A Little Death in Dixie, page 24
“I had a reason,” Dexter said.
“I don’t give a damn. A miss is a miss.”
Dexter leaned back against the railing. “I was a good friend to Lou, including best man at his wedding, so get off my case.”
“Then be a friend and don’t repeat your suicide theory to Ruby. This day is hard enough without shaking her faith in Lou.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of rock do you think I crawled out from under? I’m not here to upset the woman. You’re the one upsetting her, calling me out here with that murdering look on your face. What’s she going to think?”
“She thinks her ex-husband died in an accident. I want it to stay that way.”
“Ruby knew Lou was in bad shape. She’s peeking through the curtains at us right now. Put a smile on your face.”
They both put on frozen grins and waved at Ruby. Billy turned his back to the window so Ruby couldn’t see him. He wasn’t finished with Dexter.
“Have you gotten results from Lou’s tests?”
“Nothing conclusive.”
“The other night you hinted there was something in Lou’s life he couldn’t live with. What was that about?”
Dexter squinted off the porch. “Make it what you want. Lou downed a fifth of whiskey, popped off the door handles and hit the gas pedal. He had his reasons.”
“And you’re willing to let it go at that.”
“Son, Lou was capable of mistakes just like the rest of us. If you don’t see that now, you probably never will.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Ruby opened the screen door. “Jimmy, Aunt Bertha brought her apricot pound cake. Come get a plate.”
Dexter drew her out onto the porch. “Thanks, but I need to get back to the clinic. I wanted to come by and offer my respects. I loved Lou like a brother. They broke the mold when they made him. I’ll stop by for coffee some time this week, I promise.” He started down the steps then looked over his shoulder. “Able, I hope you find some peace.”
Ruby put her hands on her hips and watched him go. “Billy, I’m surprised. That’s not like you to use profanity. Jimmy was white as a sheet. What did you say to him?”
“Doc and I have a running disagreement.”
“Over Lou?”
“Something like that.”
“I know all about Lou. Come with me.”
Ruby grabbed a glass of wine as she led him to her bedroom at the back of the house, the only place people hadn’t settled with a plate of food. In her wedding photos, Ruby had been a brunette stunner. The years had dulled her hair and put inches on her hips, but the showgirl walk was still there.
In the bedroom, display cases stuffed with booty from the Home Shopping Network lined the walls. Lou said one time, that her shopping nearly broke him: porcelain baby dolls, Hummel figurines, handmade baby quilts, tatted infant clothing. He must have worshiped Ruby to pay for all of it.
Ruby offered Billy a chair, took a seat on the bed and tossed back half the glass of wine. “I have a question for you. Were you angry with your momma for dying?”
“I never thought about it. Why?”
“I’m so mad at Lou I could kill him.” She punched the mattress, and tears glittered in her eyes. “Look at me. Look at this house. We’re both falling apart. I didn’t want the divorce, but he couldn’t forgive me.”
Billy stared at her, baffled. “You?”
“I met a salesman at Carpet World when we put that wall-to-wall plush in the living room. We had an affair. Lou caught us. It broke his heart.” She sobbed. “I could just strangle him.”
“I’m not following you.”
“For dying, leaving me broke. I got the house and a little alimony. Lou got the insurance. He cashed it in. It’s all gone, and I don’t have a claim on his pension.” She wiped her eyes. “This place needs a new furnace and I need a tummy tuck. I can’t make it without Lou’s check. Mom’s having a second childhood. She’s taking rumba lessons. My inheritance won’t come through for years.”
“Lou was always careful with money,” he said, remembering the overtime Lou had insisted they put in. “That duplex he bought was cheap. How could he be broke?”
“My girlfriend at the credit union ran a check. He charged up to his limit on three cards and was behind two mortgage payments on that slum he was living in. I drove by the other night, feeling lonely. You think he had a girlfriend?” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask.”
“He never mentioned anyone.”
She nodded. “I thought he was running around when he worked with Sam. I’d had a disappointment. I spent money, ran up some big bills. Lou told me he was working overtime, but Sam would call looking for him. They always worked together.”
“Maybe Lou took a second job.”
“I asked, but he would just cut me off. Lou was a complex man.”
Laughter rolled down the hall, followed by the clink of glasses. A toast to Lou. Billy had questions, but everything he wanted to know would upset Ruby.
“I’m still looking into what happened Saturday night,” he said in a neutral voice.
“I see.” She took a breath. “That’s why you and Jimmy were fighting on the porch.”
She went to the mirror over the dresser and watched him while she ran a brush through her hair. “Jimmy believes Lou committed suicide.”
“He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. We both knew Lou had a shadow inside. He worked hard to hide it, especially from you.”
Billy stood, feeling like a traitor for talking about Lou when they’d just put him in the ground an hour earlier. “Lou never let me down. If you know anything about his death, you need to tell me.”
She leaned against the dresser, studying his face. “Cops are smart about criminals, but they don’t see the truth about the people they love. None of us really knew Lou.”
“I can’t accept that.”
She came over, put her hand on his cheek. It smelled like mint. “Lou’s things are coming to me. If there’s anything you want, you let me know.”
