Murder by Serpents (Five Star First Edition Mystery) (23 page)

“Does he have any ties to this area?” Carl Lee looked as if he doubted it would make any difference in this case, but sometimes a relative who was willing to vouch for the accused would sway the judge determining bail. “Personal? Business?”

Tony shook his head. “Only illegal business.” Tony could tell that Carl Lee knew something about Quentin and Samson that he wasn’t sharing with the Sheriff’s Office. “What’s going on, Carl Lee?”

Carl Lee shook his head and held up a finger like a pause sign. “Give me a minute.” He moved away from Tony and started talking into his tiny phone.

A moment later Tony’s own phone began to ring. The state attorney’s office asked that Quentin be housed in Park County. They needed him as a material witness in a case. Rather than risk losing him, he was to be given room and board. The county would be reimbursed. Given no choice, Tony agreed.

Curiosity threatened to eat him alive but Carl Lee’s lips were sealed.

When they returned to the greenhouse, a few words whispered into Quentin’s ear, obtained cooperation and even a bit of gratitude.

Tony watched Quentin all but skip back to his cell.

“Soon, Tony, soon,” said Carl Lee. “All will become clear.”

Sunday morning, instead of going to church, Tony sat at his desk, trying to make sense of the past few days. It wasn’t working. His eyes moved from his notes to his watch. He couldn’t be late. He had important plans with his sons.

Tony possessed a deep and enduring love for the game of baseball. His favorite team was the Chicago Cubs. Spring training was in full swing and today the Cubs would play the White Sox.

Due to the magic of satellites and cable television,Tony would be able to watch the game in his own home. He dreamed of vacationing in Arizona during spring training. He longed to lounge in the sunshine and soak up the sounds and smells that went along with the game. Football didn’t have them and basketball didn’t either. Something about the smell of grass, the heat and the crack of the wooden bat filled some primal need in him. Seeing baseball on television was better than nothing. A semi-rabid Cubs fan since early childhood, he freely admitted that the reason he eventually moved to Chicago after he left Silersville and the Navy was to be nearer his beloved team.

He wanted to be home in time for the first pitch. He and the boys made big plans to watch the game together and eat popcorn and hot dogs.

Keys in hand, he checked his watch once more as he headed to the parking lot. He’d meet his family for Sunday dinner at the Riverview, then take the afternoon off. No identification had been made on the bones.

Hub’s killer could be anyone.

Ziggy intercepted him before he reached the Blazer. The expression on the emergency coordinator’s face made Tony’s stomach clench. The usually unflappable man looked almost panicky.

“I’ve got an important date with my sons, Zig. Can whatever this is about wait until tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you decide after I fill you in.” Ziggy rubbed his bloodshot eyes and focused on Tony’s left shoulder. He wasn’t tall enough to be eye-to-eye with the sheriff and refused to look up to meet his gaze.

Tony sidled closer to his vehicle.

Ziggy stayed right with him. “Yesterday’s little flood could have been a lot worse, you know. Nobody’s house flooded and no cars washed off the road. It will still be a good while before all of the trash is cleaned up.” He didn’t wait for a response but went on with his informal report. “If we had one more inch of rain or if it lasted one more hour, we’d have a really serious situation.”

“I’m aware of this.” Tony released his breath and opened the Blazer door. His impatience was multiplying by the second. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Not exactly.” Ziggy’s manner turned hesitant. That was out of character. The man liked to call a spade a spade.

“Then, what exactly?” Tony knew they were both running on coffee and willpower, and there was no offense meant or taken with the curt response.

“You know Possum Calhoun?” Ziggy stepped back and met Tony’s eyes then, clearly watching for a reaction.

“Of course.” Tony frowned. “There’s nothing slimier than that kind of trash, is there?” In his mind, Possum was the foulsmelling scum that grew in warm dark places. The man was the prototype for the Hollywood version of a hillbilly. Tony hated that designation and he hated Possum Calhoun. Only part of the reason was because Possum liked to beat his wife, Sally. If they had reproduced, he would have beaten the children as well. One of Tony’s greatest frustrations was that no matter how many times Possum was arrested, Sally always welcomed him home. She never pressed charges. All attempts by the local advocates to help her fell on deaf ears.

