The Corpse in the Cactus Page 2

  Rocco looked stunned as he silently toyed with the large silver earring that dangled from his earlobe. He looked at Adrian, then at Maggie, then leaned back in the booth and exhaled loudly.

  “I still can’t believe it. It was Barbara?”

  “Maybe it’s best that I leave you two to talk,” said Maggie as she squirmed in her seat. She slid across and rose, “I really don’t belong here.”

  “Please, sit,” said Rocco.

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “I feel like a friend and an enemy and…”

  Rocco reached a tattooed arm across the table, motioning her to sit.

  “You’re guilty of what, exactly? Doing your job? We consider you a friend. An unlikely one maybe, but a friend. I’m sure you agree with me, don’t you Adrian?”

  Adrian hesitated, then nodded.

  “As strange as it may seem,” he continued, “we’ve come to think of you as one of the pack. Please, sit down.”

  “Under the circumstances, it’s a bit of an uneasy friendship, don’t you think?”

  “Who ever said life was going to be easy? Now sit.”

  Reluctantly, Maggie sat down and watched as Rocco lifted his coffee cup with one hand and held up two fingers with the other, motioning the waitress. The old broad looked like she’d been around since the place opened decades ago, just as boring and tired and worn as her surroundings. She took her time bringing over two more coffee mugs and filling them for Adrian and Maggie. Adrian took a long draw, then let out an animal noise as the coffee burned along her tongue and throat.

  “Holy—”

  “Patient as ever, I see,” said Rocco.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. “I have to do something for Barbara,” she said. “I need to get her a lawyer and somehow fight this thing. I don’t know how I’ll ever come up with a retainer, much less court costs and…”

  “Am I your friend?” he said.

  “Y’yes.”

  “Do you rib me about being a trust fund baby?”

  She lowered her eyes, ashamed, and nodded.

  “It has its advantages,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “But…”

  “Not financially anyway. My family has the best law firm in Tucson on permanent retainer. I’m sure they’ve got someone who can handle this.”

  “You would do that for us?”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Maggie as a thought hit her. “Your lawyers might just end up pulling double duty!”

  “What?”

  “Adrian, you confessed to a murder you didn’t commit.”

  “So? I was protecting Barbara.”

  “There’s a chance you could be charged with obstruction of justice.”

  Adrian groaned.

  “Well,” said Rocco, “it looks like those crafty lawyers might finally start earning their keep.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make calls first thing in the morning. Coming from a powerful family has it’s advantages and it’s about time I started using some of that La Crosse clout.”

  “You’re my favorite rebel,” said Adrian. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Not enough to consider going straight,” he laughed.

  Maggie was starting to relax. She lifted her mug to her swollen mouth and took a painful sip. An ear shattering clap of thunder caused the three of them to jump, followed by another. And another. She set down her mug and looked out the window. The rain beat violently against the windowpane and streamed down the glass like a raging river.

  “I guess we should call it a day,” said Rocco, grabbing the bill. “The tab’s on me.”

  “You can’t possibly ride your motorcycle in this,” said Maggie.

  “Hey, I’m the tough guy, remember?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she answered, rising from the booth. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, fidgeting with them. She pulled one off the key ring and handed it to him as he and Adrian slid out of the booth. “I’m only two blocks from here. Put your bike in my garage, let yourself in, and I’ll meet you there after I drive Adrian back to the gallery.”

  There was a twinkle in Adrian’s eye as she looked at Maggie, then at Rocco, then back at Maggie.

  “I couldn’t impose,” he said.

  “Do you remember where I live?”

  “How could I forget? I came to your rescue, remember?”

  “Okay then. It’ll give you a chance to dry out until the rain lets up.”

  Maggie and Adrian ran for the car as Rocco headed to the cash register.

  As Maggie drove to the gallery, Adrian talked non-stop, adrenaline rushing through her veins like a runaway virus. She was high on optimism knowing that, once again, Rocco knew what to do.

  “He can do it, I know he can,” she said. “If anyone can make this nightmare go away it’s Rocco.”

  Maggie pulled the car up in front of the gallery.

  “Do you really think they’ll charge me with something?” she asked.

  “Not if I can help it. But remember, I can only do so much.”

  “I was only trying to help Barbara,” she said.

  “You committed a crime, whether they want to call it obstruction of justice or abetting. What you did was stupid.”

  “People in love do stupid things.”

  “Tell me about it.” Maggie had her own history of being stupid in the name of love.

  Once again tears welled in Adrian’s eyes.

  “Not the water works again,” Maggie said. “All that crying isn’t going to help one iota.”

  “Armando was attacking her. That’s got to count for something.”

  Adrian exited the car and Maggie watched as she raced through the pouring rain, through the archway to the Mosaic Gallery and up the back stairs that led to Barbara’s and her apartment.

