Desert Run by Betty Webb Read Free Book Online

Schwarzer’ this and ‘You Schwarzer’ that.”
    â€œSchwarzer?” I knew what it meant but wanted to see how he’d say it.
    Kryzinski’s face twisted in distaste. “The German equivalent of the ‘N’ word. Nice guy, your Mr. Ernst. Anyway, according to the neighbor, Mr. Tesema didn’t take the insult kindly and yelled back something to the effect that if Ernst kept using the ‘S’ word, he, Tesema, that is, would cut out Ernst’s tongue and feed it to the jackals. I guess he hasn’t been here long enough to learn that we don’t have jackals, just pit bulls and coyotes.”
    â€œThat’s one bright spot for my guy, then. Ernst was beaten to death, not cut.”
    â€œMaybe Tesema was so pissed off he didn’t bother to choose the right cutlery.”
    It was my turn to scowl. “You’re saying he was in too big a hurry to grab a knife, but took time to gag and hogtie his victim?”
    â€œC’mon, Lena. You know as well as I do that most murderers are irrational, otherwise they’d figure some way out of their problem that doesn’t entail prison time.”
    True, but Tesema had never struck me as irrational, just a stranger in a strange land. Yet his behavior when he discovered Ernst’s body was troublesome. Why had he gone through Ernst’s drawers? I didn’t want to believe he was a thief, but with a whole family to feed back home, he might have been tempted to supplement his Loving Care paycheck by a little pilfering. And if the unforgiving Ernst caught him…“Was anything missing from Ernst’s house? Money? Jewelry? Credit cards?”
    Kryzinski shook his head. “Not that we know of. His wallet was still in his pants, along with a full complement of plastic and forty-two dollars in cash. As to jewelry, he was wearing a watch and one ring, a clunky-looking thing with an Iron Cross. Before you ask, we didn’t find a cache of diamonds and rubies anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have them and that they weren’t stolen.”
    â€œJust because Tesema’s prints were all over the house doesn’t mean he was the person who tossed the place.”
    A chuckle from Kryzinski. “Maybe it was elves.”
    â€œWhy would Tesema steal from his employer? If caught, he’d lose his job.” The minute the question was out of my mouth, I realized how silly it sounded. It wasn’t all that unusual for hired help to filch from employers they hated.
    But Kryzinski took the question seriously. “Tesema admitted that Ernst had cut back on his hours, so maybe he felt he had nothing to lose.”
    I raised my eyebrows. Ernst had cut back on his care-giver’s hours? It didn’t seem sensible to me that an elderly amputee wouldn’t take advantage of all the health care he could afford. Ernst wasn’t poverty-stricken, because his house, while not quite Architectural Digest cover material, was stuffed with the standard Scottsdale luxuries. On my way into the kitchen, I’d seen a Bose stereo system, a big-screen plasma TV, and a salt-water aquarium that took up most of one wall. Even the car Ernst no longer drove, yet which remained parked in his garage for Tesema to chauffeur him around in, was upscale: a Mercedes-Benz S Class retrofitted for hand controls, about ten years old.
    Since there was nothing else to learn, Kryzinski and I spent the next few minutes commiserating over what had happened to the Arizona Diamondbacks, but the team’s fall from grace didn’t seem to bother him as much as it did me. Which was odd, because he was the bigger fan. In fact, nothing much did seem to interest him, not even my news that his favorite Western wear shop had gone out of business. “You feeling all right, Captain?” His ruddy complexion was wan, and he’d lost weight. And all that gray hair…
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œYou