Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery Read Free Page A

then
through an electric gate, and continue for a mile or so down a
paved lane.
    When we pull onto the highway, Reena sighs. “Too bad
we didn’t bring a driving drink. It’s still a couple more miles to
the house.”
    Several minutes later we pass the Darden mailbox,
and the past burbles forward. Susie’s adoring upturned face. The
way she took as gospel every word Reena spoke. Now, though
separated by only miles, the two women seldom see each other.
    “ So, that’s where Susie and Del
live?”
    “ If you can call it living. Del
tells me the house is a pigsty.” Reena must read my disapproval.
She turns to peer out the back window. “You can’t see the house
from here. It’s set almost a mile back in those trees. As the crow
flies, Susie and I live only a mile apart but it’s almost two by
the highway. There’s a dirt road from the airstrip to the Anacacho.
Goes right past the Dardens’ barn. Very convenient for Del since he
manages both ranches.”
    We travel the remaining distance and turn between
two large sandstone pillars supporting a wrought-iron “Anacacho,”
then drive slowly up the long, cedar-lined road to the house.
    The impressive two-story structure of massive ochre
and gray stones built in the late thirties by Paul’s father looms
at the end of the drive. An imposing three-story tower dominates
the east end of the building, a detail Paul forgot to mention, or
omitted because it might have sounded too grandiose to a hick-chick
from Lampasas.
    Miguel pulls up before a wide, covered, slate porch
that seems to circle the entire house. He helps each of us from the
car, then rushes to open one of the massive oak front doors. I
follow Reena into a generous entry hall, bounded on one side by a
wide, circular staircase.
    “ Miss Armington will be in the
room next to mine,” Reena says. “Put the shopping bags on my
bed.”
    Miguel gives a silent nod, then glides upward,
carrying the load of luggage and packages as if they were air,
while Reena heads for the living room, her stiletto heels echoing
on the polished tiles.
    The seductive aroma of red chiles being blackened
permeates the room.
    Reena smiles. “Adelena’s starting one of her
fabulous moles. Want a drink before the tour or after?”
    “ Now sounds good.” I hurry behind
her, suddenly needing a little Dutch courage to face
Paul.
    I’m barely in the room when Reena lets out a yelp.
“What happened to my paintings? They were here when I left this
morning.” She whirls to face me, then points to the wall above a
long refectory table. “Paul threatened to take them but I never
really believed he would.”
    I step to the table and run my hand over the surface
of the wall. Not a nail hole to be felt. It’s as dry as a bone.
There’s no way a group of paintings could have hung here this
morning. The repairs to the wall are excellent, with several layers
of painting and sanding. I turn to say as much, but Reena has
headed for the bar.
    She pours two glasses of wine and drags me toward
the front door. “We’ll tour the stables before it gets too
dark.”
    The stables are hardly that. The air-conditioned
building houses ten stalls next to an office sporting a large teak
desk across from an overstuffed brown leather couch. In one corner
sits a tall safe.
    “ This appeared a few days before
Christmas. Paul won’t tell me what’s in it. But never-you-mind,
I’ll find out before too long.” Reena shows me a notebook filled
with every combination she’s tried.
    She leads me back into the center walkway and to the
next door. “You have to see the tack room. You won’t believe
it.”
    She struggles with the combination lock and the door
swings open. “Voilà. Paul’s crown jewels.”
    She isn’t exaggerating. Most of the saddles boast
pommels and stirrups adorned with heavily etched silver encrusted
with semi-precious stones. The headstalls of the matching bridles
are so ornate, it’s amazing a horse could raise its neck.
    I make