Redneck's Revenge

by Joan Livingston

  “I owe it to her,” he says.

  “Sure. Sure. Let me get your jacket.”

  He glances at the kitchen clock. It’s nine-forty.

  “Want me to come back after I find ’em?”

  “I’ll stay up until eleven for you. If it takes longer than that, we’ll have to do this another time.”

  Jack nods slowly.

  “Fair enough.”

  Outside, he gives me one glance back as he walks toward his pickup. I wave and watch him drive away. I sigh. Once again, Eleanor Smith gets in the way of things.

  Chester

  It’s February school vacation, but Chester A. Waters Jr. is meeting me at his office. He calls himself Chester, not Chet like his father. He’s also a school principal, an educated man, not a junkyard owner. I am betting he has distanced himself in other ways as his sister and brother already hinted.

  As I drive north, I notice the snow has shrunk a bit although we could still get one of those heart-breaking late-season storms. I concentrate on my route.

  I bet you’re wondering what happened last night after Jack left. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Eleven o’clock came and went. No Jack. No phone call. Not even this morning. I suspect it took a while to find those three mutts. He didn’t want to wake me to tell me the news. So be it. I can’t worry about Jack. I have a busy day ahead. After Chester, I’m meeting Anthony Steward at his home in Caulfield. I might swing by Rough Waters to check in with Annette although I’m due there tomorrow for work on my mother’s car. Will I stop by the Rooster? Probably. It’s not normally open Tuesdays, but Jack wants to see if it’d be worth opening for six days instead of five.

  I arrive at Clark Elementary School in Manley, where kids from that town and Caulfield attend. Conwell is lucky to still have an elementary school within its borders. It robs something from a small town when it loses its school. Long, long ago, these hilltowns had a slew of one-room schoolhouses, which were eventually reduced to one, and in some instances, none, as the population couldn’t support one. It’s called regionalization.

  The side door is open as Chester said it would be. I follow the signs down a hallway to his office, where he sits behind a desk.

  “Isabel?” he greets me.

  I reach across the desk for a handshake. Chester looks a bit like his father, but he appears to have overcome that with better grooming and a healthier lifestyle.

  “Thanks for meeting with me today.”

  “I was intrigued by our phone call. So, my sister has convinced you our dear old dad was murdered, eh?” He chuckles. “Am I on her suspect list?”

  “No, you’re not. But it makes sense for me to interview everyone who was close to him.”

  Chester snorts.

  “Close? The only time I was close to my father was when he caught me with his backhand.”

  I cringe when I hear those words.

  “Annette did say your father was unkind to you and your brother.”

  “Unkind? That’s putting it mildly.” He eyes his coffee mug. “Where are my manners? Can I offer you some coffee?”

  I hold up my hand.

  “I’m just fine. I would like you to continue that line of conversation. What did you mean by putting it mildly?”

  His eyes shrink a bit.

  “Some people have kids who definitely shouldn’t. They make kids, but don’t take care of them. I see it here. When I was a kid, I found a refuge in school. My father wouldn’t pay a dime for me to go to college. I figured it out myself. He didn’t like it when he found out I was gay, but by then I rarely saw the man.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She loved us kids, but truthfully, she was useless when it came to protecting my brother and me.”

  I nod.

  “I talked with your brother, Mike. He said about a year before your father died, he actually apologized for being such a lousy father.”

  “Yeah, he apologized to me, too.” Chester sniffs. “He said an odd thing, ‘I guess I made you this way.’ I believe that was as close as he could get to accepting who I am.”

  “Did you hang out together after that?”

  “Not a whole lot. He wasn’t exactly comfortable being around my partner and me. We had him over for dinner one night.” He shakes his head. “Pop was definitely out of his comfort zone that night. He didn’t know what to make of my partner, Chris.” He pauses. “Let’s just say I understood him better.”

  Whoa, Isabel, you haven’t lost your touch after all. You manage to squeeze information from Chester without trying too hard. He seems a pleasant enough man, but so far he hasn’t said anything that would clear himself.

