another bagel.

  "The first thing I need to do," he said between bites, "is find out who owns the mineral rights on the Bodie land and check again to see if anyone has filed a claim. I can look it up easily enough."

  "Well, I think the first thing we should do is get a positive identification on this stone, Max. Then when we have our interview with the sheriff at one o'clock, we can hand it to him as a known diamond, and dump the whole sorry mess in his lap. Do you think it will be enough to clear me?" I desperately wanted off the top spot on the suspect list.

  "It will certainly deflect their attention from you to Dan Lorenzo where it belongs, and in the meantime I'll see what I can find out about the leases, and Opal's will. The sooner we can present Rusty with hard evidence that there's a top secret mining claim in the works on Bodie's land, the better it will be for you."

  "How long will it take to do the tests on the stone? Are you sure you can get back here by one o'clock?"

  "No problem, I'll be back in plenty of time."

  I suppose it was all that wine that cast such a beautiful glow of optimism over both of us. It was certainly a factor in our never considering for even a moment that we were tampering with evidence.

  Chapter 16

  Max and I debated the chances of the intruder trying again and decided it was only too possible. The thought of Dan Lorenzo breaking into my house a second time made my blood boil. I knew it was him, there was no other logical choice. Max thought we should spend the night at the rooms he still kept in the little Miners Hotel but that seemed like giving Dan free rein to tear my place to shreds. Instead, we decided to shore up our defenses until we could get the locks changed in the morning. We checked all the windows and Max improvised deadbolts with what tools and equipment we could scrounge from his truck. Not perfect, but I felt much more secure.

  A deputy came early in the morning to check the office for fingerprints. In his fifties, or verging on them, or maybe just looking so from years of hard work in hard weather, he was full of apologies for not getting around to the job yesterday, shaking his head in disbelief at how busy the usually moribund sheriff's office had become. "That Rusty, he had me running here, there, and everywhere once we was done at Hog Heaven. I keep telling him he oughter go in to the Commander in Rock Springs and get some help, but you know him, he's bound he can take care of this hisself." That didn't stop him from offering his handyman services when Max quizzed him about the best way to get the locks changed.

  "Hell," he said, "I've even got a old lock set in my garage you can have for free. Wife got a wild hair a couple years ago that she just had to have some fancy decorator locks on the house." You could tell what he thought about that by his tone of voice. "I can do the job on my lunch break, easy."

  "Good," Max said, impatient to leave. He prepaid the deputy the more than generous amount he had offered, then said to me, "I can see I'm leaving you in good hands. I'll be back by one o'clock." He patted his pocket where the diamond was safely stashed in an empty film canister.

  I walked him to his truck. "Call me." I said in a whisper, though no one could have heard us anyway, "as soon as you get an identification."

  "I will. Stick close to the deputy, and don't do anything stupid. Okay? And be careful. I'll be back by one."

  "Yes, I promise."

  Before the deputy started to work in the office I took him to the kitchen, showed him the mustard and mayonnaise jars and asked him to check them as well as the dirty knife.

  He shook his head at the mess. "Sure looks like kids' work to me."

  "That's what I thought," I said, and I had. I just didn't tell him that I'd changed my mind. "On the other hand, I hope you have Dan Lorenzo's prints on file. I'll be really curious as to what you find here."

  "You think Danny Lorenzo did this?" There was an unmistakable note of surprise in his voice.

  "I can't imagine who else would have, unless, of course," I added quickly, "it was kids." I didn't want him questioning me about my reasons.

  He looked the kitchen over, asked a few questions about what I'd done in there since the break-in, and went back to begin work in the office. I watched him for a few minutes then said, "I understand the sheriff believes that Ronnie Mae might have been murdered."

  "That's right. Looks like someone tampered with her medication."

  "Her insulin?"

  "Can't say, Miss. You'll have to talk to the sheriff if you want to know more."

  I felt a rush of sympathy for the poor woman. How rotten to be so vulnerable, so unsuspecting. And who was better situated to doctor her medicine, or whatever had happened, than her husband? If I'd had any lingering doubts about his guilt, they were fast
disappearing.

  While the deputy began his fingerprint magic in the office I took my phone outside, even though I knew it was too early to hear from Max, and cleaned out my car. That finished, I tackled the house, scrubbing, mopping, polishing wherever the deputy indicated he was finished. Removing every trace of a foreign presence from my house was good therapy, but somehow the awful sense of violation remained. I didn't know how to rid myself of that.

