Redneck's Revenge

by Joan Livingston

  “Why are you doin’ this, Isabel? How much is Annette payin’ you anyways?”

  “Uh, free service on my and my mother’s cars, and actually Lin Pierce’s cars, for a long, long time.” I laugh into the bottle. “Yeah, yeah, I don’t wanna hear it.”

  “What about? You having a soft spot in your heart for rednecks?”

  My shoulders shake as I laugh.

  “I thought you were gonna say I work cheap.”

  He chuckles.

  “That, too.”

  And so it goes back and forth, the teasing and the laughter.

  Jack eyes my bottle.

  “You’re gettin’ low there. Want another beer? It’s on the house.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll stick with my one and only tonight. I should get home.”

  Jack’s stopped talking. He peels the label from his beer. I give him a close read.

  “Something you wanna tell me?” I ask him. “Go ahead. Spit it out.”

  He shakes his head.

  “It’s nothin’.”

  “Nah, I can tell it’s something.”

  “Dave Baxter is quite taken with you.”

  “That so?”

  “But I told him I had dibs on you first.”

  “What!”

  He gives my cheek a gentle pinch.

  “Ah, gotcha!”

  Report

  Of course, Ma is awake when I get home. She’s got her feet up on a stool with the cat on her lap and the dog beside her on the floor. The TV is on but likely only for background noise. She sets aside her book, one of those sleazy romance novels that have a bodice-ripper illustration on the front cover. She borrowed it from the library. I believe the librarian, Mira, gets a kick out of the fact my mother reads that stuff.

  “How’d it go?” she asks as I hang my jacket in the hall closet.

  “Just fine. And you won’t believe who showed up. Dancin’ Dave.”

  My mother’s head tips back as she laughs.

  “Ha. Jack’s got some competition,” she says with a merry note to her voice.

  “Yeah, Dave cut in when Jack and I were dancing.”

  “How did Jack take that?”

  “He was cool about it, but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled.” I laugh. “Then I found out from the Floozy and Tough Cookie that Dave owns Baxter’s, that biker bar where we met Mike Waters.”

  My mother laughs with me.

  “Hmm, so my daughter has two bar owners fighting over her.”

  “I don’t think they’re fighting, Ma. Maybe more like interested.”

  She sets her book on the side table.

  “You trying to tell me a man visits another man’s bar just because he’s interested. Come on, Isabel, I may be old, but I’m not dumb. You’re an attractive woman. Face it.”

  “He did leave me a five-dollar tip for two beers and a shot of tequila,” I say with a giggle.

  “Is that a big tip?”

  “At the Rooster, yeah.” I reach into the front pocket of my jeans for the paper. “He also tucked this inside of the bill. Take a look.”

  She reads what Dave wrote then hands the paper back to me.

  “Hmm, interesting. You going to call him?”

  “Sure. Adding Chet Waters’ name might be a trick, but it’s worth a call.” I finger the paper. “Hey, I’m taking the Subaru to Annette’s garage tomorrow for an oil change. She insisted. Besides, we couldn’t talk about the Beaumonts at the bar. Turns out the Rooster’s cook is related to them.”

  “Is there somebody not related to somebody here?”

  “Yeah, the newcomers. Do you wanna come with me tomorrow? Or maybe you’re tired of hearing about the Beaumonts.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hey, you won’t believe who was also there tonight. Pete and Barbie Woodrell, the owners of the Pit Stop. Guess they came on their snowmobiles.”

  “That’s nice.” She picks up her book. “I’m thinking about making a trip to your brother’s. The last time I was there was Thanksgiving.”

  I nod. She’s experiencing what it’s like to have a long winter. Back home, as she calls it, there are already signs of spring. At least the snow, if it got any, is long gone. We still have quite a bit although I detect it’s beginning to shrink. I kept hearing comments at the Rooster that the sap in the maple trees has started running. The sugarhouses have begun boiling.

  “Sure. Give Danny a call. I can do any day that works for him.”

