Nowhere Man: A Riley King Mystery

by Richard Neer

The mistake was telling her about it. I had put her in a position of having to lie about it to protect us, or risk telling the truth that could put her man and me away for a chunk of time.

  I said, “I’m sorry, Alex. But it’s becoming pretty clear that Dugger did something that night and Bolton covered it up. Do I think he killed Townes? It’s a possibility. They’re dirty. I just need to prove it.”

  Ginn said, “Yeah babe, and this ain’t just about Townes. Who knows how many other folks they beat up back then, maybe killed? Including some of my people.”

  She said, “Even if you two are on to something, I can’t approve of the way you’re doing it.”

  I said, “Don’t expect you to. Do you want to know our next move or do you prefer to stay blissfully ignorant of our nefarious schemes?”

  “I’ve already heard too much. You might as well tell me the rest.”

  I nodded to Moses, who took the lead this time. “After we left Dugger’s pad, King got his computer pal to hack into the man’s email account. When he and Bolton meet up, we’ll listen in using some of my spy gear. Maybe get ‘em on tape admitting what they done.”

  “And it’s all inadmissible. You both are aware of that?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “A smart DA might find a way around it if a straight-laced cop vouches for us. Know anybody like that?”

  She laughed a little too loud. “Oh my God, you two are such a bad influence.” I could tell that this was bothering her, despite her attempts to laugh it off. She changed the subject. “You know I’m careful about my weight. Do you have any idea how fattening this tiramisu must be? And you’ve brought a whole pan of it. Shame on you.”

  ~~~~~

  After dinner with Bosco in tow, I went to my home office to make a call. I closed the glass doors behind me so as not to disturb the lovebirds, who were sipping an after dinner Sambuca. I can’t stand the stuff, so I passed. When they finished their licorice candy drink, they went up to their room, undoubtedly to watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas.

  My party answered quickly. “Jason. It’s Riley King. Catching you at a good time?”

  “Yeah sure, I could use a break. Kat’s at work and I’m in the shop. Don’t tell her, but I’m making her a Christmas present. A rosewood jewelry box, hand carved.”

  “My lips are sealed. Charlene told me her idea to get WPHX behind the concert. I talked to the owner and he’s into it. Call him first thing tomorrow to set up a meeting to work out the details.”

  “Okay. Charlene was thinking that you and her would do that. I guess there’s been a change of plans. No problem. I got the venue already. I tried the College of Savannah but they were booked. I got the USC Beaufort auditorium. Holds about two thousand. If we can clear a hundred a head after expenses, that’ll help tide Carla over for a good bit.”

  I did the quick math. “That’s two hundred grand. Nice, but even living frugally, she’ll go through that.”

  “She’s got social security, that helps. I’m no investment expert, but if we can park that money in something that bears decent interest, she should be all right for a while.”

  “Depends on how long she lives. But we all have that problem, don’t we?”

  “I suppose. But in her case, the big money would be in royalties if we can somehow get The Flying Machine to admit they stole Townes’ songs.”

  “They’ll be back east in a couple of days. Your word that you heard him play those songs helps, but I don’t think that’d be enough proof if they fight it.”

  “It’d be like that lawsuit George Harrison settled on My Sweet Lord. The writers of He’s so Fine got a nice payday. I’m picking up the digital copies of the first two Townes albums from the Bearded Buddha tomorrow morning. Maybe he can point us toward someone else who heard those songs.”

  “Like someone Townes beat up at that New Year’s Eve gig.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, that. Hey, you don’t mind me asking again, why are you avoiding Charlene? She really has a thing for you, man. You with someone else?”

  “No, the lady I’ve been with the last few years lives on the West Coast now and we’re on permanent hiatus, I think. I’m a free man. Why, are you interested?”

  “No. I’m a musician but I don’t eat on both sides of the buffet table. Just sayin’, you could do a lot worse than Charlene.”

  “Jason, Charlene and I have some history. It’s not my place to tell you the details. Don’t try to play matchmaker. I have some good reasons to stay away from her. Just respect that, okay?”

  “Sure thing. It’s just that I kind of relate to you, that’s all. A few years ago, I was alone. No real long term relationships for, like forty some years. Then Katrina came along. Hate to see a good looking, virile guy like you be a solo act this late in your career.”

  “It’s always been a case of bad timing with me. The woman I told you about? I met her when we both lived in Jersey. Then I moved South and she didn’t.”

  “It’s too bad she wouldn’t do that for you.”

  “Ahh, that’s not exactly true. She did try for a while but her business got hot and she needed to be in L.A. full time. Not down South with me.”

  “And you wouldn’t move out there to be with her?”

  “Nope. She wanted me to. I have a good life here and I didn’t want to disrupt it. It was my fault.”

  “No one before that?”

  “In recent days? I guess Charlene came the closest. I did meet my perfect woman when I was right out of college. The one I told you about when we were driving home the other day. It really messed up a lot of my future relationships women.”

  “That’s another thing we have in common. First loves who broke our hearts. Left a big scar, I can tell you. Ruined me for a lot of others, too.”

  “Now that I look back on it, I chased a lot of good women away. They deserved better.”

  “There’s a song by Sting that I cover when I play live. Fortress Around my Heart. I built one of those after Wendy left me. Sounds like it was the same with you. Got hurt so bad you didn’t want to go there again. What was her name?”

  “Mairéad Flanagan. As Irish as they come. Red hair. Blue eyes. Right out of Darby O’Gill and the Little People.”

  “Is that a book?”

  “Disney movie. First big role for Sean Connery.”

  “Before my time, I guess. Well, hang in there, dude. Kat came to me late in life. I had to trust her enough to let her in and that wasn’t easy.”

  “Get back to work on that jewelry box. Let’s talk in the morning after you call McCarver and see Bennie.”

  I gave him Ted’s contact information and rang off. Talking to Jason had sparked something. I had another call to make and it felt kind of urgent.

