Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery by Connie Shelton

chocolate and I couldn't keep
my eyes open another minute. We finally got the kids settled into
their sleeping bags, although they didn't look the least bit
sleepy. I went to bed wondering what we'd find to talk about for
the next two days.
    I found Paul wandering in the backyard at
eight the next morning. Everyone else was still asleep. He slipped
his arm around my shoulders as we walked among the dried stalks of
last summer's flowers. The earth smelled faintly damp. I noticed
the young green shoots of daffodils and tulips had grown noticeably
taller in the past couple of days.
    "Lorraine wants to visit her friend from
college, Betsy Royce, today," Paul said. "Betsy's kids are about
the same age as Annie and Joe. I think they'll have a good time
together."
    "You going too?"
    "Would you mind? Jack Royce and I were pretty
good friends."
    "No, I don't mind. You guys make your plans.
I've got things to do. Want to meet back here for dinner?"
    "Pedro's?"
    "You got it." Pedro's is a little Mexican
food place, just far enough away from the tourist traffic that it
hasn't lost its charm. I eat there a couple of times a week. Pedro
and his wife, Concha, make the best sour cream chicken enchiladas
in the state, and their margaritas are fantastic.
    I puttered in the kitchen, pondering where
I'd go next with the Detweiller case, wondering if I was going to
be in a ton of trouble for pursuing it on my own. I'd have to bring
Ron up to date on it the minute he got back to town. The thought
occurred to me that I might have better luck reaching some of those
names on Gary's list on a Saturday. After feeding my guests a
hearty breakfast of cold cereal and seeing them out the door, I
pulled out the list once again.
    About half the names came from the same part
of town where Detweiller had lived. Probably neighbors, co-workers,
guys he'd met in neighborhood bars. The other half of the list
contained a variety, a surprising number located in well-off parts
of town. I wasn't sure where I'd get the most information, from the
average working-guy types or from the successful ones who might
have gotten tricked into the association with Gary, much as Stacy
had.
    I stopped at the first gas station to fill
up. This might end up being a long day. The Jeep took fourteen
gallons, which I put on the credit card we use for company
expenses. I'd decided to try the upper-crust neighborhood first.
Two of the addresses were in Tanoan, so I headed out I-25 to the
San Mateo exit, then up Academy Road. The guard today was a
different one, and I hadn't really thought about what my approach
would be. I doubted they routinely let in investigators who want to
question their residents. Especially when the investigator was
really an accountant. My only choice would be to fake it. I told
the guard I was going to Stacy North's house, hoping all the while
that he wouldn't call her to verify it.
    He didn't. He waved me through like his main
concern in the world was what time he'd get off work. I drove
straight to one of the houses where I'd gotten no answer yesterday.
The place still looked closed up tight. A newspaper rested on the
front step. I rang the doorbell without much hope, and was startled
when a sleepy-looking man in silk pajamas opened it.
    The man looked almost as startled at seeing
me. His curly blond hair stuck out at angles and his pajama top was
skewed off to one side. He blinked at the sunlight, trying to focus
on my face.
    "Charles Tompkins?"
    "Who are you?" If I'd been an attacker, he
would have been an extremely easy mark.
    "My name's Charlie Parker. Do you know a Gary
Detweiller?"
    "Who?"
    "Gary Detweiller. Your bookie."
    He suddenly stood very still. His eyes had no
trouble focusing directly on mine now. A white rim showed around
the edges of his thin lips.
    "I don't know who you are, or who you're
looking for, lady, but you got the wrong address." His hand had
moved to the edge of the door.
    "Fine. Detweiller's dead, and I imagine the
next ones to come