Final Grave Read online

  He switched off the engine, checked his image in the rear view mirror. Phony black hair trailed out the back of a John Deere baseball cap. He pulled the brim low on his forehead; then put on his father’s old reading glasses. The affect of his disguise gave him a power buzz. Invisible men played by their own rules—at this moment, he didn’t exist, couldn’t be held responsible for act, word, or deed.

  Entering the bar through a side door, he was struck by the heady odor of stale beer and cigarette smoke. It brought back memories of college binge-drinking days. He’d never enjoyed liquor, or beer, but on several occasions, he’d drunk himself blind to keep up with the others. They had assumed he was one of them, but no one really knew him, then or now, except perhaps Joanna. At least he thought she had.

  His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light as he searched for the owner of the Chevy Caprice, the woman. The only customer at the bar was a gray-haired male in torn overalls, a drunk slobbering over a beer.

  But there must be a woman.

  Then he heard her.

  “Hi, ya,” she called, turning the corner at end of the bar. She was young, barely legal drinking age and plump and sexy in a wholesome way. She wore her brown hair parted in the middle with a thick braid slung over the shoulder. Farm fed, his dad would’ve said. Not what he’d envisioned as a target, yet her hair was long. He liked that.

  He took a barstool at the opposite end from the drunk.

  The girl held a thick, oversized paperback book entitled: Microsoft Word for Dummies. She cradled it against her full breasts.

  “So what can I do you for, Mister?”

  “Coffee,” he said.

  She gave him an understanding nod, placed her book beside the cash register. Then poured the last of the coffee from a glass carafe into a mug and set it down in front of him. “Hung over, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He wanted her sympathy and rubbed his forehead as though it hurt. “You’re awful pretty to be stuck in here on a sunny day.”

  She smiled and cocked her head.

  He liked her reaction. “Someone with your looks ought to be at the Hard Rock Cafe. Say in London.”

  “Like you know a lot about London.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m not here, usually. My gramps runs the place. He’s gettin’ over a heart attack. A little one, you know? I’m pouring beer till’s he’s back on his feet. But he’d better hurry up. I’m moving to Seattle as soon as I can. Gonna get a job.”

  “No kidding,” he said. My niece lives there. Works at Nordstrom’s in personnel.” He pointed to the book. “She says they’re always needing someone good on computers.”

  The girl leaned forward, elbows on the bar, her expression hopeful. “Yeah, I bought this book. I’m just brushing up.”

  And so was he.

  “I’ve got her direct extension at home,” he said. “You want, I could drop it by later.”

  “You’d really do that? Get out.”

  “I’m serious. How long is your shift?”

  “Got a two hour dinner break, four to six. Then I’m on again till two. So any time.” She clasped her hands and grinned. “That’s really nice, Mister.”

  His palms pressed against the hot coffee mug. He eyed her over the rims of his glasses. “It’s nothing, really,” he said. “Glad to help.”

  He took a long draw of the coffee. She was the one he would kill.

  # # #

  Meri Ann sat in Wheatley’s parking lot in the borrowed Mazda. She held a chokehold on the steering wheel, wishing it were his neck. Little by little, she relaxed her grip. A minute later she got out of the car.

  The six-story glass and oxidized iron building was Wheatley’s engineering flagship. She recalled how her mother had described her boss as a genius and how she felt proud to be part of the firm, even if only as office manager. The leap from respect to romantic involvement seemed ludicrous. When had it happened? Had it? Meri Ann was sure Wheatley must have mistaken her mom’s admiration for affection. She would put it to him, and he would answer her.

  His structural engineering firm occupied the top floor. The elevator opened into the foyer. Photographs and color renderings of high-rise buildings hung on the walls. Citations and awards, too. Wheatley’s name and company logo appeared on every one. Some had a Twin Falls address and Meri Ann wondered if he had expanded into any other cities.

  She crossed to the reception desk, standing in the very spot where Wheatley had struck her father years ago. The memory fueled her anger.

