Redneck's Revenge

by Joan Livingston

  “I’m learning all right.”

  He pauses again.

  “You came for some advice, so here goes. How about giving it one week more?”

  I mull what he says.

  “One more week? Yeah, I hear you.” I stare into space while I let that sink in. “I do have to confront Al Sinclair. I have yet to talk to his two sons or the last person on Annette’s list. There might be something there.” I smile. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something on the Beaumonts.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “There’s also one thing I want to check at the junkyard. I’m going there next with my mother’s car. You take yours in yet?”

  “No, not yet.” He chuckles. “You’re frustrated, but in the end, you want to say you gave it your best shot even if things don’t pan out like you hope.”

  If I were a callous person, now would be the moment to ask him about that case he blew, but I’m not and I won’t. Lin is an okay person. I did look up that case in the Daily Star’s online records. The Fattest Old Fart got the story awfully close. He told me Lin tried to make amends. That’s a lot harder than doing it right from the beginning. That part wasn’t in the story by the way.

  “I’ll give it one more week, just for you, Lin.”

  “No, no, do it for Chet Waters and his daughter. They deserve an honest answer. Remember what moved you to take this case. It certainly wasn’t for the money.”

  He’s absolutely right, and I tell him so.

  Young Abe

  Annette’s not alone when I pull my mother’s beast of a car into Rough Waters. She’s outside, a rag in hand, talking with a young guy, in his late teens or early twenties, who I figure correctly is her son.

  “Abe, this is Isabel. She’s the one trying to find out who killed your grandfather.”

  Her son blinks and nods. He mumbles hello after I say the same.

  Abe’s a thin, tall guy with rounded shoulders and brown hair that hangs below his ears. I might have a hard time recalling his face, it is so unremarkable, except for the mustache that sprouts a sparse collection of rather long whiskers. He sniffs and wipes snot with the back of his hand until he finally reaches into the back pocket of his jeans for a raggedy bandana.

  If my daughter Ruth had brought someone home like Abe as her boyfriend, we would’ve had a serious talk. But he’s Annette’s kid and a real country kid.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, as I study him for any resemblance to his father, Gary Beaumont. He might have his father’s beady, blue eyes.

  “Abe’s here to learn the business,” his mother says. “Might as well. There’s not a whole lot around here for work. Not much of a career pumping gas and cleaning toilets at the Flo ’n’ Go.”

  “Flo ’n’ Go,” I say. “I don’t believe I know that place.”

  “It’s in Dayville, north of here. It’s a lot like the Pit Stop but smaller.” She points to my mother’s car. “Abe, why don’t you drive her car into the empty bay?”

  “Key’s in the ignition,” I tell him.

  Abe grunts and strolls toward my mother’s car. There’s nothing hurrying this boy. Annette watches him and doesn’t speak. I can guess what happened. Abe got himself into trouble, lost his job, and now she’s doing her best to turn him into a mechanic. It’s tough being a single mom in the sticks.

  As predicted, Annette speaks when Abe’s out of earshot.

  “I love my son, but he’s so easily influenced by his buddies. Got himself fired from the only shitty job he could find. Now he’s mine.” She frowns as she shakes her head. “Takes after his father, I suppose.”

  “You mean Gary Beaumont?”

  Annette’s eyes get big, really big.

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Sorry. I can’t say.”

  Her brow forms a hard roll.

  “It was Fred, I betcha.”

  I wave both hands.

  “I’m not saying.”

  “You tell anyone else?”

  “No, no,” I say, not counting my mother. “So, it’s true.”

  Annette checks the garage for her kid.

  “Please, keep that to yourself. I haven’t even told Marsha.” I hear a note of pleading instead of threat in her voice. “Abe just thinks it was some guy who was in the area for a short time. And that fucker Gary sure as hell doesn’t know.”

  “I’m gonna be honest with you, Annette. I thought it odd you didn’t tell me one of the suspects on your list is the father of your son, and one of our top suspects at that. That’s an important detail to leave out, don’t you think? Actually, you said I wouldn’t know him.”

