Free Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel by Nike N. Chillemi

Then I got off the phone. "So, what did you find out at the bridal shop?"
    "Not much. The seamstress came flyin' out from the back with a message for Cassidy Renault to call some guy named Stanley Fishburn. Who he is or what it's about, I don't know."
    "Give this bit of info to the lead dick at the Abilene PD. They've got a court order for the victim's phone records. Maybe he can figure out who this Fishburn is."
    She nodded. "Oh, there was somethin' curious."
    "What's that?"
    "Hoot's lunch 'n dinner-shift waitress, Bertha, was in there with some rhinestone diva. Seemed like they were hidin' behind the prom dresses. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why."
    "This rhinestone queen... what'd she look like?"
    "Average height, trim figure. Looks like maybe she runs or works out. Wore a wig she couldn't keep straight on her head and a pair of huge rhinestone-framed sunglasses."
    "Veronica Ingels." I sat up straight in my chair.
    "The victim's wife... the PI?"
    "The very one." I didn't know whether to burst out laughing or to head for Arroyo and hand the meddling female's head to her.
     
    *****
    Arroyo
    Day Six, Late Afternoon
    Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
     
    A manila envelope from real estate agent Kayla Anderson and a piece of junk mail awaited me at the Chuck Wagon's register. I tossed the envelope offering a great deal on a credit card and ripped open the larger one.
    Bertha adjusted the ties of the apron around her waist. "Hon, what ya got there?"
    I pulled a small white envelope out of the larger manila one. "It's from Armadillo Flintlock Paradise." I held the letter-size envelope at arm's length. "What on earth is that?"
    "It's a small, but kinda swanky gun club in south Abilene."
    "It's addressed to Mark at the new house." My hand trembled. Mark had never been a gun enthusiast. Not the Mark I knew. Then again, had I really known him?
    Bertha waved her hand in a hurry-up motion. "Open it, Ronnie."
    I did and pulled out a slip of paper, which was a notice of a special order. "Someone wrote on top that they've been trying to reach him by phone."
    "Of course he didn't answer, hon, we know that. What did he order?"
    "A Desert Eagle .50 AE in brushed chrome with Hogue grim reaper engraved grips in black aluminum." I crushed the order receipt to my chest. "Pretty sexy."
    Pete placed his check on the counter along with a twenty-dollar bill and let out a low whistle. "Cost a pretty penny too. That one'd have to be at least two thousand dollars if it's a dime."
    "Close, but not quite." I read the receipt again. "It also has a gold base."
    Pete shook his head. "That'd add a little color and a little more to the bill, but don’t help ya shoot any better."
    The Mark Ingels I knew couldn't shoot at all.
    Bertha rang up his check and handed Pete his change. She scowled and a quizzical look crossed her eyes. "That's what you get when a city feller decides to play cowboy."
    "Nice to have that kinda money." He shook his head, and walked out.
    The questioning look returned and Bertha knit her eyebrows. "Are you responsible to pay for it?"
    I showed her the slip of paper. "It's paid for. I'm going to go pick it up."
    "You are?" A frown spread across her face and her eyes narrowed.
    "You bet. Maybe somebody there will remember something significant about the day Mark ordered it."

Chapter Eleven
     
     
    South Abilene
    Day Six, Late Afternoon
    Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
     
    My first stop was the post office nearest to Mark's villa. There hadn't been much of a line, and filling out the change of address forms had been a breeze. What took much longer was the clerk's enquiry as to how my day was going. Although I'd been in Texas nearly a week, these conversational exchanges with service workers always took me by surprise. In Brooklyn I was used to a grunt and if not a hostile glare, a disinterested tone from my server.
    After that, my GPS took me to the Armadillo Flintlock Paradise in ten minutes flat.
    I didn't know what I expected