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168 She’ll need pins. Rinds broke both wrists and she’ll wear casts up to her elbows. Quite a day,” Klaus said. Clarke had reached Meg, and they spoke briefly. He said goodnight and snapped shut his cell phone. “Clipper’s butt is the right measurement, but it has to match the cast from the flower bed.” “Think there was more than one person in on all this?” Klause asked. Monique sighed. “Of course. I think several people were behind it. Who would’ve thought Clipper’s ass would give him away?” “For all we know,” Clarke added, “the ones who planned the murder are on these tables.” “Well, then,” asked Klaus, “are you finished?” “Not quite,” answered Monique. “What do you mean?” “Three of the men I believe were part of the murder were also involved with the excavation,” said Monique. “I think they also instigated robbing Tony’s house.” “Clipper almost got his head bashed in by a set of golf clubs,” added Clarke. “Could Roxanne have done that?” “Doubtful. I’m more concerned about who was working with these guys.” Monday, 10:00 p.m. Clarke was asleep, dreaming of Sharon Stone in The Quick and the Dead, when the phone rang. He mistook it for a gunshot and jumped up, fumbling for the .45 he kept under his pillow. He found it, realized what century he was in, and took a deep breath. He was breathing heavily when he picked up the cell phone and said, “Hello.” “What’s the matter with you?” Monique asked from the other end. “Uh, nothing. I was dreaming about Ross Clipper.” “Clipper? What the hell for? Never mind. I just got a call from Roxanne. Seems her husband went to the post office to pick up his art studio mail. He had a couple of boxes. “Boxes of what?” “Don’t know, but she says they look odd.” 169 Clarke tried to put his pants on while he talked. “So did he leave them at his studio?” “Nope. They’re sitting in Roxanne’s home office. I’ll be there to pick you up in ten minutes.” They arrived at Roxanne’s house forty-­ five minutes later. Warren stood at the door in his white T-­ shirt and long navy shorts waiting for the detectives to climb the three steps to the porch. “Hey,” Warren said. “I wasn’t thinking,” he commented as the detectives came in through the screen door. “I didn’t realize until I got home an hour ago that they might be dangerous. I saw Rox’s name on them and just loaded them into the trunk with everything else.” “When did you get them?” Monique asked. The night was warm and she took off her jacket as she spoke. The Arizona and South Dakota men sat at the kitchen table eating hamburgers. She saw through the screen door Roxanne’s brother standing on the back porch tending to a smoking grill. One Hopi man lifted his Pepsi can in greeting. Monique smiled back. “About two hours ago. Everyone around here is just moping around, so I decided to go check mail. Rox is in there.” He pointed to her office. Roxanne sat in her office chair while everyone else mingled in the kitchen. She wore gray sweats and a navy tank top. Her bandages had been changed after the funeral, and white gauze still covered her face, but appeared less lumpy than before. She repeatedly crinkled an empty can of Mountain Dew. Three crumpled, empty cans of the same were on the table next to her. The detectives sat in the chairs opposite her. “Roxanne,” Monique said. “Warren said the boxes had been mailed to him.” “Yeah. He just brought them home.” The detectives looked at the two copy-­ paper boxes sitting in the middle of her office floor. Monique squatted and examined the labels. “Sure enough. Addressed to Warren Brugge care of his art studio P.O. Box. The return address is a post office box with no name.” “At first I thought they were bombs or something. There’s no name on the return address and the boxes are beat up. Then I realized that’s Tony’s crappy handwriting,” she said. “They’re heavy.” “You know what’s in them?” Monique asked. 170 “He e-­ mailed me last week to say that he was ordering some expensive books and would have them sent to us.” “Why would he send them to...


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MARC Record
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