  A gray-haired woman at the desk looked up. “May I help you?” But something in her expression said, Don’t I know you?

  Meri Ann didn’t have time to answer. Wheatley’s voice caught her ear. The door to his office was open and she spotted him at his drafting board. His slicked back hair appeared every bit as perfect as the night before, the furrows deeper in the intense halogen lights. He spoke on a cell phone. “. . . Just got back… .”

  “Miss, can I help you?” the receptionist asked, again.

  “Uh, thank you, no.” She strode past her and into Wheatley’s office.

  The receptionist jumped up from her chair and followed.

  Wheatley switched off the phone. “Meri Ann?”

  The receptionist hurried in behind her. “She just came in and I—”

  “Everything’s fine, Elaine.” Wheatley drew himself up, folded the phone and clipped it to his belt.

  “But Mr. Wheatley, your meeting?” the receptionist said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve a meeting myself at four and this won’t take long.”

  He dismissed Elaine with a nod.

  She hesitated, then pivoted, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Meri Ann stared at him. In her wildest nightmares she couldn’t imagine her mom considering a man with such a wimpy expression. Then she remembered he hadn’t always looked that way. She recalled the Elvis photos, his cocky, self-assured pose at her mother’s birthday party.

  She pulled out the envelope, leaving the letter inside. She wasn’t about to let him touch it; then claim his prints came from this meeting. She held it out for him to see.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You ought to know what it is. It’s from you, addressed to my mother.”

  Wheatley blanched. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you used to keep Mom working late.” Her voice was shrill. “Or the day you shoved my father.”

  Wheatley staggered back. “Meri Ann, please. I’ll try to explain.”

  “Explain how you hit on my mother? Used your power over her paycheck to keep her late every night? I wasn’t blind. I spent the whole ninth grade waiting because she couldn’t get to school or to my games to pick me up on time. Things were different before she came to work here. You—”

  “It wasn’t that way. Joanna, we—”

  “We, what? How about you, Wheatley? You’re the one who tore my family apart. Did she tell you to get lost? Did the argument get nasty? You’re quick with your fists. Maybe you struck her, too. She disappeared on a Friday night. Bet you were the last one to see her alive.”

  “Stop it.” He banged his fist down on the desk. The lamp shook. “Who the hell are you to accuse me? Ask your father about arguments. He’s the one who threatened to kill her.”

  Meri Ann drew close to Wheatley, inches from his face. “What?”

  “I loved your mother, Meri Ann. After she disappeared, I spent years trying to find what happened to her. I hired a private investigator. Might’ve been a piss-poor excuse for a PI, but at least I did something when the sheriff’s office closed their files. And, yes, I wanted to marry her, to build a life together. She worried about you, how you’d adjust to a new school,
city, us. She was going to give me an answer that Monday.”

  “My mother loved you?” The moment she said it, she sensed it was true. Why else would a woman save a letter in a locked box? Unless it meant something to her.

  Wheatley lowered his head. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I’d like to think so.”

  “Did the detectives know about you and her?”

  “Yes.”

  Wheatley’s door burst open. A tall, sturdy woman stood framed in the door jamb, her dark hair loose on her shoulders in a multi-layer cut. Her coat hung open, exposing a pink hospital uniform and name tag: Tina Wheatley. She cradled a notebook with a colorful picture of Jesus on the cover. Sullen described her.

  “Meri Ann Dunlap, of course.” She scowled at Meri Ann. “A television celebrity. Looks like her mother, doesn’t she, Robin? And a detective, can you imagine?”

  “Tina, don’t,” he said.

  “I’m leaving,” Meri Ann said, her eyes on him. “But we’re not through.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’re here, Ms. Dunlap, or whatever your name is now. I don’t mean to be un-Christian. Lord knows you’ve dealt with pain, but you don’t belong here after the heartache your mother caused us. The sins of the fathers are visited on the child—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Tina.”