  The wind whipped around the car as she stepped on the gas and headed towards home. And a waiting Rocco La Crosse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pretty in Peach

  Detective Maggie Reardon drove down the darkened street and pulled into her driveway. The rain was finally letting up. Rocco La Crosse stood at the window of her house in the soft lamp light, waiting. Maggie wasn’t used to anything waiting for her at the end of the day except her cat. It felt odd, awkward. But on some level it felt pretty darn good. She wondered if she was finally getting it right or if she was just setting herself up for more disappointment. The two of them were polar opposites on so many levels, but the attraction was undeniable. At least for her. Maybe it was nothing more than hormones and chemistry. That had been her mistake more than once. They held a double whammy that could toss logic and common sense right out the window and turn an intelligent person into a fool. But it could be something more. Maybe. The best she could do was dive in head first and play it out. See where it headed. Or where it hit the concrete wall. Sometimes that impulsive approach worked. Sometimes it was disastrous. Her instincts rarely let her down. Except where affairs of the heart were concerned.

  She turned off the ignition, exited the car, and headed for her front door. It opened when she hit the top step, Rocco greeting her with his generous smile. He bowed, a most unlikely knight in shining armor.

  “Entre vous, m’lady,” he said with a sweep of his arm as he held her cat Prowler with the other. Prowler was purring up a storm, so unlike the ungrateful monster. Apparently Rocco could work his rough-edged charm on beasts as well as the ladies. She walked into the living room and heard Rocco close the door behind them. Maggie felt as awkward as a girl greeting her first prom date. But there was no father there to scrutinize him. No wise parents to put on the brakes when she was headed in the wrong direction. Her heart ached as she thought of how much she still mi
ssed them. And time hadn’t eased the loss.

  Staying in the home where they had raised her wasn’t the best idea, but she couldn’t let go. She still sat in the over-stuffed chair where her father read his newspaper. She still used the dishes and silverware that had been among their wedding gifts. She still used their old, battered toaster. In some small way those things kept them close.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I fed the cat,” said Rocco. “He’s pushy.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Maggie undid her gun belt and tossed it onto the side table by her chair, nearly knocking over the lamp. “I’d offer you coffee, but I’m caffeined out. How about a drop of Irish?”

  “To warm the cockles of me cold, cold heart? Sounds great.”

  Maggie walked into the kitchen and removed two glasses from the cupboard. She reached across the counter for the bottle of Old Bushmill’s, uncapped it to pour, then changed her mind. Tonight she’d need more than a few. When she walked back into the living room, bottle in one hand and glasses held in the other, Rocco was still standing, holding Prowler.

  “You look uncomfortable. Why don’t you toss the cat? Sit down and relax.” She poured his whiskey and handed him the glass.

  “Oh, did you want ice? I drink mine straight up, as the Celtic gods intended.”

  Why did she always jabber on when she was nervous, she wondered, taking a deep breath.

  He looked down at his clothes.

  “I’m still wet,” he said. “I don’t want to mess up your furniture. And no, no ice is fine.” He scratched the cat behind its ear. “Toss the cat?”

  “Unlike some of us, he always lands on his feet.”

  Rocco lowered Prowler gently to the floor and reached for his glass.

  The cat protested and walked a way in a huff.

  This is getting awkward, Maggie thought as she looked at him standing there soaked to the skin.

  “Get those clothes off and I’ll toss them in the dryer.”

  He smiled.

  “No, no, no. Just go into the bathroom and hand them out to me. I’m not suggesting…”

  “I never thought for a minute,” he winked and sat down his drink.

  Maggie led him to the bathroom, went back to the living room and filled her glass. Things certainly weren’t going as she’d imagined, but reality always trumps daydream. She thought back to the night she’d fallen asleep against his chest. How he’d been there for her after her attack. How comforting it had felt. She gulped some whiskey and let it slide down her throat, smooth and sweet as wild honey. A bit of liquid courage. The timing was off. After all, she’d just wound things up with the ex boyfriend who’d stalked and assaulted her. Marty was sitting in jail where he belonged. He was barely out the door when she welcomed in Rocco La Crosse. Not smart. She needed time to sort things out, figure out where she’d gone wrong before jumping into a repeat performance with this man she hardly knew. Not to mention she’d just arrested his friend. Things hadn’t even begun and already it was too complicated and making her head spin. She didn’t like complications. She took another sip of whiskey, reached for her smokes and slid one out of the pack. She raised it to her lips, lit it and inhaled deeply. Soft rain tapped against the window.

  “Detective Reardon?”

  She placed her cigarette in the ashtray, rose and followed his voice down the hall. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. A tattooed arm reached out, clothes in hand.

  “I’ll throw these in the dryer,” she said, taking them. “They’ll be ready in no time.”

  “There’s a problem.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have anything to put on…and I doubt you want me to come out like this. I don’t think you’re ready for the shock.”

  “Not much shocks me, but I’d prefer you wrapped.” For now anyway, she thought.

  “Should I wait in here or just throw a towel around myself?”

  “Uh, um” she stuttered. “Let me think.” She mentally took stock of her wardrobe. Rocco was a large man and wouldn’t fit into even her baggiest t-shirt. Or anything else she had. I shouldn’t have given all my father’s clothes away, she thought, but even they would have been too small to wrap around his generous girth.

  “Uh, there’s a robe on the hook,” she said. “On the back of the door…if you think you’re man enough to handle it.”

