Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis Maria Swan (best affordable ebook reader .TXT) 📖

quickly from my chair. She made a sort of funny bow as she moved away, her arm accidentally hit my stack of papers, and everything tumbled to the floor.

“Shit.” It slipped from my lips. We both bent to pick up the contract pages and the spilled junk mail. We grabbed one envelope together, and I heard her “Ah!” before my eyes glanced at the source of her excitement. On the floor under my desk, plain as day, sat a white envelope with my name and the Desert Home Realty address written in a very elegant, old-fashioned cursive. I recognized the handwriting even before seeing the return address of Silvia De Aguilar.

“Oh,” was all I could say while pulling on the letter the detective held in a solid grip. “Excuse me. This is addressed to me.” Another tug.

The frown between her eyes seemed to take on a life of its own, and the yank she gave to the envelope made me lose my balance. I slipped backward but didn’t let go, and the envelope ripped in two. The contents fell to the floor. We looked at each other and then at the envelope that had been inside the ripped one. This one was clearly addressed to TRISTAN DUMONT in the same cursive in all capital letters. I jumped up, grabbed my phone, and started to take pics of both envelopes as something told me that Detective Reid and her Cheshire Cat smile weren’t going to let me touch either one any time soon.

TWELVE

BY THE TIME I made it back to my car, lunch time had come and gone. Both Sunny and the front desk woman whose name turned out to be April, reassured me that the detective couldn’t just take my mail without some legal paperwork. It didn’t matter much, Detective Eve had taken both the ripped envelope and the sealed one and left me heartbroken, holding a piece of paper she gave me as a receipt of some sort. In a way it was stupid. I would have never opened the one addressed to Tristan anyhow, but I felt—violated.

I drove like a maniac all the way home. Only after I was in my living room did I remember I hadn’t called Mr. Coste to tell him about the accepted contract. Oh, damn.

Okay, first things first. I phoned my buyer, and his thanks made my day a little better. Just a little. That was the easy part, calling Tristan was a whole different story. And I was no storyteller. More like a sappy, trusting fool. Twice the poor dead woman entrusted me with her messages, and twice I let her down.

My stomach in knots, I paced around like a robot mentally rehearsing what to say to Tristan. I hadn’t seen him since the trip at the airport. My house was so quiet it made me even more jumpy. This wasn’t fair. Why was I getting caught in the middle of stuff I had nothing to do with? If my family back home had been a little more understanding maybe I would have talked to them. Them? My mother who went to early daily mass? Who never accepted I wasn’t married in the Catholic Church and then divorced? Nah. Scrap that. My cell chimed; I grabbed it with both hands as a mini lifebuoy.

“Yes?” God, heavy breathing, Monica? Really?

“Monica, are you okay?”

“Brenda. Yeah, sorry. I’m so glad you called. I need some advice.”

“You? Asking for advice? That’s a good one. Go ahead. I can use a laugh. What’s the problem?”

“Oh, well. Wait.” I lowered my voice. “Are you alone? It’s—confidential.”

“For God’s sake, yes, I’m alone, and that’s my big problem. I may pack up my stuff, grab Dior, and drive back home.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I’m not sure, and that’s also a problem. I can’t get hold of Lois; my calls all go to her voicemail. Angelique is up in Phoenix, and the Lopezes are pretty upset over the missing money.”

“Who are the Lopezes? Do I know them? What money?”

“Yes, you know them, the older couple who used to take care of this place before Tristan bought it. He let them stay, and the old man keeps an eye on the hired help, but this morning he couldn’t pay them. He swears the money was in the account yesterday. It’s all gone this morning.”

“Wow, no wonder you want to pack up. What’s Tristan saying?”

“I doubt he knows what’s going on. The account and transfer of funds was set up way back when Angelique decided to move down here. I’m trying to stay out of this. I may have wasted my time, but I’m not going to waste money I don’t have feeding hungry workers. Anyhow, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“What indeed.” Suddenly my conscience wasn’t screaming guilty as loud as before. Still, I went ahead and told Brenda about the letter and the pushy detective. Just sharing with her made me feel a little better. And I told her about the Sunday plan of driving down to the ranch and picking up Tache.

“I don’t know, Monica. I may drive back tonight, it’s pretty depressing around here. I need supplies, and I’m not sure who is taking care of the horses. You may want to let Tristan know that when you tell him about the letters.

“By the way, the Leo guy has been acting like he owns the horse trailer. I think he’s packing his belongings in there. I hope it’s only his belongings. I don’t trust the guy. I’m going to go get Dior. He’s out back with Tristan’s mare.

“You know what? Let me talk to Bob and see what he thinks about that woman detective taking the mail. He ought to know. He may not work homicide, but the law should be the same either way in my opinion. Okay kiddo. Let’s do that. I’ll have Bob Clarke give you a call. Talk to you soon.”

I couldn’t sit still. So much kept churning about in my mind. Tristan was