  “Where were you the night your father died?”

  “At home.”

  “At home. Is there anyone who can vouch for you?”

  “Sure, Chris. I can give you his cell if you want.”

  I give him a close study. Definitely, I should call his partner, but instead I use my reporter’s x-ray vision to see right through him. Am I getting soft? Nah, I think Chester is being truthful, so that’s what I tell him.

  “Yeah, I believe you.”

  He smiles.

  “When was the last time you saw your father?”

  “Oh, a few weeks before he died. We had dinner one night at Baxter’s. Just him and I. He seemed to have a lot of regrets that night, mostly about the way he treated my brother and me. I told him I forgave him. I don’t know how he came to that realization, but years of therapy helped me. Pop relaxed a bit after that, and then we just had a good time, like a father and son chatting and eating."

  “Not everybody will admit when they’re wrong like that.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad we had that last moment together.”

  I dig into my purse for a card.

  “Give me a call if you can think of anything that might help me.”

  Chester reaches for a pad and pen.

  “Will do. And here’s my cell number.”

  The Newcomer

  After leaving Chester Waters, I head to Caulfield, following the directions Anthony Steward gave me over the phone. On the main drag I pass the Caulfield police cruiser in the opposite lane. Yes, Chief Nancy Dutton is at the wheel. She makes a U-turn and hits the flashing lights. I’m driving under the speed limit, but I dutifully pull to the side of the road and wait.

  The chief is smiling, so I’m not in trouble. I roll down the window.

  “How’s the case going?” she asks me.

  “Nothing solid to report yet. Seems Chet liked to cheat at cards. But whether that’s enough to get himself killed, I don’t know.”

  “I heard that about him.”

  I reach over from my purse. I hand the chief a card.

  “Here you go. My daughter had these made for me.”

  “Nice.” She snaps my card between her fingers. “Sorry. I don’t have anything solid either. See you around.”

  Minutes later, I find that nosy newcomer’s house. Anthony Steward lives in a sweet old colonial that he and the woman, who answers the door, must have spent a fortune upgrading. The slate roof is intact. The clapboards, no vinyl or aluminum siding here, have a good coat of paint. The windows are high-end replacements. Yes, I learned all about this from Sam.

  “Anthony is in the study,” the woman who answers the door tells me.

  “Are you his wife?”

  She giggles.

  “No, I’m his live-in housekeeper. Follow me.”

  Who in the heck has a live-in housekeeper? I guess Anthony Steward does. I stand corrected.

  “Thanks.”

  Anthony watches television, CNN from the sounds of it, in the study, but he flicks off the set with the remote when he spots me. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are lined with books. The furniture is quality, lots of it Mission-style. It’s obvious the man’s loaded. I am guessing he is in his seventies or eighties. He has a good head of white hair he wears combed back. Nothing grows on his face. The man is dressed in L.L. Bean country. I
catch a whiff of cologne when he gestures at the chair beside his.

  “I was a bit surprised when you called to set up this interview,” he says. “Actually, I was amused to be linked to Chet Waters. You said over the phone you are investigating his death. I thought it was an accident.”

  “That’s the official story anyway. His daughter, Annette, feels differently.”

  “Ah, Annette, the junkyard proprietor.”

  Proprietor? This guy has his head stuck up his you know what.

  “I was told you were on the zoning board.”

  His head tips back.

  “Yes, I am. I thought they could use my experience. I owned an architectural firm in Boston.”

  “And how has that worked out?”

  He chortles. I bet he’s one of those newcomers who want to show the old-timers how it’s done. No more trailers. Keep the new houses far apart.

  “Let’s say, I am usually the minority vote on the board.”

  Right-o.

  “What was your relationship with Chet Waters?”

  He jerks his pointer finger.

  “Plain and simple, I wanted to shut down his junkyard.”

  “How come?”

  “It was a health hazard and a blight on the landscape of Caulfield.”