  I let the dog out before I check what’s on the tube and decide the movie playing on the TV isn’t interesting enough. I head upstairs to my office to survey my crime scene wall. At the center is the photo of Annette and her Pop. I recently tacked a road map beside it that I’ve marked up with the locations important to this case such as both junkyards, Baxter’s, and, of course, the Beaumont brothers’ shit box of a house. Annette gave me the address of her brother, Mike, and just because it’s a hotbed of activity, the Pit Stop. They form a sloppy triangle if I connect the dots.

  A recent addition is the bloody photo Sean Mooney, the reporter from the Bugle, took on his phone. I also created a map of Rough Waters showing the rows of junks, including the Corolla, plus the fence, garage, and house. I mark where Chet’s body was found, and now where Sean shot the bloody spot, plus where Annette thinks she found the dog’s body.

  I have Annette’s list of suspects on the wall. The Beaumonts are still at the top. Al Sinclair hasn’t been eliminated. I grab a pen and add his sons’ names, Junior and Roy.

  I ponder a dilemma about the Beaumonts. Should I tell Annette about the brothers’ connection to the dope found in the Corolla? She is my client after all, but I worry she’d blab it to her cousin, Marsha, and then word would get around to the brothers, who surely would keep their promise of looking me up. Crap, Isabel, what are you going to do now?

  I move closer. There are still two people on Annette’s list I haven’t contacted: Anthony Steward, a newcomer who wanted to shut down Chet Waters’ junkyard, and JoJo Tidewater, one of Annette’s loser ex-boyfriends. Of course, I should look up her brother, Chester, and the Sinclair boys. Curious, nobody ever says much about Annette’s kid, Abe.

  I tack up Dancin’ Dave’s note beside the newspaper clippings. I’ll give the guy the benefit of the doubt and call him tomorrow. Maybe he does have something useful for me.

  A Call to Dancin’ Dave

  I ring the number Dancin’ Dave gave me before Ma and I leave for Annette’s garage in Caulfield. I believe I might have woken him up, or maybe he’s just not a morning person, but he revives quickly when I tell him who I am.

  “Glad you called, Isabel,” he tells me. “You found my note. I was hopin’ you would.”

  “Uh-huh, that was a rather generous tip.”

  “Eh, you deserve it. You’re good behind the bar. You could work for me anytime.”

  I ignore his offer.

  “You wanted to talk about Chet Waters?”

  He laughs.

  “I see you’re the kind of woman who gets right to the point,” he says. “I like that.”

  “Good. What did you want to tell me about him?”

  Another laugh.

  “Ah, not so fast, Isabel. I wanna talk with you in person.”

  Uh-oh, I knew there was a catch.

  “I see. When would you like to meet?”

  “How about tonight at my place, say around seven-thirty? The band doesn’t start playin’ until nine, so it’ll be a little quieter. Besides, I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

  “Your place. You mean Baxter’s? By the way, I didn’t know you owned it until last night.”

  “You didn’t, huh? What kind of a private investigator are you?”

  “A rookie private investigator,” I say. “Dave, it’s really not necessary to treat me to dinner.”

  “But I want to. You’re comin’ all that way to talk with me. You’ve gotta eat. I’ve gotta eat. We might as well do it together. We might even make it onto the da
nce floor,” he says with a chuckle. “Uh, it won’t be necessary to bring those bodyguards with you tonight.”

  “Bodyguards?”

  “You know, those two women you were with last Saturday, Annette and her cousin. I’d like to talk with you in private.”

  I’m getting a bit suspicious of Dancin’ Dave’s motives. But maybe he has something I can use to solve this case and wants to keep it between us. I get it. Anyway, we are meeting early in the evening, and I can always bow out before it gets too late. I’ll ask Ma to give me a call at ten to see how I’m doing and whether I need an excuse to split.

  “I’ll see you tonight at seven-thirty,” I tell him.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Oil Change

  Ma and I talk over my dilemma about the Beaumont brothers on the way to Rough Waters. Her advice? Gauge Annette’s trustworthiness. It’s not like the woman is paying me big bucks to risk my neck, a fact Lin Pierce reminded me. I reminded him back to take his vehicles up there. I’ve been keeping track of my hours. In the future, I’m going to figure out this business part. Yeah, the house is paid off and I have money in the bank from Sam’s life insurance but still.

