The Corpse in the Cactus Read online

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  THE DETECTIVE MAGGIE REARDON SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 2014 by Lonni Lees.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Wildside Press LLC.

  www.wildsidebooks.com

  THE DETECTIVE MAGGIE REARDON SERIES

  The Mosaic Murder

  The Corpse in the Cactus

  ALSO BY LONNI LEES

  Crawlspace

  Deranged

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Darkening Sky

  The Cactus Needle Bar wasn’t a Tucson hot spot where people went to be noticed. It was quite the opposite. Tucked away on an industrial side street, it was recessed from the sidewalk, flanked by two large warehouses. Most of the letters on the neon sign had sputtered out long ago. The owner either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  The bar stretched the length of the dimly lit room, flanked by mostly empty bar stools. The floor was scattered with sawdust, the air filled with the aroma of stale beer and despair. A tall, young man sat at the far end, facing the wall and nursing his drink. A woman wore a face that told a story of too many years and too many drinks. She sat at the bar trying to make eye contact with the two men playing pool in hopes of not having to spend another night in an empty bed. The sound of clacking pool balls competed with the country music blaring from the jukebox.

  An older man and a young woman sat at a table at the opposite corner. His eyes would dart uneasily around the room, then he’d take another slug of his drink and lower his head as she leaned into him. His spending what little money they had on alcohol bothered her. Even though it helped calm him it just wasn’t right. Not when there was no food in their stomachs. She knew that much but said nothing. Keeping her thoughts to herself was the safest. He made the rules and she obeyed them. For the most part anyway. That was just how it was.

  The pool players finished their game. The one with the beer belly walked over to the bar for a refill and tossed a pick-up line staler than his breath toward the woman on the bar stool. She smiled as he eased closer to her. The other man, unshaven with an awkward gait and jangling spurs on his boots, walked over to the table where the couple sat in the shadows. Ignoring the man, he smiled down at the young woman and tipped his Stetson hat, reaching out his hand. A sad song played on the jukebox, perfect for dancing and holding a warm body close to his.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

  She was afraid to make eye contact, instead looking over nervously to the man sitting beside her. He lifted his head, eyes glaring at the man with an ice cold expression that made him take a backwards step.

  “I apologize if I was rude. Would you mind if I dance with your daughter?”

  He rose to his feet, spilling his drink in the process as he reached over and grabbed the man by his collar and twisting it tightly against his throat. “That’s my wife,” he said shoving the man backwards, his Stetson falling to the floor. “She’s hands off.”

  The tall, young man at the far end of the bar turned at the sound of the commotion, then turned again to face the wall.

  The young woman rose and rushed over to her husband, grabbing his arm as he clenched his fist ready to hit the guy.

  “Don’t honey,” she said. “People are looking. You don’t want to draw attention.”

  The pool player gasped for breath and coughed as he picked his hat up off the floor. He debated whether to fight, but the look in the man’s eyes was bat guano crazy and he thought better of it. Besides, there was no point in brawling with some old guy bent on flexing his beer muscles.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said politely, dusting off his hat and turning toward the bar. What was that young thing doing with an old nut job anyway? Those creepy eyes spelled nothing but trouble and he hadn’t come to the Cactus Needle cruising for trouble. He walked over to where his friend sat with the drunk woman and took the barstool at her other side, draping his arm across her shoulder. After all, what were friends for if not for sharing?

  The young woman talked her husband back into his seat and slid into the chair next to his.

  “I could kill him,” he said, the words hissing through clenched teeth like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

  “Shhhh. It’s just the devil trying to get hold of you, honey.” She reached over and placed his empty glass upright. She motioned the bartender for a refill, then leaned over and lay her head against his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, baby. He meant no harm.”

  She gently rubbed the back of his neck, calming him down. The bartender walked over and sat the fresh drink on the table. “Everything okay here, sport?”

  He reached for his drink, took a gulp, and said nothing.

  He folded his arms around her.

  Way too tightly.

  But she knew better than to pull away from him.

  * * * *

  Dark clouds filled the late afternoon sky, promising to end months of Arizona drought. Steam rose from the ground as the first drops of rain danced across the hot blacktop and pinged onto the hoods of parked squad cars and unmarked vehicles. In the cactus beds that edged the sidewalk in front of the police station, rivulets were sucked hungrily into the cracked, dry earth. The aroma of creosote filled the air, heralding the beginning of a Tucson monsoon.

