Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  When he reached deep inside, Tawny gasped. “Watch out for snakes.”

  He pulled out a flat object about six inches square, covered with mud. He swished it in a shallow puddle to clean it.

  It was a wallet, brown, tooled leather. Still on his knees, Tillman carefully opened it, holding it far enough away that he could read without his glasses. His Adam’s apple moved in his throat as he swallowed.

  His hard, dark, impenetrable gaze met Tawny’s. “It’s Smoky’s.”

  Please no. The unspoken fear that had haunted them since his disappearance couldn’t be repressed any longer. Tears burned her eyes as he handed the wallet to her. Inside the water-soaked leather, a driver’s license photo of Smoky’s rumpled face smiled grimly through the plastic sleeve.

  Tillman rose and stood close beside her as she flipped through several compartments. Smoky’s saltwater fishing license was a plastic card with a blue marlin emblazoned across it. Other pockets held soggy, folded papers, business cards, and Nyala’s photo with a seductive smile curving her lips. No credit cards. A twenty, three fives, and two ones made up the cash.

  Tawny handed the wallet back to Tillman, squeezing his hand as it closed around the leather. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Churro nudged her leg, smiling, tail sweeping back and forth, proud of himself.

  She stroked his black velvet head. “Good boy.” Her voice choked.

  Jessica huddled on the ground, eyes round and stricken. Her teeth chattered.

  Tawny wondered how she could be cold at ninety degrees then realized fear and shame were the true reasons for her distress. “Are you OK, sweetie?” She extended her hand to the girl.

  Jessica grasped it and pulled herself to her feet then hunched her thin shoulders.

  Tawny hugged her. “Honey, it’s not your fault. You did great.”

  Jessica’s tears dampened Tawny’s tank top. “It’s not like I thought it would be. I thought me and Churro would be heroes for finding lost people. And everyone would be happy.” She sniffled. “I didn’t know he’d find dead people.”

  ***

  The sheriff’s substation smelled dank and a little moldy. Recent-looking water stains crept several inches up the walls. A fan oscillated back and forth, blowing on the damp plaster. A uniformed reservist stood behind a counter, talking on the phone, while other lines rang incessantly, unanswered. No one else appeared to be on duty. Earlier, Tawny had tried calling the station several times but couldn’t get through. Now, she understood why.

  While still on the phone, the reservist watched Tillman spread the contents of Smoky’s wallet and the blood-stained scrap of pink fabric on the counter. After several minutes, he hung up and asked, “What’s this?”

  “We’re reporting a missing person,” Tillman said. “Smoky Lido. Age seventy-two. He disappeared during the height of the storm four days ago. We’ve searched shelters, talked with his neighbors and friends. No one has seen him. We just found his wallet in the swamp behind his house.” He held up the fabric. “This is a piece of the shirt he was wearing when we last saw him.” Tillman pointed at the stains. “Appears to be blood.”

  “That’s all?”

  Tillman’s jaw tightened. “That’s enough to start a search.”

  “Does he have dementia or any mental impairment?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad,” the reservist answered. “If mental impairment was a problem, given his age, we could issue a Silver Alert. But if he’s an adult of sound mind and just decided to take off, there’s not much we can do.” The man answered the constantly ringing phone. “Can you hold, please?” He punched a button and again faced them. “Besides, we’re understaffed. Fifty Pasco County deputies are on their way to relieve deputies in Collier County who’ve been up five days straight. They’re falling over from exhaustion. There’s a bunch of old people dying in a nursing home in Hollywood because they have no air conditioning. Irma left the whole state in chaos. I’ll take the report but emergencies have priority. I can’t promise anything. Could be weeks before personnel get freed up to look for him.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after filling out the paperwork, Tawny and Tillman left the substation. “Well, that was wasted,” he muttered.

  Tawny slipped her hand into his. “At least he gave you back the wallet and cloth. I have a feeling any evidence we left there would get lost in the shuffle.”

  As Tillman drove in silence, Tawny studied his profile. He was always hard to read. He was also no stranger to traumatic loss. Still, she worried and finally asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “There’s got to be more.”

  “More?”

  “More than a wallet and a scrap of his shirt. He could have planted those himself.”

  “What about the blood?”

  “Hell, I bleed worse when I cut myself shaving. He probably snagged a fish hook in his finger, tore a strip off his shirt, and wrapped it around the cut.”

  Tawny remembered details from that night. “After Gabriel’s guys beat him up, his nose was bleeding. It was dripping on his shirt.”

  She felt torn. Should she try to reassure Tillman? Or point out that he was stretching too far for explanations to avoid the likely truth—that his friend was dead.

  After a moment, she asked, “You think he’s trying to fake his own death?”

  “With Gabriel pissed off and after him, yeah. One way out of paying debts.”

  Tawny gazed through the side window, watching traffic grow heavier as the gradual return of electricity brought more normalcy to the storm-ravaged area. “If their dispute was just over money, why didn’t Gabriel take you up on your offer?”

  Tillman frowned. “I know. That bothered me, too. He’s a businessman. As long as he gets paid, he wouldn’t care where the money came from.”

  “Except he feels betrayed. He wants revenge.”

  Instead of turning on the street toward Smoky’s house, Tillman veered onto Highway 19, heading south.

  “Where are we going?”