Gently, he removed her hand. “Lou had a camcorder. It’s not in his car or at the house. I wondered if you picked it up.”
“I haven’t seen it, but if I run across it, it’s yours.”
That wasn’t the reason for his question, but he left it at that.
“I am curious about something else. Did Lou come by on Saturday to talk to you?”
“On Saturdays he visited Tutwiler Jackson at Grimes Nursing Home. Do you know Tut?”
Billy shook his head.
“Old court bailiff. Pal of Lou’s. I called Tut about the funeral. He couldn’t make it. If Lou talked to anyone last Saturday, it would’ve been Tut.”
Billy hugged Ruby, said good-bye to the reverend and headed for his car. He got behind the steering wheel and dialed Jones.
“Everything all right?” Jones said.
“Yeah, nice turn out. Thought I should check in.”
“You had a chance to look at today’s paper?”
“Just the front page. Did something happen?”
“There’s been a leak. Check out the editorial page. Sorry, my man.”
Memphis Women Living In Fear
The editorial piece focused on the growing number of missing and murdered women in the city, and the inability of the police department to stop the crime wave. After several paragraphs of the editor’s sweeping condemnation of city government, he narrowed down to his case in point—the details of Sophia’s disappearance.
The last section contained the bomb Jones was talking about. “Sources report that the Memphis Police Department is focusing on a blue van that was parked beside the victim’s car around the time of her disappearance. Police suspect the van’s driver may have been involved in violence against other women. Although proof that a van is being used to prey on women has yet to be confirmed, detectives in charge of this investigation refuse to comment. Their reticence shows a lack of regard for public safety . . . ”
Billy balled up the paper and slammed it against the dash. Lack of regard? The son-of-a-bitch was scaring women to sell papers. The van could be irrelevant. It could be a figment of Charles’s imagination. If it did figure into Sophia’s disappearance, it was transportation for Dupree’s hit man, not the getaway vehicle for a stranger preying on women.
Who was the leak? Mercy could have talked to the press or told Dupree. Jones knew about the van, but had a lot to lose with a bungled case. A squad member could have compromised the file as a favor to the journalist. That happened, but not often.
Mercy or Dupree were the obvious answer. He thought Mercy had understood the importance of holding back case details from the public, but her loyalty to her brother-in-law may have overridden her good judgment. Now he’d have to be on guard with her. What a shame. Just seeing Mercy at the funeral had made him feel less alone. He couldn’t help wondering what might have happened between them if they’d met under better circumstances.
He shook his head. You’re dreaming, buddy. He started the car and drove toward Whitehaven. Maybe he’d find some answers there.
Chapter Forty-One
Wednesday, 4:00 p.m.
Buck was amazed as, wicket after wicket, he set up shots and cleared. Today he was going for a four-ball break using jump balls, pass rolls and stop shots. Brilliant play, if he said so himself. Classic strategy. Nothing like a croquet match to settle the nerves.
The lawn swam in the late afternoon heat. Hull, Church and Schutt complained about sweating through their whites; however, Buck remained cool. Today he was magic. The bank had contacted his office to say Gloria’s money would transfer by two this afternoon. Account signature cards already bore his name. Monday he would transfer the money that guaranteed his seat on the Federal Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals. His vote to uphold or overturn lower court decisions could have a far-reaching social impact. With his stellar credentials and Senator Noel’s support, he had a shot at the U.S. Supreme Court.
But it would be a mistake to look too far ahead. He was a week past the agreed payoff date with Noel. He had to assure his match partners and the senator that he was good for the money and the right man for the job.
The day’s case before his bench had wrapped up early, so he’d contacted his croquet partners for an impromptu match. No reason to risk their switching horses midstream, not when all the news was good. In croquet, if you shoot your ball perfectly every time, you’re virtually unbeatable.
Focused on the game, he gripped the shaft of his mallet and lined up his next shot. Everything stilled. He drew back.
“Noel called me last night,” Schutt said, breaking Buck’s concentration. “He’s worried about the negative publicity over the Dupree woman’s disappearance and how it might affect your confirmation.”
He glared at Schutt, a crude man, the type who wipes his nose on his cuff.
“Quiet,” Church admonished.
“Hell, this is important. The senator hinted he may shift the nomination to that mule-faced judge in Nashville.”
“Walsh?” Church said. “That idiot can barely find the courthouse.”
“But he can sure find the bank. His friends have deep pockets.” Schutt scratched himself through his trousers. “They offered to wire money to the senator’s account tomorrow.”
Buck pointed to his ball. “How about some consideration here.”
He settled over his mallet, executed a perfect stop shot on Hull’s croqueted ball and sent it rolling out of bounds. Church let out a whoop and gave Buck a thumbs up.
Schutt leaned over to pick a weed out of the path of his next shot. He looked up, eyes narrowed at Buck. “You got your hands on that money yet?”
“Let the man finish his play,” Hull said. “We’ll talk business at the club house.”
“I want to know now.” Schutt bumped the ground with his mallet for emphasis.
Although The Croquet Association manual recommends that a player never swing his or her mallet at another player, Buck was tempted to brain Schutt. If this was a sample of what to expect from these guys he’d be setting the record straight, but only after securing his seat on the bench.