  Detective Maggie Reardon crossed the parking lot, paused, then tilted her head upward. Rain splashed across her face and into her eyes. Every drop, as it trickled painfully across the swelling and bruises, reminded her of the violent encounter with her enraged ex-boyfriend. And yet, every drop of water felt as if it were cleansing her entire being. She was tired, exhausted both physically and emotionally. The murder at the Mosaic Gallery was solved, but instead of feeling victorious it gnawed at her insides. When Barbara Atwell, the gallery owner who had killed her husband, was walked away in handcuffs all that Maggie felt was empathy and a sense of defeat. But murder is murder and she’d done her job. That’s what she was paid to do and why she’d become a cop in the first place. Now the court would decide Barbara’s fate in a legal crap-shoot, lawyer against lawyer. Maggie’s fingers traced the ache along her jaw and throbbing, swollen lips. She knew her feelings were colored by the memory of her own attack, but if it were her decision she’d have let the woman walk right out of the interrogation room and out the front door.

  She knew that Barbara Atwell could just as easily have been herself.

  The rain soaked Maggie’s hair, flattening the short auburn spikes against her head. She pushed them back from where they clung to her forehead, then reached into her pocket. Her heart did a familiar skip-jump as she pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number. Rocco La Crosse had been one of many suspects in the case, so she’d fought her attraction to him, as well as his tactful advances. But that was finally yesterday’s news. The case was closed and she hoped it wasn’t too late. She debated hanging up. He might not be interested, especially when he found out she’d arrested his friend Barbara. O
r maybe the attraction had fizzled before it ever started. It wasn’t as if she’d encouraged him.

  As she continued debating with herself, a husky, soft voice answered at the other end.

  Just hearing him speak made her want to reach through the phone and hug the big teddy bear.

  She braced herself for rejection before she spoke.

  “Hello Rocco,” she said.

  “Who’s this?”

  Announcing herself as Detective Reardon would sound so formal, so indifferent. “This is Maggie,” she said. “If you’re still interested, I’m ready for that cup of coffee.”

  She stood in the rain, inhaling deeply as she waited for his response.

  It came quickly. She listened to his voice, low and soft.

  “Sure, that’s just a few blocks from my house,” she replied. “About fifteen minutes? I’ll be the one that looks like a wet Irish setter.”

  She closed the cell phone and smiled. It looked like the day might end on a high note after all.

  She shoved the phone into her purse and fished for her car keys.

  “Detective Reardon!”

  Maggie turned to see Adrian Velikson standing in the rain, waving frantically from where she stood at the entrance to the Police Department. At a distance she looked even shorter and wider than she did up close. Her usual bulldog demeanor looked downright defeated. Maggie’s heart went out to her. Why Adrian would even want to speak to her was unfathomable. Maggie had just booked Adrian’s lover for murder despite Adrian having confessed to the murder herself. Maggie had to be tops on the woman’s enemy list.

  “Detective Reardon,” the woman repeated.

  “Stay put!” Maggie yelled over the sound of the downpour. “I’ll be right there.”

  She opened the car door, got in and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine made a grinding sound, then kicked in. She turned on the windshield wipers, threw the car into drive and maneuvered through the puddles to where Adrian stood. Maggie reached across and opened the passenger side door.

  “Get in before you drown,” she said.

  A gust of wind nearly tore off the door as Adrian got into the car. Her rain soaked bottom made a squeaking sound as denim slid across vinyl. She pulled with both hands at the door until it slammed shut with a creak and a thud.

  “I assume you don’t want to talk to me about the weather,” said Maggie as she pulled the car to the curb.

  Adrian’s bottom lip quivered and Maggie couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears that trickled down her cheeks. Probably both. The woman looked down as she fidgeted with her stubby, calloused fingers, but said nothing.

  The two of them sat in silence as they watched the rhythmic sway of windshield wipers against glass. One rubber strip waved loosely, flapping noisily as it tried to keep up with its undamaged partner. I really need to get those replaced, Maggie thought, trying to keep her mind on anything but what might come out of Adrian’s mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’d been verbally skewered, but this time she had no smart-mouthed retort. The woman had been through an emotional ringer and the last thing Maggie wanted to do was add to it any more than she already had.

  The first monsoon rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

  The silence swallowed them as they watched the steam rising from the ground. A ray of sunshine leaked from between the clouds and dripped down onto the scattered puddles making them sparkle like gold dust.

  Adrian finally spoke. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m lost. Could you just give me a ride back to the gallery? I need to get my thoughts together.”

  “I’m on my way to meet Rocco. Why don’t you come along? Rocco needs to know what’s happened and I’d be more comfortable with you there. It might help soften the blow. Besides, you look like you could use a hot cup of coffee.”

  “I’d completely forgotten! He has no idea that Barbara’s in jail, let alone that she killed Armando.” She looked over at Maggie and they locked eyes. “This isn’t going to be easy for either of us.”