Sally loved Possum. Sally feared Possum.

Possum made Quentin look nice and ambitious. Clean, too. His yard, if that was the correct name for it, was a stinking pile of refuse. He and Sally inhabited a former shack. Tony didn’t know what else to call a poorly constructed shack after it disintegrated from years of neglect and harsh weather.

“His wife believes he is missing and probably dead. Sally thinks that Possum must of drowned and been washed away.”

Eyebrows raised, Tony faced Ziggy. “First I’ve heard of it. Why did she call you instead of my office?”

“She didn’t.” Ziggy shifted his weight back and forth. “She talked to my brother, Pete. I’m sure you know that he sells insurance, and I’ll bet that he has contacted everyone in the county at some time trying to sell another life insurance policy. It seems that Sally wanted to know if Possum had any insurance.” Ziggy’s expression indicated that he would never believe Possum would do anything so decent and responsible. “You know as well as I do that if there was a policy, it would be on Sally and he would be looking to collect. Anyway, Pete called and told me about it and I thought that I’d just check and see if you had heard anything about Possum. If he drowned, I need to put it in my reports and try to understand how it happened because the water never got very deep.”

“I’ll send someone out to check on it when I get a chance.” Tony sat in the car. “I can’t say that it would exactly break my heart if Possum died. That is, of course, assuming there was no foul play involved.” Tony guessed it would be a real challenge to investigate the suspicious demise of someone whom he had considered killing himself.

Theo knew that she and the mayor’s wife were never going to be good friends. She had determined that long ago. The fact that Theo was at this moment considering killing the woman only emphasized her decision. Clenching her teeth, Theo thought she would snap if she heard one more diatribe about the importance of her sainted husband, the mayor, herself or her business. Doreen Cashdollar had developed into a real pain in the community’s backside.

Just this morning, Doreen backed Theo into a corner, literally trapping her between the ladies room wall, the sink and her well-groomed, size-four body. What she lacked in physical bulk, she made up for with determination and sheer gall. Her hair color and style changed almost weekly. She spent so many hours at the Klip ’n’ Kurl that Prudence had to consider Doreen something along the lines of the goose that laid golden eggs, but one whose constant honking made earning them a trial.

As far as Theo was concerned, one of the worst things the woman did was import shoddy quilts made by virtual slave labor in the poorest of the poor third-world countries and sell them for a pittance in her gift shop. She advertised, “Smoky Mountain Hand-quilted treasures $29.95, all sizes.”

Customers who came into Theo’s shop to purchase quilts and not fabric would frequently exclaim about her high prices. These same customers did not notice, or if they noticed, care that the quilting stitches were long and far apart or that the fabric was so sleazy it was practically cheesecloth. People would carry these imported quilts home, souvenirs of the Smoky Mountains, made overseas. Some of the consignment quilts Theo had for sale were not much better quality, but at least they were local products.

Doreen’s Gift Shoppe was the new name over the door into her store, but everyone in Silersville knew that it was still just the front side of the Cashdollar Funeral Home and Gift Shoppe. A new sign would not make any real changes in the business itself. Doreen filled the large room, packing it with greeting cards, wind chimes, relishes and honey, scented candles and soap, and many other assorted items. Some of it was exquisite and some of it was just plain trash. She did a thriving business with both tourists and locals and to be fair, Theo had to admit that most of the crafts and all of the preserves were produced locally.

Doreen’s morning attack at church was to try to convince Theo to keep her shop open on Sundays all year around. Theo kept it open on Sundays during the busiest tourist season of the year but didn’t like doing it. It went against her personal beliefs about what Sunday meant. Any quilter who had a desperate need for needles, thread or fabric on Sunday would call and get Jane or Theo to come down and open up for them anyway.

Chris and Jamie ate dessert while Martha and Jane were commiserating with Theo over Sunday dinner at the Riverview Motel and Café when Tony arrived.

Seeing the two little boys diligently scraping every molecule of hot fudge from the bottom of their tulip-shaped sundae dishes, made Tony grin. “Ladies, boys.” He noticed that his aunt Martha, a more svelte version, and his mom were working on enormous chef salads while Theo struggled with an oversized platter of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. The Riverview served mammoth portions. His little wife could eat for a week and never finish that pile of food. Without saying a word, she pushed the plate over to him and reached for her glass of iced tea.