“All right, gentlemen,” he said and began toweling down his mallet. “Let’s step into the grove for some privacy. We’ll cool off, get this cleared up.”
They followed a trail through an elegant avenue of trees. Schutt sat on a bench and fanned his face with a towel. Hull and Church focused on Buck, smart enough to appear contrite.
“You’ll be happy to know that ten million dollars transferred to Gloria’s account today,” Buck told them. “She’ll sign a power of attorney in the morning. Judge Will Heaton will marry us at noon. I’ll wire Noel’s money to his numbered account on Monday.”
“What’s wrong with tomorrow?” Schutt said.
“I want Gloria in my house, under my control, first. I don’t want trouble down the road from her younger daughter.”
“Noel plans to meet with Walsh this weekend,” Hull said.
“The senator should focus on who’s the best man for the job,” Buck said. “Walsh will embarrass him.”
“We could stall with a bonus, of say twenty thousand,” Church said.
“Whose pocket will that come out of? Damn it, tell him I’ll wire the amount we agreed to on Monday,” Buck said.
Church shrugged. “All right, I’ll make the call.”
“And what about the cash you owe me?” Schutt said.
“Christ, don’t pressure me over chump change,” Buck said.
“I’ll be a chump all day long for fifteen grand,” Schutt said.
Schutt is a lowbrow bully, Buck thought. Time to make the jerk sweat. “Okay chump, double or nothing on this last break . . . if you’ve got the guts to go for it.”
The solid click of a croquet ball being struck came from the greensward. They all turned in that direction.
“What the hell, someone’s playing our court,” Hull said.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Buck said, leading the way to the greensward.
A small Asian man in a filthy lab coat stood by the rover hoop with a golf club in his hand. He appeared to be talking to himself until Buck noticed a cur dog lying in the grass near the south flag. The man swung the club, sending Buck’s ball down the green. He spoke to the dog. It quivered with happiness.
“Hey! Hey, buddy,” Church yelled.
“I’ll handle this,” Buck said, clutching his mallet and striding toward the bum. “This is private property. Take your mutt and get out.”
The dog rose to its feet and snarled. The man whacked Church’s ball, still cooing at the dog.
“Stop that!” Buck advanced, furious someone so insignificant would ignore him.
Head slung low, teeth bared, the dog raced straight at him. It leapt, and he whipped his mallet in an arc that brought the head squarely into the dog’s ribs. The dog yelped and collapsed at his feet. He raised the mallet to smash the dog’s head, but caught himself when he saw Hull’s stunned expression.
“Self-defense, gentlemen. It’s every man’s right under the law.” He lowered his mallet. “Now let’s get the balls back in place and get on with our match. And you there,” he said to the bum. “Get your dog, and get the hell off this property.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Wednesday, 3:00 p.m.
Mercy punched the CJC number into her cell.
“Homicide, Agent Jones.”
“This is Mercy Snow. I saw Detective Able this morning at the funeral, but we didn’t have a chance to speak. His cell is turned off. I need to reach him.”
“Something new about your sister’s investigation?”
“Do you know if he read the editorial in the newspaper?”
“Yes, he has.”
“He’ll think I leaked the van information. I didn’t.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I didn’t do it. Please tell him that.”
Mercy hung up, feeling better. Able couldn’t lose trust in her, not just for the sake of the investigation, but for some reason, she wanted his respect, for him to trust her. She walked through the library’s lobby to the research desk, where she checked out microfilm for the Commercial Appeal covering the last twenty years. She wanted information about her future stepfather. She’d left Memphis years ago and couldn’t rely on her mother’s friends to be discreet about her questions. The wedding was tomorrow. She had to know more about Overton.
Scrolling through, she found an interview written after his first judicial election. The article revealed that he had graduated in the top ten percent of his Harvard law class, and that his ultimate goal was a federal judgeship. She scanned more articles and came across photos of Overton shaking hands with presidential candidates. He appeared to be successful and comfortable running with the big dogs. She found shots of him holding up trophies at croquet tournaments and also listings of his bridge tournament wins. His name appeared on lists for charity events along with photos of the ladies he had escorted. They were beautiful women, considerably younger than he.
Overton was getting older, but he was still an eligible bachelor. Yet he’d chosen her mother for marriage. Mercy still believed money was his motivator; however, they also seemed to compliment each other’s worlds. Her mother needed a strong influence in her life, and her money would buy any future they wanted.
She switched to the Internet and read more of the same. As she began to wrap it up, a boy and girl charged through the lobby, where they ran circles around a big-hipped woman who spoke sweetly to them with absolutely no result. The woman shrugged as the kids broke away for another lap through the Memphis Room. The woman stared blankly at Mercy, then brightened and waved.
Oh, good God, Mercy thought. Julia Fontaine Tice. The kids ran to their mother, whooping when she pulled out chocolate bars. They settled on the floor and ripped open the candy. Julia made a beeline for Mercy.
She’d put twenty pounds on her hips and wore the classic Ladies Exchange lime green skirt with pink embroidered frogs. She looked like an aging cheerleader on steroids.