  “Precisely.” Her expression was venomous. “Your mother ruined our lives. Then disappeared like a coward.”

  Meri Ann froze for a second. Then she spun around to face Wheatley. “Is she crazy?”

  “They suspected Robin. Can you believe that?” The woman went on, “Mark my words, Joanna’s somewhere, laughing at all of us. When a slut’s hot to trot, she’ll trot with anyone.”

  Wheatley stepped between them, gripping Tina by the shoulders. “Get hold of yourself.”

  Still she managed to keep her eyes on Meri Ann. “You’ve no idea how the sight of you offends me.”

  Meri Ann’s hand trembled with rage as she pocketed the pale blue envelope. “Witch,” she managed, walking slowly past the two Wheatleys.

  In the parking lot, her bravado vanished. Tears slipped from her eyes. The cold rivulets stung her cheeks. Poor, miserable, defeated Dad, she thought. No wonder he and Mother had fought. He must’ve known his world was crumbling around him.

  From her own experience with Ron and the woman he’d left her for, she knew infidelity’s pain. Tina’s righteous outburst brought it all back. Every inch of Meri Ann’s body felt raw, especially her heart. It’s difficult to face your own faults. But brutal to face your mother’s.

  Chapter Ten

  Jack Mendiola swung into his parking space at the Criminal Justice Building, a few minutes late, but not that late. He felt more like himself again. Nothing like a beer for lunch to clear his head—a taste of the hair of the dog that bit him.

  A gust of wind whipped off his baseball cap as he started across the macadam, and he had to reach down and pick it up. As he rose, he spotted Meri Ann Fehr ahead of him, also bucking the wind, also headed for the office. Her jacket was cut short, the fine curve of her ass plain to see. Very nice. He jogged to catch up with her. “Hey, slow down.”

  She turned around, her face as rigid as the asphalt. “We’re right on time,” he said.

  “Did you catch the hay thief?”

  “Nope. But I interviewed the hell out of the victim. And I think I know who the perp is.”

  “At least that’s moving forward.”

  “Yup.” He did not acknowledge the dig. He knew she’d been going through her dead mother’s personal effects. That had to be tough on her. He’d had a taste of that when the Army shipped his brother’s trunk home. Took a month before he could open it. “Looks like you dug up some memories.”

  “Just some old photos.”

  “That’ll do it.”

  She glanced away at the snow-dusted mountains. He followed her gaze, wondering if her Florida blood was too thin for an Idaho fall.

  “How about we head on over to the Meridian lab?” He thumbed in the direction of his truck. “Let’s take mine. Come on.”

  He opened the door for her. It seemed the thing to do, and she didn’t object. She also didn’t say thank you. Didn’t really seem to notice, though she finally said thanks when he turned on the heat.

  “You got hair samples, didn’t you?” he asked.

  She touched her backpack. “In the bag.”

  For the first few minutes, she didn’t speak and neither did he. Just as well, his thoughts gravitated to Kari. His stomach growled, maybe from thinking of her, maybe from the chili he’d had with his beer. He punched on the radio in case his gut rumbled again. Soulful jazz played from Boise State’s station, a piece by Gene Harris.

  She eyed his Western boots. “I didn’t take you for a jazz man.”

  “I like country, too. Some folks say I’m versatile.”

  He eased onto the highway, heading out of town, past the shopping center sprawl. The tinkling piano relaxed him, that and the intermittent patches of square fallow fields dotted with farmhouses—the open space he loved.

  She gestured to the radio. “Mind if we turn that down? If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few questions.”

  He lowered the volume. “Ask away.”

  “What happened to the detective who worked my mom’s case?”

  He’d expected she’d get around to that, the innuendo clear: who can I blame for not catching whoever did this? “Peter Sparks,” he said. “The guy retired a year later. I took his place.”

  “You were in the detective unit back then?”

  “Yup.” He eased around a slow-moving tractor.