Clenching the fork in his hand, Tony didn’t start eating right away, but stared at his mother and her sister. “So, which one of you would like to explain about the old motel?”

Jane didn’t look up from her salad to greet her youngest child. If the way she continued to stuff lettuce into her mouth was any indication, it must have been weeks since her last meal. She seemed dedicated.

Martha looked him in the face but she had the deer-in-the-headlights expression. She blinked and refocused on her salad. “Motel?” She managed to mumble around a chunk of tomato, sending a couple of seeds flying into her glass of iced tea. “What are you talking about, Marc Antony?”

The use of his full name didn’t win her any points. “I think you know the one.”

The older women concentrated on eating, unable to tear their eyes away from their lunches. Theo’s eyebrows rose above her glasses, but her mouth stayed shut.

“No? How odd.” The fork he held began to bend. “Think back a couple of months to a purchase you ladies made together. It is an old, dilapidated motel on the highway to Townsend.” Tony had to work hard to keep his voice low. “As far as I can tell, it needs a little work to bring it up to the exacting standards of the town dump.”

The women froze.

He shoveled a fork full of meat and potatoes into his mouth and stared at them as he chewed. He swallowed. “Should I send Marmot-the-Varmint out to give you pointers on running a landfill?”

That snapped their heads up.

Jane fluffed her newly blond hair and opened her mouth but paused. Martha jumped in and started talking before her sister made a sound. “Don’t take that tone with me. We had Caesar Augustus check it out, and he did a most thorough job. I must remember to commend him on his diligence.”

Tony leaned forward. He raised a palm to stop her before his aunt had a chance to propose Gus for sainthood. “And my big brother said it was a good building? A fine investment?” He could feel an expression of doubt settling on his face, tightening his muscles. His throat closed and when he spoke again, his words were oddly rasping. “I can’t believe Gus has gone completely off his rocker. He uses two-by-sixes to frame a doghouse. A little doghouse.”

His mother gulped the bait. And the hook. “Gus said it was a total waste of money.” Jane found her voice at last, but it squeaked and cracked. “And he also said that if we bought it, the whole mess would need to be hauled away.” She stopped suddenly as she realized she had said more than she had intended.

The way her lips slammed together, Tony thought that she didn’t look as if she ever planned to talk again. “So, upon hearing such a glowing recommendation, you just had to have it.” He couldn’t seem to swallow his potatoes or their story. “Please explain.” He was met with stony silence. His mother and aunt sat and stared at the mounds of lettuce.

A glance at his wife’s face assured him that she had no idea what they had done. That made him feel better. Across the table, the boys abandoned their spoons and now surreptitiously tried licking the chocolate syrup out of the bottom of the tulip-shaped glasses. It wouldn’t work.

Jamie wore a look that made him appear much more mature than his six years. Tony knew that his ears operated like a radar system. That little boy could eavesdrop from across town. If you wanted the freshest gossip or news, he was the best source. Tony’s eyes met Theo’s. She nodded.

“Why don’t you boys go out and play for a couple of minutes?” Theo waved the boys toward the door.

“We’re almost done here and the game starts in just a little bit.” Tony handed Chris a fresh napkin. “I don’t intend to miss a single play.”

Chris wiped the chocolate sauce from the end of his nose. His eyes widened behind the lenses of his glasses. He had Theo’s eyes, huge, hazel gold and nearsighted. “Are you gonna arrest Grandma?”

“I’m not planning to.” He waited until Jamie and Chris were safely outside before glaring at the pair of women. “Game’s over. You have a drug dealer’s fingerprints in one cabin and the preacher of the congregation that met in your office building has been murdered. Talk.”

“We didn’t know anything about that.” Jane lost her defiant expression. “Pops asked if they could rent the office and we said okay. I’ve known him for years, and there didn’t seem any harm in renting to a group like that. You know, not quite a church but more of an old-timey gathering is how Pops described them. He said they didn’t have any money but they were willing to clean up the place in exchange for using it a few evenings and Sundays. It seemed like a good deal, and it was just going to be for a little while.”