  She could hear him laughing as she headed to the laundry room, Prowler trotting close at her heels. Maggie tossed his clothes into the dryer and Prowler jumped in before she could close the door. He fought and growled as she pulled him out, then slammed the door and pressed the button.

  “Ornery little bugger,” she scolded. “I should have you declawed.”

  Prowler beat her back to the living room and was racing toward Rocco when Maggie walked into the room. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and burst into laughter. Rocco stood there, wrapped in her faded peach chenille robe. It barely fit, and he had discreetly twisted it around so that the gap exposed his hip rather than falling open in the front. The sash barely fit around his middle, but he’d managed it into a knot. The cat reached up, hooking his claws into the fabric. Rocco grabbed at the worn robe before Prowler managed to rearrange it. Maggie couldn’t stop laughing.

  “What,” he said. “You don’t find me irresistible?”

  Maggie looked at the burly bear of a figure and tried to catch her breath.

  “It’s just that,” she gasped, “you look so pretty in peach.”

  Rocco reached down and unhooked Prowler’s claws and as he lifted him, the hem of the robe rose to a dangerous height. He pulled it back down and smiled at her.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “And stop laughing. After all, you’ve only yourself to blame for my wardrobe.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m just kidding you. I think the combination of soft fabric against hairy legs makes quite a fashion statement. You look really—adorable.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never adorable.” He walked over to the couch and sat down, reaching for his drink as the cat settled on his lap. “I’m ready for some drink,” he said, downing his whiskey and refilling the glass.

  “You’re a good sport, Rocco. I like that.” She walked over to the stereo, shuffled through cd’s and shoved one into the slot. The mellow notes of John Coltrain’s tenor sax playing Blue Train blended with the sound of the rain. She walked back to the couch and sat next to Rocco.

  She reached toward the ashtray where her cigarette had burned out. She pulled out another one from the pack and lit it.

  Did she detect a flash of disapproval?

  “Hey, I’m not politically correct. I need one, so deal with it,” she said defensively as she lit it. She took a deep drag, but was careful to blow the smoke away from him. “Even a cop is entitled to one good vice. And this is mine.”

  “No need to be defensive. Relax. You’re wound up tighter than a ball of rubber bands.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “If it’s because of me…”

  She poured some more whiskey into her glass and took a drink.

  “You know, even with that black eye and swollen lip I think you’re cute as a button,” he said. Then added: “I just don’t get how a man could do something like that.”

  “I have a knack for pissing people off.”

  “He was a brute. And he damn near killed you.”

  “It’s behind me and I’m still breathing.”

  “You’re a tough cookie, Maggie Reardon.”

  Prowler sandwiched himself between them.

  “He’s here to visit me, you scoundrel, not you.”

  The cat let out a low growl between his purrs and glared at her as he returned to Rocco’s lap.

  “You’ve got competition,” he said as he stroked the cat’s jet black fur.


  * * * *

  The rain had stopped. The last bar had closed for the night as the man and girl walked side by side down the wet sidewalk, neon reflecting like a dark rainbow beneath their feet. Every few steps the man lost his footing and the girl grabbed his arm to steady his balance. He walked with the gait of a middle-aged man, she with the spring of youth, yet their steps were synchronized as if they’d been together a lifetime. She looked as if she were dressed in her mother’s or big sister’s hand-me-downs. The hem of her too long prairie skirt dragged along the concrete, collecting mud and debris in its wake. The streets were empty but for a few stragglers feeling their way through the dark or seeking out their prey. The man and girl whispered and laughed as they walked. As the man stopped, a shadowy figure stepped into the darkness of a doorway, remaining unobserved as the man turned and looked behind him.

  “What’s the matter?” the girl asked.

  “I think we’re being followed,” he said.

  “You’ve been saying that for a week and I’m sick of it. Why do you always think somebody’s following us?”

  “I can’t shake the feeling.”

  “Every time you get that feeling you make us pack up and move.”

  “It’s for our safety.”

  “Safety from what exactly?”

  “I’m not sure,” he slurred.

  “You’re drunk. And besides, I like it here and I want to stay. Just once can’t we settle in instead of living like gypsies?”

  “We’ll see.”

  You like it here, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “It doesn’t snow. It doesn’t freeze.”

  “It sure can rain though,” he said looking up at the black sky. “Tonight we should’ve taken the car, even if it is running on fumes.”

  “It rains maybe twice a year here, right? The rest of the time they say it’s pure sunshine. I don’t think it gets better than this.”

  “We’ll see, sweetness. We’ll see.”

  “That’s what you said in Albuquerque. That’s what you said everywhere. Just once I’d like to stay in a place long enough to make friends. To feel like I belong somewhere.”

  The man tensed the muscles that crossed his shoulders, then relaxed them. She was making him nervous. She’d always done as she was told, never questioning his wisdom or motives. But lately he’d noticed a subtle change. Not only had she begun asking questions, but in her meek way it was almost as if she were trying to make demands. He didn’t want to settle anywhere. It wasn’t safe. And her new attitude wasn’t safe either. It could put them both in jeopardy.