  Annette’s shoulders rise in a half-shrug.

  “I suppose. But sometimes I try to forget it happened. Gary and his brother turned out to be such assholes, I’m glad he wasn’t a part of my son’s life. When I see him now, I wonder why I ever went out with him.” She spits on the ground. “He didn’t force himself on me or anythin’ like that. We were drinkin’ and smokin’ in his pickup, and you know what happened next. My father would’ve killed him if he ever found out.”

  Something clicks inside. It’s one of those ah-ha moments I got as a reporter when things began to make sense.

  “Any chance your father could’ve and he confronted Gary? Maybe things got outta hand?”

  The toe of her boot taps into the mud.

  “Never thought of that.” We’re both silent for a while as we let that possibility sink in. But then she shakes her head. “Nah, if that asshole found out he fathered my kid, don’t you think he would’ve talked with me about it? He sure would’ve had somethin’ over on me.”

  Oops, now I feel that fizzle a reporter gets when a hunch falls apart.

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “So, how’s the case goin’?”

  I study her. She already knows.

  “I don’t seem to be making a whole lot of progress. I called your brother Mike’s former boss, and he confirmed he was stuck in a snowstorm. That guy Anthony was a bust. Your ex, Fred, too. I haven’t caught up with JoJo Tidewater yet. But be honest with me. Is he really a suspect or are you just trying to piss him off?”

  She presses her lips hard.

  “Piss him off. Sorry. He owes me money.”

  “So, that’s the bum. Fine, I’ll cross him off the list.” I feel like slapping her, but I let it go. “The Beaumonts are still at the top of the list. I sure stirred something up in those guys.”

  “Yeah, I heard how they tailed ya.”

  “You did?”

  “Everybody at Baxter’s heard,” she says. “What about Al?”

  “I have some things to talk over with him and his boys. I’m working up to it.”

  Her hands are on her hips.

  “Are you quittin’ on me?”

  “Not yet. I just met with my boss. He says to give it one more week. I agreed. I’m just gonna do my best for you.”

  “That’s all I asked for from the start.” She nods as her kid stands in the doorway of the garage and calls for her. “He’s ready. Let’s take care of your mother’s car. By the way, I had to laugh when you pulled in with that Ford. Changes your whole look drivin’ that old lady car.”

  I laugh.

  “Maybe I’ll use it to go under cover,” I say. “While I’m here, I wanna take a look around. Looks like the snow’s melted some.”

  “You really think somebody dropped somethin’ on the ground that night?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. Wish me luck.”

  Annette gives me a full-armed wave as she walks toward her son, whose head is down as if he’s facing some sort of doom. Poor kid, lost kid, but Annette’s a nice mom who wants to do her best.

  I spin around and head to that spot where the reporter, Sean Mooney, got a picture of that patch of blood. Just like winter, it’s taking a lot for the snow to leave around these rows of junkers. There’s mud besides the snow, so I’m glad I’m wearing boots. I’ll continue to do so until this da
mn season is over. I find a stick, likely the handle of some long-gone farm rake or hoe, and use the tip to poke around the mud, but I find nothing in the top wet layer. I give it a stir and a chop but still nothing.

  To my left, snow is piled high against the nearest car, something old and American, yes, a Ford. How long has it been here? I jab at the snow, which thawed and froze into a sold block. I lean the pole against the car and march inside.

  Annette and her son hang over the engine of my mother’s car.

  “Find anythin’?” she asks without looking up.

  “How long has that blue Ford at the end of the first row been there?”

  Her head tips to the right. She squints.

  “We’ve had that one for a while, five years maybe. Nobody wants that hunk of junk.” Her face brightens. “Hey, that’s before Pop died. Why?”

  “I just keep thinking there’s something there, but that damn snow is in the way.”

  Annette turns toward her son.