  ~~~~~

  I hadn’t spoken to Mary Duncan since before Thanksgiving and I needed to confirm that I’d be visiting her at Christmas. Someday, I’ll screw up the courage to prove once and for all that I am her father. Or that I’m not.

  Ginn was the only person I’d told about my possible parenthood. His reaction was that I need a will. The brush with Dugger was just another in a series of potentially deadly situations I’ve managed to squirm out of. Someday, my luck would run out.

  Regardless of our actual relationship, Mary would be included in the will. I’d give Ginn and Tomey a share, and if Bosco was still around, I’d make sure he was taken care of in the luxury he had gotten used to. A lot of my ill gotten gains would go to charity. I’d get around to seeing an attorney about it after New Year’s.

  On that happy note, I called Mary Duncan.

  “Hey, Mary. It’s me, King.”

  “Hi, Riley. I was just settling in for the night. What’s up?”

  Her tone seemed a little cold, unlike the sweetness that exuded from her every time we talked. Maybe I was just melancholy and reading into something that wasn’t there.

  I said, “I was just calling to firm up our plans for the holidays. I’m working a cold case now but there’s no deadline, so
I’m thinking I can come up Christmas Eve and stay a few days. However long it works for you.”

  Her voice was musical. Her mom had been a talented singer and had actually self-released a CD of original songs along with a few covers. It never did much commercially, but a couple of critics compared her to Eva Cassidy. These were the days before social media. I wondered how she’d fare now if she were still alive. Like Cassidy, she died of ovarian cancer a long time ago.

  “Yeah, that sounds fine.” Mary said this without enthusiasm.

  “Mary, is something wrong? You sound down.”

  I heard her breathe deeply. “This’ll probably be the last time we do this, that’s all.”

  “Okaaay. Can you tell me why? Do you and I have a problem?”