  Eleven o'clock and still no word from Max. I fiddled around my office, unpacked one of the cartons sitting on the floor, hooked up my answering machine and put some more things away. The deputy had taken his gathered evidence to the sheriff's office and said he'd be back on his break to change the locks. By the time he returned I was just too antsy to sit around and wait for him to be finished.

  I put my cell phone in my purse and decided to walk to the Squash Blossom to get the book on feng shui. I also wanted to see Yvonne, see if that tenuous "friend" relationship still existed. I hoped so, I needed the good will of both Yvonne and Charlotte. But, once more, it was Jennifer who was behind the counter, looking lovely in a navy sundress trimmed with white, her glimmering hair hanging to her shoulders.

  "Hi." I plucked the Feng Shui book from the window display. "Is Yvonne here?"

  "No," she said, looking up from the small box she was unpacking. "She's at the Green River store."

  "Yvonne has another store?"

  "Sure, didn't you know? Two. A big one in Santa Fe. The one in Green River isn't really a store, just a space in the best dress store."

  So that's how she manages, I thought. The other stores must provide the meat and potatoes. I'd wondered how she could possibly make a living off a high-end store like this in such a small, isolated town. I mean, why Garnet Pass, of all places?

  Putting thought into words, I asked, "Why did she open a store here?"

  "Personally, I think she had the hots for Chet Overbeck, but there's more money around here than you'd think."

  "Wow," I said, distracted by the bracelet she pulled from a protective coating of bubble wrap. Native American jewelry had advanced far beyond the usual rough chunks of turquoise in heavy silver mountings. This was a sinewy whirl of multi-colored stones inlaid in a controlled geometric design. Spectacular.

  "These are Jimmy Viga pieces," she said, as if I should recognize the name. She pulled a beautiful matching necklace from the box, then a small manila envelope. She unbent the envelope's clasp and shook the contents into her hand. A shower of tiny, brightly colored stones poured through her fingers.

  "Shit," she said, "I thought it was a ring." Her fingers raced to keep the tiny pieces from bouncing onto the floor. I helped corral them as they skittered across the glass countertop. We scooped them into a pile.

  "What are they?"

  "Gem gravel."

  "Gem gravel?" I said, loving the exotic name. I peered closer. Brilliant chips ranging from sparkling pale to deep bits of green, red and purple, none much larger than a match head.

  "Yeah, garnets, sapphire, zircon, peridot, maybe some rubies, but most of the red ones are probably garnets or tourmalines."

  I couldn't help myself. "Any diamonds?"

  "No, this stuff comes from Burma. It's not very expensive."

  "What do you do with it?"

  "Somebody probably ordered it, or it might be for one of her artists. Yvonne commissions a lot of work. Jimmy Viga works with small stuff like this sometimes. In fact, look at this." She pulled a ring tray from the case. "Did you know there are colored diamonds?"

  "Yes, I did, but I've never seen any." The ring was exquisite latticework designed to show off the delicate hues of the brilliant stones. I couldn't resist putting it on my finger. "They're called fancies," I said, reciting one of the few pieces of diamond lore I'd retained from my reading.

  "What?"

  "They're called fancies in the trade—the colored diamonds."

  Clearly, she'd never heard of the term, and could care less. So much for my showing off. I gave her back the ring. She slipped it on her finger and watched it sparkle in the light.

  "I like diamonds much better than all the Indian stuff," she said. "A lady in Green River commissioned this ring. Yvonne's been trying to get Rusty to order one for Charlotte, but he hasn't bitten yet." Reluctantly she removed the ring and put it back in the case. She pursed her lips in a sly little smile and flashed her eyes at me. "I bet I can sell him one."

  I knew she wanted me to rise to the bait, and for the sake of my meager detecting I probably should have, but I couldn't bear the suggestive gleam in her eyes. I didn't want to know her dirty little secrets.

  When I didn't respond she funneled the small stones back into the envelope and dropped it back in the box.

  "So," I asked, "you have no trouble selling high-priced things like that?"

  "Like I said, a lot of people around here have money. Well, maybe not right here in Garnet Pass, but a lot of Rock Springs and Green River people got rich in the oil boom."

  "Umm, maybe here too," I said lightly, bringing up another subject I'd wondered about, "if Yvonne thinks the sheriff could buy a ring like that for Charlotte." I indicated the colored diamond ring. I'd looked at the price tag and would have whistled if I could.