  “When we’re done here today, I want you to take the pickaxe and shovel and clear the snow around that car. Just get it down, so the sun can do its job. Don’t touch anythin’.” Annette turns toward me. “I’ll call you after he’s done. Your mother’s car is ready by the way. Don’t let it sit so much. Take that baby out on the road.”

  I smile as she drops the hood.

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  Annette watches while I back the car from the garage. She bites her lip as if she wishes she had told me more. I’m ready to drive forward through Rough Waters’ gate when I hear her shout. She waves hard with both arms.

  “Wait! Wait! Isabel! Wait!”

  I brake and roll down the window.

  “What’s up?”

  “Be back in a sec.”

  Annette moves fast inside the garage and minutes later she is standing beside my car. Her hand is out. A gold watch lies in its palm.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it belongs to one of those Sinclair kids. I found it on Pop’s workbench. Look on the back. There’s writin’.”

  I turn over the watch, where I see the name Eben Sinclair etched into the surface. As I recall that’s the grandfather’s name.

  “You want me to return it for you?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says with a flat voice. “I found the watch last year. I knew who it belonged to, but I held onto it. Give it to the kid. Maybe it’ll make it easier when you meet Al and his boys.”

  “It just might. I’ll talk with them tomorrow. It’s getting late. I’ve got animals at home and my mother’s away.”

  Annette’s head bobs as if she agrees with every word I say.

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call when Abe is done.” I smile to put her at ease. It must’ve taken a lot for her to give me that watch and admit her hand in it. “Okay, I believe I’m gonna drive this baby around town and fool a few people.”

  Annette and even Abe laugh when I grab a knit hat that belongs to my mother from the backseat and pull it low over my head. I take sunglasses from my purse. And then I gun my mother’s car out of Rough Waters. In the rearview mirror, I see Annette slap her thighs as she whoops up a laugh.

  I head for the Beaumont brothers’ dump and park my mother’s Ford along the side of the road. Nothing stirs in that den of iniquity. Their pickups are in the driveway, but there’s no movement in the windows. Wait, I see a shadow move across a window on the left side of the house, the kitchen where we met, I believe. Instinctively, I lower myself in the seat.

  Hold on, Isabel, what do you think you’re doing parking in front of the Beaumonts’ house? Do you honestly believe you will learn something that will solve this case? Or maybe you’re just trying to spook them a little. They haven’t seen your mother’s car before. Maybe they’ll think you’re a narc. I laugh and shake my head. This ain’t my style. Besides, I bet they’re taking Dancin’ Dave’s threats seriously. They haven’t even left any threatening messages on my phone.

  I put the car in drive.

  Another back way takes me past Baxter’s, uh, no thanks, and then another loop brings me back on the main drag near the Pit Stop. Shoot, it’s mid-afternoon already. Suddenly, I’m hungry. Maybe Barbie has some of those homemade muffins left.

  I rush inside to the ring of the bell above the door and give a big, “Howdy, Barbie,” but I stop when she steps from the backroom. Her arm is in a sling.

  “Ouch, what happened to you?”

  She makes a sheepish smile.

  “I slipped on some ice. Nothing’s broken. Just a bad sprain.”

  “Seems like you’ve had a run of bad luck with injuries lately.”

  She doesn’t look me in the eye.

  “Just a stupid fall. I’m a little clumsy. Just ask Pete.”

  I’ve heard that before from women in troubled relationships. I lean forward. I don’t recall seeing Pete’s pickup truck, but I’m not taking any chances. I lower my voice.

  “Are you okay, really?” I ask. “Is there something you wanna tell me? Maybe I can help.”

  She shakes her head.

  “I’m… ” She stops then begins again. “I, uh… ”

  Barbie’s head flips around. I hear boot heels in the backroom. Pete Woodrell makes a quick sweep into the store. I was concentrating on what Barbie was saying, so I didn’t hear his pickup pull up.

  “Isabel, how ya been?”

  “Hey, Pete,” I say, but nothing more since his greeting isn’t a question but just an over-friendly hello.