  “There’s a couple of things going on. I’m selling the Christmas tree farm. It’s too much work for one woman and the economics don’t work anymore. Since the crackdown on immigration, I can’t find labor. I never checked green cards or anything and I always paid a decent wage, but most of my regulars are gone.”

  “You can’t find locals or part time kids? Appalachian State isn’t far from you. College students always need a few extra bucks.”

  “Tried going that route. I can’t drum up any interest in manual labor. The students I talked to are willing to work hard, but only at a keyboard. Not looking to get their hands dirty.”

  “Shows how out of touch I am with this generation. It’s not how I grew up. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t feel too bad for me. A developer made me a nice offer for the property. They’re going to put in roads and make it into a luxury community. Great views. Back to nature. They even promised to keep part of it a tree farm. We should close in the next couple of months.”

  Hearing that made me feel very old. I figured Ted McCarver would always have his radio stations and he was getting out. Through Ted and Stone, that dying institution had been a big part of my life. Mary’s tree farm was going to become a housing development for rich people. She didn’t say who was buying it, but I know how developers work. Eventually, they’ll put houses on every square inch of land. It’s what they do – pave paradise and put up a parking lot. Unless Mary has an ironclad contract prohibiting it, it will all be gone one day. I doubt Mary has the leverage to make that demand.

  I said, “I have to say, this makes me sad. I really look forward to our visits. I know how much you love Christmas, just like your mom did. And all the work you did remodeling your house and it came out so beautiful. Are you going to be able to stay in it, or is it part of the deal?”

  “They’re letting me lease it back for a dollar a month until they finalize the plans for the development. Then I get sixty days notice. They agreed to let me move it if I can find another spot for it, but that’d be almost impossible because of the terrain. Or they might keep it as a historical building to anchor the development if they can.”

  And if they can’t, they’ll tear it down. I didn’t need to tell her that. I also didn’t ask what would happen to those gorgeous Fraser firs once the bulldozers start in. Depending on the time of year, they might be cut down and wholesaled out. If that was too much work for the return, there would be a controlled bonfire on Mary’s property. Even sadder.

  “Do you want to stay in the area?”

  “Probably not. Without the farm and the house, there’s not a lot to do around here for a middle aged single woman.”

  “You’re not even forty and you don’t look more than twenty five. I’d hardly call you middle aged. But I don’t imagine the dating scene up there is anything special.”

  “You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a date in a long time.”

  Her dad taking her out for ice cream would hardly qualify as a date. She’d made it through a lot of years without me, and done very well for herself. I didn’t want to disrupt her life. Finding her long lost father could be traumatic. That’s how I rationalized it.

  But if I am being completely honest, I’ve been too cowardly to tell her about how her mother and I were in love once upon a time and that she might be the fruit of that relationship. It was my fault. I had no idea Mairéad Flanagan had borne a daughter, a child who might be mine.

  Once she found out, Mary could resent me for not taking an active role in her childhood. Even though she had her own issues with her mother’s lifestyle, she might not forgive me for turning away. But without the certainty that she was my daughter, I could helicopter in and out of her life. She knew I would be there if she ever needed me.

  I needed to shed my spinelessness and face the truth. I had collected hair samples from her brush and DNA from a toothbrush the first time I visited the farm years ago. I could send it to Logan and he’d have a definitive answer in a matter of days.

  I said, “Well, if this is the last time, we’ll make it really special. Is there any place you’re thinking of relocating?”

  “I was raised in DC, and mom went to school there, but city living isn’t for me. I’ve lived in the mountains for years. Maybe the seashore next.”

  “If you want to check it out, you know I have a big house here on Hilton Head where you could stay if you want to explore the Lowcountry. Savannah and Charleston are nice little laid back towns for singles.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You still seem a little off. Is something else bothering you? Can I help?”

  “It’s something we should talk about in person, not on the phone. It can wait until you come. My pot roast still good for Christmas Eve dinner?”

  “You know it goes against my Catholic upbringing. That was supposed to be a meatless supper, but I love your cooking.”

