Free R.P. Dahlke - Dead Red 04 - A Dead Red Alibi by R.P. Dahlke

chemical salesmen, and newspaper cronies, The Lalla Bains Posse of Proficient Gossips, were all in Modesto, California.
    Caleb could do background checks, but he really couldn’t ask or get answers, not without overstepping his position as an out-of-state lawman.
    The French doors opened and the deputy ushered my dad inside. Dad saw me, squared his shoulders and attempted his most reassuring smile.
    I wasn’t fooled for a minute. After Homicide finally trooped out of our home, I turned to the men and said, “We have to do something.”
    My dad, looking old and defeated collapsed into a chair.
    Caleb simply shrugged. “My hands are tied.”
    That feeling of panic was gathering way too much space in my head. I needed to slow down and think. Where would I go to find the kind of help we needed? The kind that required time and trust built up over years. Who could we depend on when we didn’t know, much less trust, anyone?

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    Chapter Twelve:
     
     
    I spent a restless night going over and over hopeful ideas on how to get the kind of proof that would satisfy the Cochise County Sheriff’s department and allow all of us to leave Arizona.
    When my cell phone rang the next morning, I was already on the patio, coffee by my side, working on ideas for my non-existent investigation. Since we had no cell service, all I could do was glance at the name on the incoming call. Seeing who it was, I rushed to the home phone and called her back.
    “ Pearlie,” I gushed. “Just the person I need.”
    “Howdy, Cuz. You tired of Arizona yet?”
    “Home does h ave a nice ring to it about now.”
    “Too much quiet, huh? Glad to hear you’re through moping, because it’s time to get cracking on that office space.”
    “Not that again. Office space is a bit premature, when you don’t even have a P.I. license, isn’t it?” I asked, flopping onto a couch.
    “We have to appear prosperous, don’t we? And if we want to look official, it’s location, location, location.”
    At my lack of comment, she asked, “You got somethin’ better to do?”
    No, I had nothing to do except prove my dad innocent of murder. And hadn’t I spent a restless night wondering who I could call? Someone the police didn’t already have on their list of suspects?
    “Pearlie, how soon can you get to Arizona?”
    “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m already at the airport.”
    “Gassed up and ready to come out for that visit, huh?”
    “Sugah, I’m at the Sierra Vista Regional Airport. Put some pedal to the metal and get out here. We can talk about our new business over food, I’m starved.”
    I was still thinking I should tell her that it was a no-go on the P.I. business, but yesterday, seeing my dad looking like he’d been beaten with nightsticks I folded.
    “Okay,” I said. “We’ll be there in about a half-hour.”
    My dad’s gray mood immediately improved at the mention of his favorite cook. He was so happy; he shaved and put on a clean shirt.
    Granted, he’d done well with our long time housekeeper’s Mexican fare, but when family problems convinced her to move to Bakersfield, my dad thought he’d never get another decent home-cooked meal again. Then Pearlie and Great-Aunt Mae flew in for my wedding, and though Dad bristled at the idea of housing two more women for the time it would take to see me married, the minute he tasted Pearlie’s cooking, he did a complete about-face.
    “What’s this about Pearlie being here in Arizona?” Caleb asked.
    “She flew Aunt Mae home, turned around, and flew back to Sierra Vista. She’s got some whacked idea we’re going to start our own P.I. business.”
    “You have to have a license for that,” said Caleb. “And last I h eard, it’s a six month course. You also have to be bonded and get a concealed weapons license.”
    “She has a way of ignoring those pesky little issues.”
    “Well, flirting won’t count for diddly-squat with the California State License Board,” he