  “And you worked the case, too?”

  His biceps tightened. So did his grip on the wheel. “All’s I did was take a few interviews. Like I said, I was new in the department.”

  His eyes were on the road, but he saw her shoulders turn his way. Her stare bore into him.

  “I see. The case was handled by a guy on his way out and a rookie.”

  Tired of her barbs, he didn’t bother to mask it. “We all worked the case, everyone in the unit. Sparks worked it for all he was worth. Let me tell you, ma’am, he was worth plenty. For your information, he didn’t know he was on his way out. He had a heart attack. Nobody saw it coming, especially him.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean to come on so strong. It’s just that no one was charged.”

  Even her apology was a backhanded slap.

  He shook his head, smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Not enough evidence to make anything stick. That ever happen in Florida? Or you guys solve every murder, every missing person case?”

  She sighed big time and chewed on her lip. “And yes, I’m out of line to jump down your throat.” In the next breath, she said, “What about Robin Wheatley?”

  “The engineer?”

  “Yes, the man my mom worked for. Was he a person of interest?”

  She had a right to know, but he hesitated to rehash the details. Murders dug up dirt, her mother’s case no exception. Meri Ann Dunlap Fehr might be a detective, but with her mom the victim, it didn’t feel like he was talking cop to cop. He wanted her blood sample, the DNA, and to watch the fine curve of her ass sway out of his life. He needed to solve this case on his own terms, to be rid of it once and for all. He needed to show Dillon, too.

  “Sure, we liked Wheatley. But the evidence was circumstantial. Nothing to make a case.” He left it at that, reached over and turned up the radio’s volume.

  Ten minutes later, the Idaho Law Enforcement building stretched into sight. The long, one-story rectangular building looked about as impersonal as the flat, high-desert land it sat on. The best thing about it was a sparsely filled parking lot and his good fortune to find a parking spot in front of the forensic lab.

  Me
ndiola ushered Meri Ann inside. The reception desk was empty. No sign of anyone anywhere as they meandered down the hall.

  “Hey, Joe,” Mendiola called, looking for Joe Uberuaga, his second cousin on Dad’s side and the head of forensics.

  Meri Ann still had a spacey look and didn’t half listen. Her eyes moved from one door to the next. “Excuse me. Is there a restroom around here?”

  “Sure thing. Down the hall to the left.” He thumbed behind him. “When you’re done, we’ll meet in the conference room. Thatta way.”

  He spotted Uberuaga’s shadow on a partially open glass door. Two seconds later, a mop of dark curly hair poked out. His cousin wheeled around on a roller chair, looking for all his years of medical education more like a comedian than a doctor. It was the mustache, that bristly band of black, licking his upper lip.

  “Hey, Jack, Uberuaga said. “Where’s the woman?”

  “In the john. You here alone?”

  “I am.” Uberuaga scooted back to his microscope, and switched off the light, then swiveled around.

  Mendiola pulled up a straight chair and sat in it backwards. He checked his watch.

  “Always pushing the clock.”

  Mendiola grinned, hoped it masked his nerves. He owed a personal call he’d put off all day, and his nephew, Tony owed him one, confirming the bank deal. “Lots of balls in the air.” He glanced around at the empty lab. “So where’s everybody?”

  “A meeting over in Portland. I’m on my way as soon as I finish up here. Want me to say hey to Kari and her tennis buddy?”

  Mendiola snarled. “Screw you.”

  “Can’t take a joke? It’s been quite a while and I thought you said you didn’t care.”

  “She’s in town, Joe, leaving messages on my machine. I swore never again, but it’s tearing me up. She’s left him.”

  “And what? You think maybe you should talk to her, maybe get something going, again? Take my advice: leave that woman alone.”

  But he’d already caved last night, finished a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and called her back. “She’s here for Scott’s wedding, so I’m going to see her there anyway. It’s not like I can get out of going. I’m his best man.”