  A blight on the landscape? Rough Waters is on a back road, for Pete’s sake. Nobody goes by there unless they want to have their vehicle fixed or they need a part from one of the junks.

  “I take it you weren’t successful because his daughter is running it.”

  “Yes, but at least I tried. I called the state to determine whether the junkyard could be contaminating groundwater. That didn’t get very far.”

  “Did you ever talk face to face with Chet?”

  He snorts.

  “Oh, yes, on numerous occasions. The man even had the nerve to show up here one day. I called the police, but no one came until after he was gone. Law enforcement is virtually useless here.”

  “Most small towns only have part-time officers,” I say. “Did you ever go to his junkyard?”

  “Once.”

  “When was that?”

  He smiles.

  “Actually, a week or two before the fire.”

  “For what reason?”

  “One night, somebody did donuts on my front lawn with their snowmobile in the middle of the night. The next day, I did a little asking around and found out it was probably Chet. I went to confront him.”

  “How did that go?”

  “As you can imagine, not very well. He did have the nerve to admit it was him. I was incensed. His daughter came from the garage to break us up.”

  “Break you up?”

  “We didn’t take a swing at each other, if that’s what you’re thinking, but it’s the closest I’ve ever come to hitting somebody.” He waves his hand. “But that was the end of that exchange. Setting a house on fire to kill a man, even one as despicable as Chet Waters?” He leans forward. “No, ma’am, I don’t have it in me.”

  I’m afraid the man is right. I don’t like Anthony one bit, but he’s more of the suing kind of guy than the slaying kind. That would be his ultimate form of revenge. This interview has been a complete waste. I nod.

  “I apologize for taking up your time,” I say.

  He smiles.

  “Not at all. It’s not every day that a person is a suspect in a supposed murder.”

  I’m bummed as I return home. Ma will be disappointed by my lack of progress. I’m a few weeks into this case, and all I’ve gotten out of it is another bar owner slobbering all over me and an oil change for the Subaru. The only ones on my list of suspects are two drug-dealing brothers who are complete assholes, a rival junkyard owner, and his sons. I still have to meet up with JoJo Tidewater, but being an ex of Annette doesn’t make him a killer.

  I pass the road for Rough Waters but keep driving. I’m going there tomorrow anyway, and now I’m ticked off enough to ask Annette about her relationship with Gary Beaumont. What does she mean I wouldn’t know him? I’m about ready to tell her I’m off the case. We’re even. Of course, I need to talk with Lin Pierce. He’ll probably be relieved. Maybe, he’ll fire me. It would serve me right for being so naïve.

  The Pit Stop is on my right. What the heck, I pull into the lot and park. I check my phone now that I have some kind of service. Yes, there’s a call from Jack. I play the message.

  “Isabel, it’s me, Jack. Sorry about last night. Those damn mutts. I didn’t find them until two in the morning. I promise to make it up to you.”

  I’ll accept that. It’s only one or so, too soon for Jack to be at the Rooster. I might stop by his house if his truck’s there. Right now, I’m walking through the front door of the Pit Stop. Barbie comes from the back after the bell announces my arrival.

  “Hey, Isabel,” she says. “How’s it going, hon?”

  “So-so.”

  I head for the cooler for a bottle of water.

  “Only so-so?”

  “Yeah, I don’t seem to be making much progress on my case.”

  “Really, hon?” Barbie plays with that pendant around her neck. “Last time you were in here, you said you were.”

  That’s when I spot Pete standing behind the open doorway, but to the side as if he thinks I won’t see him. He sure is underestimating my observational skills. I pretend not to notice.

  “You alone today?”

  “No, no, Pete’s back there somewhere,” Barbie says with a cheery voice. “Here he is. Hi, darlin’.”

  “Hey, Isabel,” Pete greets me.

  Barbie grins at her hubby.

  “Isabel says she’s not making progress on that case.”

  He shakes his head.

  “What did I tell ya, Isabel? Annette just can’t accept the fact that her father was a drunk who died when he set his place on fire.”

