Burn Out

fighting. I guess Davey tried to give him money, but he wouldnt take it. Bud told him to put the money in the bank for you and hire a lawyer to help you out because you were bound to get in trouble in Vegas. I guess you must of kept in touch with Bud because he knew where you were. But baby, Davey owes you more than that. Talk to Bud and have him set up a meeting with Davey. Your his daughter. You have rights, you claim them. I know I’ll never see you again baby, but you deserve a good life.

All my love,

Mama

Okay-slowly, cautiously. First I’d talk with this Linda Jeffrey.

Her tidy home was in the center of one-block Yosemite Street. A TV flickered in the front window. I rang the bell. After a moment the porch light came on, and a tall, slender woman in sweats, whose gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, looked out at me.

“Yes?”

I said my name, gave her my card.

“Oh, you’re Hy Ripinsky’s wife. You’ve been helping out the Perezes. Come in, please.”

The room she led me to was cluttered, but in a clean, comfortable way. Books and magazines stacked on tables, a hand-knitted afghan thrown carelessly over the large sofa, videotapes and DVDs piled high atop the TV. Jeffrey turned off the program she’d been watching and said, “Sit anywhere, but before you do, look for cats.”

The chair I went to did contain a cat-a light-gray shorthair, whose sleepy gaze dared me to move it. I did, picking it up and setting it on my lap; instantly it curled into a ball and started purring.

“They run our lives, don’t they?” its owner said, taking a place on the sofa and pulling the afghan around her.

“Yes, they do.”

“I figured you for a cat person. And I assume you’re here to ask about what goes on at Rattlesnake Ranch.”

Her statement surprised me. It showed, because she added, “I know who Trevor Hanover is-or was-and I’ve been debating whether to go to the sheriff’s department about him. Your visit has more or less resolved that issue.”

“Why were you only ‘debating’?”

“For two reasons. When Mr. Hanover hired me to cook for the family, he had me sign a contract with a confidentiality clause. I was not to talk about him, his family, or anything that went on at the ranch.”

“But you’ve already broken that agreement by talking to Miri Perez.”

“How do you…? Well, that doesn’t matter. I did it for Miri’s safety; it was only right that she know her real rapist had property so close by.”

“And the second reason?”

“I don’t really know anything-at least not about the times when Hayley, Tom Mathers, or Bud Smith were killed. The way my arrangement with Mr. Hanover worked, someone would call and tell me when the family would be there and what to prepare. But as far as I know, the Hanovers haven’t visited the ranch for five or six months.”

“Who else works there while they’re gone?”

“My neighbor: she did the housekeeping. But Mr. Han-over called her in October and told her her services would no longer be needed. He gave no reason, but did send a large severance check. She used the money to take a trip to Philadelphia to spend Thanksgiving with her daughter. And there was a gardener and handyman, but he recently moved to Arizona.”

“How recently?”

“A month ago. Around the time Mr. Hanover fired my neighbor. I don’t know who’s doing the outdoor work out there now.”

The timing was interesting. Another generous severance check?

“Did the Hanovers always arrive by private jet?”

“Always. He’s a pilot, you know.”

“Did you ever hear anything that would explain why he chose to buy a ranch here?”

“I once heard him tell his daughter Alyssa that he’d grown up in Vernon and had always loved it here, but then his family moved to Nevada and his life was never right again. He said he was happy to come back as an important man to the place where he was born.”

“But he bought the ranch in strict secrecy and never showed his face in town.”

“Probably afraid somebody would find out who he really was. And he seemed content sitting out on that big old terrace and looking down on Vernon. I guess it was enough for him.”

Until his daughter Hayley showed up and wanted him to acknowledge her.

“When did Bud Smith come to the ranch for dinner with Hanover?”

“Two years ago, the last Saturday in July. I remember because it was quite an evening…”

It had started out pleasantly enough, Linda Jeffrey told me. Hanover had been alone on the trip and in an expansive mood, ordering her to serve special hors d’oeuvres and wine on the terrace; the dinner menu was similarly elaborate. Bud Smith, who was Linda’s insurance broker, arrived about five o’clock and was given a tour of the property by Hanover. Bud called Hanover Davey, and Jeffrey assumed it was a nickname. The two men seemed reserved but were getting along well enough through drinks and hors d’oeuvres and the soup course of the dinner.

“Then their voices got louder. I was shocked to hear Hanover call Bud his brother. Hanover wanted to pay Bud half a million dollars for what he called ‘his trouble.’ Bud said he preferred to earn an honest living, that no amount of money could make up for those lost years in prison.”

Hanover then began pressuring Smith to take the money, and Smith blew up at him.

“He said he had been in touch with Izzy Darkmoon’s and Davey’s child from the rape, Hayley Perez. She called Bud periodically to ask him about her little sister, Amy. Bud told Hanover to put the half million in trust for Hayley and also retain a good lawyer for her, because she was a prostitute in Las Vegas and headed for serious trouble.”

“What was Hanover’s reaction?”

“He said he didn’t want anything to do with his trailer-trash bastard. That’s when Bud threw a glass of wine in his brother’s face. He told him he’d better establish the trust and retain the lawyer as soon as he went back to New York, and provide him with confirmation. Otherwise he’d go straight to the authorities over in Nevada and tell them the truth about the rape. And then he stormed out of the house.”

“What did Hanover do?”

“Wiped the wine off and called for me to serve the next course. He asked if I’d heard any of their conversation, and I said no, I’d been listening to my iPod. He believed me because there’s a light in the kitchen that flashes when somebody presses a button in the dining room, and a lot of times I do have my iPod on while I work. So I served him the roast. He didn’t eat much or ask for the dessert course. Afterward he gave me a hundred percent tip on top of my usual fee, which is fairly generous to begin with.”

“To ensure your silence, in case you hadn’t been listening to music.”

“Yeah.” Linda Jeffrey smiled wryly. “But me, I’m like Bud: I prefer to make an honest living. I wrote a check next morning to Friends Helping Friends for the amount of the tip, and then I went to see Miri Perez.”

So Linda Jeffrey hadn’t been summoned to Rattlesnake Ranch in five to six months. And the housekeeper had been let go and the handyman and gardener had suddenly moved to Arizona.

I had nothing if I couldn’t somehow prove Hanover was at the ranch on the date Hayley died.

Who would have the information I needed?

Amos Hinsdale. He practically lived in that shack at Tufa Tower. Monitored the UNICOM constantly. No one in a private jet could land in this territory without Amos knowing about it-even if the pilot didn’t broadcast to other traffic.

Now, if I could only get the old coot to talk with me…

“Canada Dry ginger ale,” the bartender at Hobo’s said. “Amos hasn’t had a drink of alcohol in his life that I know of. But he comes in here every Saturday night and always has three or four Canada Drys. Likes company and conversation that one day of the week. I keep a supply of the stuff on hand for him.”

“Would you sell me a cold six-pack?”