  Now, as we meet Annette inside her garage I’m doing exactly as my mother suggested. Annette wears coveralls and her hair is wrapped in an oil-stained bandana. She rolls a chair across the floor.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Ferreira,” she says, but then her attention is on me. “Tell me about the Beaumonts. I’m dyin’ to hear what those assholes said.”

  “Like I told you, neither of them had an alibi for that night,” I tell her.

  She pounds a fist into the palm of her hand.

  “Those little bastards. What else you got on them?”

  “There’s more, and this is where it gets tricky.” I pause. “They told me some things, and I promised not to tell anybody. But it’s key to this case you hired me to solve. Things got really ugly when I was at their house. They threatened me if what they said gets out. Not about they’re not having alibis. Something else.” I pause again. “If I tell you this information and you blab it to somebody else, like your cousin, Marsha, it could put me in danger. I’m not kidding.”

  Annette nods as she listens.

  “Yeah, they’d do somethin’ like that. I’m sure of it. There was a guy in the next town over who squealed on ’em to the cops. It wasn’t even that big a deal. They put him in the hospital.”

  I glance at my mother.

  “Great.”

  “Let me guess. It has somethin’ to do with what Pop found in the Corolla. Am I right?” She waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I can tell. You don’t have to say nothin’. When you solve this case, you can tell me every damn thing.”

  “Thanks, Annette. I’ve been struggling with this.”

  She snorts.

  “It’s not like I’m payin’ you big money to find out who killed Pop. Speakin’ of which, I better get on with this oil change. There’s another chair in the office if you want, Isabel.”

  “That’s okay. I think I’ll take a walk around the yard. I see your dogs are in their pen.”

  “Yup, they’re not gonna bother you.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you I met your brother, Mike.”

  “What’d he have to say?”

  “He claims he has an alibi, but I’m gonna check on it for sure. Says he was driving truck in the Midwest when a big snowstorm hit.”

  Annette frowns.

  “That sounds about right. He had a tough time gettin’ back for the funeral. But glad you’re checkin’ his story. The only thing he cared about was gettin’ his share of the land.”

  “He did tell me an interesting story.”

  Annette smirks.

  “What was it?”

  “He said your father apologized for the way he treated him and your other brother. They sort of made up after that.”

  “When was that?”

  “About a year before he died.”

  Annette is silent for a moment. She nods.

  “Yeah, I suspected somethin’ like that. Pop never mentioned anythin’ like that to me. I did notice him gettin’ together with Mike at least. Dunno about Chester.”

  “Interesting. I wonder what inspired him?”

  She shrugged.

  “Somebody must’ve, I suppose. I can tell you it wasn’t me.”

  Outside, I avoid the mud and stick to the slushy snow as I pass the dogs’ pen. I toss the barking mutts a few biscuits before I stroll to the yard’s backside. This would be a good opportunity to check the Corolla again without Annette hovering over me.

  The snow around the vehicles has shrunk a bit due to the gaining sunlight. Still, I have to yank open the Corolla’s front passenger door through the frozen stuff to get inside. I search the glove box and beneath the seats. Nothing. I even pop the hood and the trunk. All that’s left is the torn spare tire. Nothing else.

  I walk the grounds. My reporter’s instincts tell me there is a clue somewhere here. A big clue in fact. I stand near the spot where Sean found the blood. Damn, there’s still so much snow. But something’s here. I can sense it. I’ll just have to come back.

  Inside the garage, Ma and Annette are talking a blue streak. Annette lets the hood fall into place.

  “Car’s just fine. I told your mother you should bring in her Ford next week. And she shouldn’t leave it sittin’ so much.”

  “You’re right.” I turn toward Ma. “Maybe you should drive it. It’s not good for you to be sitting so much, too. Gotta keep you on the road.”

  “As long as you’re not a backseat driver,” Ma says.