  He stands beside Barbie and gives her a half-hug.

  I’m getting ill.

  “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with the clumsy little gal,” he says. “Right, hon?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says without much conviction.

  I’m not in the mood to buy anything here, and luckily, the muffins are gone. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to stop at this dump anymore.

  “Gee, I came by for one of Barbie’s muffins. But it looks like I’m too late. You got cleaned out.”

  Pete chuckles.

  “Yeah, they go awfully fast. Right, hon?”

  Barbie’s head bobbles as if it’s on string.

  “Uh-huh.”

  I study Pete and Barbie. There’s definitely something amiss here.

  “I’ll remember that the next time I swing through. See you both.”

  Family Intervention

  Feeling a bit guilty, I take Maggie for a long walk when I get home. The dog is happy to run and sniff. Ma would approve. Upon our return, I find I have company. My kids are here.

  “Hey, whose birthday is it?” I joke when I come inside.

  Ruth, who sits at the kitchen table, gives me that disapproving daughter look. Her arms are crossed. She wants to talk about something serious, and for backup, I suppose, she’s brought along her brothers, who are rifling through the fridge. Maggie joins them.

  “Hey, girl, where’ve you been?” Alex asks the dog.

  “Are you two done in there?” Ruth asks her brothers. “I’ve got to leave soon. Gregg has the baby.”

  Her brothers shut the fridge door and dutifully join Ruth at the table.

  “What’s up?” I ask as I take a chair.

  Ruth glances at her brothers.

  “Matt heard about what those Beaumonts did the other day, how they almost ran you off the road. That was dangerous, Mom, and I, uh, we don’t like it one bit.”

  “The Beaumonts did scare me a little, but they’re not going to bother me anymore.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  How do I explain Dave Baxter to my daughter? I’ll guess I’ll give it a try.

  “If they do, they’ll be banned from the only bar in the hilltowns that will let them drink. I have the owner’s word. That should do it. You don’t look convinced.”

  Alex and Matt are stuffing their faces with food, so I expect Ruth will do all the talking or rather scolding.

  “I d
on’t understand why you are working on this case,” she says. “The last one was bad enough, but at least you knew the people involved, and it was in our town. But this one? It’s way the heck out of the way. You’re dealing with junkyard owners and drug dealers.”

  I hear the concern in my daughter’s voice. She is definitely speaking out of love for me.

  “The junkyard owners are actually nice people. But if it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one to question this case.”

  “Grandma?”

  I tip my head.

  “Actually, no. Grandma’s okay with it. It was somebody else. Jack Smith.” Now I’m expecting a lecture about Jack, so I ramble on. “Just so you know, this case doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere. I’m giving it one week, and then I’m calling it quits. I was ready to quit today, but Lin Pierce, the P.I. that I work with, said to give it a little bit more time.”

  I see Ruth’s resolve melt a bit. She relaxes those crossed arms.

  “One week.”

  “Uh-huh. I just told Annette, the woman who hired me, the same thing. Being a P.I. is harder than I thought. But I said I’d give it my best shot, and I still have a few things to look into for her. Okay?”

  Ruth sighs. She glances at her brothers, who haven’t stopped chowing down.

  “We just don’t want anything bad happening to you like what happened with Eleanor Smith,” Ruth says with a quiver in her voice.

  I pat her arm.

  “I promise you three I won’t do anything that puts me in danger. I will be more selective about the cases I decide to take on. All right?”

  “Yes.” Ruth whips her head toward her brothers. “Thanks a lot, you two.”

  The boys shake their heads.

  “You’re welcome,” Alex says with a full mouth.

  “Any time,” Matt says.

  The Rivalry

  As planned, Jack shows up after closing the Rooster. He surprises me at the door with flowers, a real big bouquet and not just carnations. I’m surprised and amused. It’s obvious he made a trip to the city earlier today to buy them because none of the stores in the hilltowns carry flowers, including the Conwell General Store. I get a smooch as he hands me the bouquet.