  "Oh, the Metzgers have money, all right. Have you seen their Western art collection? Puts some of the stuff in here to shame. Most of it comes from Charlotte's family. At least, I know Ivar gave her the Charlie Russell bronze." Again, she had that smug little grin on her face like a tabby who's discovered a big pool of cream ready for the lapping. " He's really cute, even if he is old." She tossed her hair, unconsciously preening. I believe she thought she had all the men in town under her thumb. And maybe she did. But not Max, I told myself firmly.

  "Did you know Ronnie Mae well?" It was a rough segue, but I wanted to get off the subject of men.

  "What a bitch!" None of this don't-speak-poorly-of-the-dead for her. Not that I hadn't heard this comment before.

  "She started knocking me around one night in the Lodestone, thought I was making eyes at Danny. Can you imagine? As if anyone would be interested in that loser besides her."

  "What did she do?" I asked, unable to fathom the idea of cool, beautiful Jennifer in a bar brawl. It was a picture to warm my heart.

  "She threw a Vodka Collins on me, so I threw my drink on her. Then she grabbed my hair, and that really pissed me off. I slugged her. I would have cleaned her clock if Max hadn't stepped in to stop it."

  Max! What was he doing there? Had he been with her?

  She read the alarm on my face and gave me that little cat shit grin again. I wanted to plaster her myself.

  I gathered my cool and said casually, if a tad cattily, "Well, she's out of the way now, isn't she? Did you hear anything more about how she died? You were right there when she passed out, weren't you?"

  Her eyes widened, and she swung her amber hair back nervously, like a frightened colt.

  "I was there, too," I said. I didn't want her to get so skittish that she wouldn't talk. "I didn't see anything unusual, but you were much closer, kneeling beside her. Do you think she was dead then? Or did it happen later?"

  Jennifer clearly wasn't happy talking about this with me. Was she remembering what Elton Rydell had said about serial killers and didn't want to risk anything as far as I was concerned, or was she involved in this mess herself? She looked frightened. To restore her chattiness, I handed her a juicy piece of gossip she might enjoy. "I did hear this morning that they think someone tampered with Ronnie Mae's medications."

  Jennifer stared at me in wide-eyed horror. All the color drained from her face, she swayed, and I thought she was going to faint.

  Chapter 17

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  "All right?" Jennifer glared at me, quickly regaining her composure. '"What do you mean?" Her fingers gripping the edge of the counter with white-knuckled intensity belied her words.

  "Sorry," I said. "I just thought you looked
awfully pale there for a minute." I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. I hadn't expected such a full-blown reaction to my revelation. She obviously knew something about Ronnie Mae's death. How did this tie in with Max's theory about a diamond find? How could Jennifer fit in with that? Maybe she was having an affair with Dan. Maybe they were partners. And what about Opal? Did she hate Opal as much as she hated Ronnie Mae? Enough to kill her? Even if I could find a motive could I place Jennifer at Hog Heaven that morning? I certainly hadn't seen her, but then I hadn't seen anybody before finding Opal. She could have been with Danny in his trailer.

  I handed her the Feng Shui book. "You can ring this up for me," I said, and turned away to browse the store, afraid the thoughts that swirled through my mind might be visible on my face.

  I strolled unseeing past displays of pottery and basketwork.

  Thinking. I had a hard time visualizing Jennifer with Dan Lorenzo. He just didn't seem her type. I think she liked the jingle of coins too much to take up with him. But then, wasn't that what this was all about, anyway? Money. Lots of money. What was it she had said just a few minutes ago? "I like diamonds much more than Indian jewelry," or something close to that. A harmless statement, one that most any woman would make. But it certainly resonated in this context.

  I glanced at her again. She'd rung the book up and was putting it in a bag. She was so young and beautiful. Maybe she was the kind who could tamper with meds, but not that awful business with the knife. Of course, she didn't have to be the one who actually did the deed. But she might very well know who did. I was trying to formulate some more questions when the door opened and the wiry old guy who'd been with Ivar at the cafe yesterday sauntered in. He'd lost the jumpsuit, but not the sleazy look, even though he wore more respectable jeans and a clean, if well-worn, plaid shirt.

  He cocked his head when he saw me, and let his eyes roam lazily over me. "Well, hello," he said, giving the words an inflection that made it sound as if we were old friends. "Where's that old man of yours?"