  “What’d you mean? I hardly say anything about your driving, well, except when you go too fast.”

  “I see you hitting the brake on your side of the car.”

  I laugh and raise my hands in surrender.

  “Guilty as charged.” Now I speak with Annette. “How about Wednesday? Same time?”

  “Works for me,” Annette says. “Will I see you tonight at Baxter’s?”

  “You might if you’re there early enough. Dave wants to talk with me about your father.”

  Annette snickers.

  “Oh, really? Ha. Now that’s a come on,” she says. “Mrs. Ferreira, you should’ve seen him dancin’ with your daughter. He was slobberin’ all over her.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” I say.

  “Sure, sure.” She hands my mother her purse. “You have a funny daughter.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Hey!”

  On the way back home, I decide to get gas at the Pit Stop. So far, I haven’t gotten much of anything here.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say before I head inside to pre-pay.

  Barbie’s at the counter, straightening up stuff, but she calls hubby, Pete, when she recognizes me. I tell her I want ten bucks worth of gas before Pete hustles behind her.

  “Hey, Isabel, how’s it hangin’?”

  I don’t believe I’ve got anything hanging, but it’s Pete’s way to be friendly.

  “It’s hanging just fine. Nice to see you both at the Rooster last night.”

  Barbie smiles for me.

  “We haven’t been in years… ”

  Pete cuts her off.

  “I like Baxter’s better. More my crowd.” He grunts. “But with the full moon it was a nice night for a ride. Don’t know how many of those we’ve got left.”

  “That’s what the guys were saying last night. The snow’s shrinking.” I turn toward Barbie. “You’re a good dancer.”

  Barbie doesn’t reply. Instead her white face turns red. She watches Pete from the corner of her eyes. I reach into my wallet for a ten. Barbie takes the bill, and that’s when I notice a ring of bruises on her wrist as if somebody yanked her hard, and I don’t believe it was from dancing last night. I bet Annette is right about Pete. Crap, I don’t like this situation at all. I’m beginning to not like Pete either.

  “How’s the case going?” he asks.


  “Slow but sure,” I answer. “Got any tips for me?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Barbie’s head bobs like a puppet.

  “Hon, I did hear Sunderland’s sugar shack had its first boiling yesterday,” she says.

  “Now that’s something,” I say. “Spring’s on its way for sure.”

  Dinner and Dancin’

  I ask the bartender at Baxter's if he’s seen his boss.

  “Isabel, right? He says to sit tight. He’s straightening out some business in the backroom. Can I get you anything?”

  I take a stool.

  “I’m fine for now.”

  “Just holler if you do.” He winks. “I was told to give you the royal treatment.”

  I smile when I ponder what the royal treatment means in a biker bar. Do I get a black leather cape and chrome tiara? Yeah, yeah, I’m only being a wiseass. I spin around to take in the place, which is full of drinkers, diners, and I suppose, dancers. I don’t recognize a soul, but I’m not surprised since I’m in another county and maybe, world. After all, anyone who isn’t civilized enough to drink at the Rooster has to come here.

  But that scenario changes fast when the Beaumont brothers, Gary and Larry, arrive. Larry elbows Gary, who nods when he notices me standing near the bar. They’re talking it over, and when that’s done, they march my way.

  “What the hell you doin’ here, Isabel?” Gary says.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I give him back.

  Gary takes a step forward.

  “You’re kinda outta your league hangin’ out at Baxter’s, don’t you think?”

  “Why? Cause I haven’t been kicked out of the Rooster like you two?”

  They’re silent for a moment. I’ve caught them off guard. Maybe they thought I’d be scared after getting kicked out of their rat’s nest of a house. I was but I’m sure as hell not going to let them know. I remember my parents telling me when I was a kid not to show a mean dog you’re scared. I believe that advice applies with the Beaumont brothers.

  “Maybe she’s spyin’ on us.”

  But before I can come up with something snappy, Dancin’ Dave says behind them, “Isabel is my guest here tonight. If you two have a problem with that, then I suggest you find someplace else to drink.”