  I set the bottle on the counter and reach into my purse.

  “Yes, that’s the official word.”

  Trouble with the Beaumonts

  I’m about a half-mile from the Pit Stop when I notice in my rear-view mirror a pickup truck is driving too close to the Subaru’s back bumper. Huh? I may be spacing out thinking about this stupid case, but I’m driving the speed limit. I can’t be holding up this guy.

  We are in a section of the road where the pickup could pass me easily, but it stays put. I speed up a little. The truck does, too. What the hell’s going on?

  That’s when I notice who’s behind the wheel. Gary Beaumont. His idiot brother, Larry, is beside him. The truck’s front end is only a few feet from the Subaru’s back bumper. I’m wondering when these f’ing idiots started following me. Did they see my car at the Pit Stop and wait until I left?

  I am definitely not feeling good about this. Clearly, they’re trying to scare me. It’s working. About all I can do is keep my head and my eyes on this winding road. I’m not going to speed up and risk an accident. Maybe that’s what those Beaumonts want.

  When I glance in the rear-view mirror, the brothers are laughing. Gary gives the pickup truck’s horn a few unfriendly blasts.

  Hands on the wheel, Isabel. Keep your eyes on the road. Don’t let them get to you.

  This goes on for a couple of miles. My gut is in knots. Gary has not eased up at all. Are they planning to follow me all the way home? Then what? It would be a great moment for Police Chief Nancy Dutton to pass this way, but luck isn’t on my side right now.

  Finally, I see my chance. I close in on a delivery truck tooling down this country road. There’s a passing lane. I don’t bother signaling as I press the gas pedal. The driver is probably cursing me out big time, and I don’t blame him, but now he’s between the Beaumont brothers and me. I feel safe for a little while because at some point Gary is going to do the same thing.

  Then I see the sign ahead for Baxter’s. I hit the directional for a right-hand turn and bullet into the parking lot as close to the door as possible. I kill the engine and rush from the car. I check beh
ind me. The Beaumonts aren’t there.

  But maybe they’re parked alongside the road. Shoot, why did I even take this case?

  I’m almost crying when I enter Baxter’s.

  “Isabel, you all right?” Dancin’ Dave calls as he comes from behind the bar.

  I shake my head.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He puts his arm around me.

  “What happened, Isabel? Did you have an accident?”

  “Almost. The Beaumonts were tailgating me for miles. They were trying to scare me.”

  “What the fuck?”

  Dave guides me to a table. I glance around. The place is empty, except for a couple of old boozehounds sitting at the bar, so I keep my voice down as I tell Dave the details. He sits beside me. I have his full attention.

  “I’m sure glad you’re open,” I say.

  “Me, too. But I’m concerned about you getting home safely. I don’t trust those guys.”

  I sigh.

  “Yeah.”

  “Say, how about my following you home?”

  “That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to… ”

  Dave doesn’t let me finish.

  “But I want to. When do you need to head back? Could you stick around for a little while?”

  “Soon, I’m afraid. I’ve got a dog I need to let outside.”

  “Just a sec.”

  Dave walks toward the bar. He talks with the bartender. His voice is loud enough for me to hear across the room.

  “If those damn Beaumonts show up, tell ’em they’re not welcome in here until I have a talk with ’em,” he says with authority in his voice. “If they give you a lick of trouble, call the cops.”

  “Yeah, boss,” the bartender says.

  “I’m gonna see Isabel home. I’ll be back later.” Then Dancin’ Dave, all friendly-like is back at my table. “Let’s go, sweetheart. I’ll follow your car. ”

  Safe and Sound

  There’s no sign of the Beaumonts on the rest of my ride home. The only person tailing me is Dancin’ Dave, and he’s doing it at a respectable distance in his pickup. I make it safely to Conwell, noting Jack’s pickup is already parked at the Rooster, but I’m not stopping for anything or anybody until I get to my driveway. I give Dave plenty of notice I’m turning. He parks beside my car, and then he’s bounding outside to walk beside me.