  “Rocco always knows what to do. You’ve said that more than once,” Maggie said as she watched her fantasy of finally being alone with him fly out the window. There was no way he’d want to have anything to do with her now. What had she been thinking? She’d be nothing more than “bad cop” in his eyes. She sighed, not looking forward to closing the last chapter on what might have been. The bottom line was always the same. She was a cop first, just one reason her love life wavered endlessly between disastrous and non-existent.

  Maggie pulled the car onto the street and headed toward the coffee shop. And Rocco La Crosse. She reassured Adrian as best she could. Despite facing first degree murder there were other options that could work in Barbara’s favor. The judiciary system was a game that depended upon the players as well as blind luck. Lady Justice wore a blindfold for a reason. At best, a good lawyer could plead down the charges. She’d seen them do it enough times when the perp deserved the chair. They could certainly do it when the accused had, if not good reason, one that could feasibly be stretched to self-defense. If faced with a sympathetic jury the odds could improve tenfold, giving Barbara a chance to walk away with time served. Or she could spend the rest of her life behind bars. The tension in Adrian’s body relaxed as they pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop. The lot was nearly empty so she was able to pull into a spot near the door. As they walked toward the entrance Maggie spotted Rocco’s Victory motorcycle parked in a far corner of the lot, beads of water glistening on its chrome.

  “It looks like he beat us here,” she said, using her back to push open the coffee shop door, then motioning with a nod for Adrian to enter.

  The two women looked around the sparsely peopled room and spotted him at a far booth. He looked up. In a split second his expression went from puzzlement to disappointment, followed by a welcoming smile as he rose to greet them.

  “My two favorite ladies,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”

  Adrian ran to him.

  She was crying again.

  “Nothing can be that bad,” he said, holding her.

  “Nothing could be worse.”

  “There, there. Sit down and tell your uncle Rocco all about it.”

  Adrian slid into the booth and he sat down next to her. His hair and scraggly, dark beard were wet from rain and his damp tee-shirt clung to him, accentuating his round belly.

  As she sat down, Maggie felt like an outsider and wanted to run to the nearest exit.

  Adrian’s sobbing drew attention from a couple sitting at the counter. The man spun around on his stool and looked in their direction. The woman with him looked over her shoulder, straining to hear their conversation.

  “Turn around and mind your own business,” Maggie snapped.

  Embarrassed, they turned back to their plates.

  “Sorry,” Maggie said to Rocco. “It’s been a lousy day. And you, you look as soaked as we do. Whatever possessed you to ride your motorcycle in the middle of a monsoon?”

  “When I left the house the sky was clear. I was half-way down the hill when the clouds exploded.”

  “Why didn’t you turn back and get the van?”

  “And be late meeting you for that cup of coffee? I’ve waited long enough.”

  So far it didn’t look as if his interest had waned. Maggie smiled, her swollen lip causing her to wince. Well, she might as well cut to the chase and see what he thinks then. Just get it over with and move on.

  She braced herself. “I’m afraid Adrian and I are the bearers of bad news.”

  “Her waterworks gave me a clue. What’s going on?” He put his arm around Adrian and hugged her close to him.

  There was an awkward silence as Maggie tried to form the words. She looked pleadingly at Adrian, hoping she would speak first.

  “It’s Barbara,” Adrian fina
lly said, choking on the words. “They’ve arrested her for murdering Armando.”

  Her tears were starting up again.

  “Barbara? Why in the world would Barbara want to kill her husband?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Maggie. “You know those ugly little statues he was selling at the gallery? All the artists wondered how he managed to sell so many, right?”

  Rocco nodded. “Some tastes definitely run to the tacky.”

  “Well, they were pretty special after all. It seems that he was using them to smuggle cocaine.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Barbara discovered what he was up to.”

  “All her hard work building a reputation and that rat was willing to ruin everything,” Adrian chimed in.

  “She must have been furious,” said Rocco. “I’d have been.”

  “Not as angry as he was at having been found out,” said Maggie. “Anyway, things escalated and he was shoving her around and threatening her.”

  “That’s what happened to Belinda’s goddess statue,” said Adrian.

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “She picked it up and hit him over the head with it.”

  “Sounds like self-defense to me,” he said.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Maggie.

  “Why not? She was protecting herself.”

  “Problem is,” Maggie continued, “his back was turned at the time.”

  “A woman against a stronger man? It’s like bringing a slingshot to a gunfight. It should be a slam-dunk.”

  “We can only hope so.”

  “I did everything I could,” Adrian said, spilling out the story as fast as she could. “I didn’t have a clue she’d killed Armando, not until today. So I told Detective Reardon that I killed him. I couldn’t let her go to jail, I just couldn’t. I could handle it, but not Barbara. Maggie took me to police headquarters and everything was going fine. Until Barbara showed up. I told her to shut up and go home but she just stood there and confessed to everything and I couldn’t stop her.”