  “Giada with training wheels. That’s me. I’ll see you Christmas Eve.”

  “I’ll be there. Literally, with bells on. ‘Night, Mary.”

  27

  More illegal activity that would fail to meet with Tomey’s approval was next on my list. I had forwarded the files I downloaded from Dugger’s laptop to Crain, my computer genius. From the material I gathered, it was child’s play for him to hack into the man’s account and read his email. I didn’t care about anything other than his meeting with Bolton. He was smart enough not to put anything incriminating about Townes in writing, but Crain said he’d use ‘Townes’ as a keyword in case the man slipped.

  As of early the next morning, Dugger had not responded. Even if he called or texted Bolton, Crain had tapped into his phone. So we were covered.

  Tomey was already out of the house by the time Ginn came down for breakfast. Moses wasn’t into cooking this morning, a rare occurrence. So I microwaved some steel-cut oatmeal and thawed some frozen blueberries. Bosco was more disappointed than I was that his friend hadn’t made breakfast.

  Ginn walked to the Sub-Zero, pulled out a container and plopped down on one of the island stools.

  I said, “What are you having for breakfast, Mo? Want me to make some more oatmeal?” When I saw what he had taken from the fridge, I said, “Oh my God, you’re kidding.”

  “What’s the problem? I don’t know how long tiramisu keeps, so I figured I’d best polish it off before it goes bad. Works for me any time of day.”

  “Let’s pick up a syringe at the drug store later so you can mainline that stuff.”

  “Rarse, mon.”

  I gave his arm a playful punch and told him about Black’s agenda for the day --- his meetings with McCarver and Bennie the Bearded Buddha.

  “We might have to drive up to Beaufort and stay close in case Dugger’s on the move.”

  He said, “Not a problem. Frog and Peach ain’t far from his place. Maybe Kat can freeze some of this stuff so we can have it anytime we want. Better yet, hand over the recipe.”

  My phone vibrated. A text from Crain. I said, “I hope you got all your listening gear ready. Bolton and Dugger are meeting at a coffee shop in Beaufort at ten.”

  “My listening gear is locked and loaded. If we get there by nine thirty, that’ll be plenty of time to set
up. I guess we be taking your Audi. Bigger trunk than Molly in case we need to stash a body or two in there.”

  “Finish your dessert and I’ll take Bosco out. We need to leave early to scope out this coffee shop. See where we can set up a mic.”

  “Parabolic’s probably too big if it’s a small joint. I’ll bring the whole kit and we’ll see what makes sense.”

  ~~~~~

  An hour later, we were sitting in my car in Beaufort, parked across the street from the coffee shop. It was close to the water with a sliver of river view. From the exterior, the place looked inviting. It wasn’t a Starbucks, Dunkin’ or part of any chain I’d heard of. It seemed to be a locally owned and operated affair and it was doing a brisk business. I was happy to see that a small old fashioned café could thrive against the national franchises.

  By nine the traffic slackened and Ginn and I ventured in. The place smelled amazing. Between the coffee and homemade baked goods, I was ready for a second breakfast. The hobbit habit of supplemental meals isn’t a bad idea.

  Ginn ordered coffee and scones for us and we camped out at a table near the entry. He said, “Bad news, 5-0. This place ain’t ripe for bugs, unless you’re talking cockroaches. Like I thought, no place to hide a parabolic. Only way we get a clean signal is a mic under their table, but which one they gonna sit at? I got three mics. There’s a dozen tables.”

  “That means we have a one in four chance of hitting the lottery here. You know, .250 hitters don’t stay in the big leagues long.”

  “Problem is, if either one of us is in the shop when they get here, they’ll take off. Shame we have such pretty faces. Me, at least.”

  “There’s that. This isn’t that kind of place where I could bribe the barista to seat them at a particular table.”

  “Could put shit on eight of the tables so’s they gravitate to the clean ones.”

  I said, “How do we explain that to the owner?”