  “St. Pete. Look up the address to Sports of Yesteryear.” He handed over his phone.

  Tawny put on her readers and scrolled through their recent searches. “OK, what now?”

  “Get directions from here.”

  She entered a starting point and the destination. “Got it. Stay on Nineteen. It goes through a bunch of little beach towns, Palm Harbor, Dunedin, and Clearwater. It’s almost forty miles. We’ll need to fill up Raul’s van again.”

  Tawny waited, wondering if Tillman would explain the trip to Gabriel’s business. When five minutes had passed without a word, she asked, “Why are we going there?”

  Tillman turned right. “If Smoky wants the world to think he’s dead, I’m going to back his play. I’m going to convince Gabriel that there’s no use pursuing his revenge. Maybe I can buy Smoke more running time to get away.”

  She settled deeper into the seat. Tillman was nothing if not realistic, too realistic at times. Did he really think Smoky was alive? Or was he hoping against hope?

  They passed through scenic beach towns, the aquamarine water of the Gulf stretching to the horizon. She rolled down the window to inhale the sea breeze. “Smells so fresh.”

  “Too bad you’ve gotten a lousy impression of Florida, so far,” Tillman said. “When hurricanes aren’t tearing up the landscape, it’s a pretty place.”

  He was right. Even with bulldozers piling storm debris high along the road, the sun, sand, and water were beautiful, palm trees swaying. She’d never lived near the sea with its fresh, salty tang. “How long since you were here last?”

  “Years.” He shook his head. “First trip was after my bar mitzvah. I cashed the checks my parents’ friends gave me and bought a ticket down here. Stayed with my uncle and went to some Yankee games during spring training. Then, in high school, Smoky brought me every year.” He leaned back in the seat, stretching his long arms. “Know how he got the name Smoky?”

  “How?”

&
nbsp; “Radio announcer broadcasting the games. Used to say, ‘Coach Lido smoked the other team again.’ Name stuck.” A faraway memory settled over him. “He was one helluva coach. Said I’d have a better chance to catch the eye of a scout down here than back in Montana. He was right. I got a couple of offers during my senior year trip.”

  “If you had it to do all over again, do you ever wish you’d gone pro?”

  “You’re waxing philosophical.”

  “Just curious.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I was damn good. I could have gone as far as Smoky thought I could.”

  Tawny pursed her lips. “Know what I like best about you?”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “Your modesty and humility,” she said.

  He smirked then went on: “Too much in the game depends on luck and chance. Get traded to a loser club and you go down the drain with them. A ninety-mile-an-hour fast ball beans you and your career’s over in a second. A law degree guaranteed a decent income and sometimes I can even do a little good.”

  She reached across the console and caressed the back of his neck, remembering how he’d saved her from prison. “Like getting me out of trouble.”

  “That’s the best thing I ever did.” For an instant, his hard, dark eyes softened as he gazed at her. Then he veered onto a causeway to the right. “See that big pink high-rise with two towers? Planned to stay there for a few days after we settled Smoky’s problem. Didn’t expect it to drag on this long.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Cross the street and you’re on the white sand beach. There’s an outdoor terrace overlooking the Gulf where they hold weddings.” His sideways glance weighed heavy with significance.

  She drew her hand back and hugged herself. “Please don’t keep pushing me, Tillman.”

  “Why are you putting this off? We’re together. We’re going to be together unless you want out.”

  She stared at the ceiling of the van. The cloth headliner had a tear in it and sagged open. With one finger, she tried to tuck it back into place but it fell loose again. “I don’t want out,” she murmured.

  A sudden turbulence of emotions churned in her stomach. She tried to pin them down, to separate the tangled feelings snarled like fishing lines. Was it that she’d already raised her children and didn’t want the responsibility and heartaches of his?

  His toxic ex-wife had wreaked irreparable damage and showed no signs of slowing down her efforts to alienate the three teenagers from their father. No matter how much Tawny loved them, she knew she couldn’t undo the imprint of destruction on Mimi, Arielle, and Judah.

  But other feelings intruded. Was it that she didn’t want to tarnish her thirty-two years with Dwight? They’d struggled through problems and suffered their share of difficulties. Yet the bedrock underlying their marriage had always been solid. Nothing could ever come between them…except the cancer that had killed him.

  She didn’t feel that way with the volatile, impatient Tillman. A few months earlier, his temper had almost destroyed their relationship. The memory of his rage still stung.

  Another factor was distance—four-hundred-fifty miles between Billings where his practice was and Kalispell where she’d always lived, where her roots were. He’d tried to convince her to move into his estate but she felt out of place and uncomfortable there. Recognizing her reluctance, he’d offered to buy a different home for them.

  But she loved her creaky old house full of memories and the tree-shaded small town where she’d been born. If Tillman moved in there with her, where would those memories go? Would they be overwhelmed by his larger-than-life presence and shrink into the background like neglected, wilting flowers?

  It all came down to fear. She was afraid.

  With Dwight, she’d never experienced doubt, not even pre-wedding jitters. Being with him was right and she’d always known it.

  But that feeling of certainty and security was missing with Tillman.

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t want out,” she repeated. “But I’m scared.”

  His short laugh surprised her. “Well, hell, that’s perfectly understandable with an asshole like me.” He slid fingertips down the side of her face. “If you ever decide you’re not scared anymore, let me know.”

  She grasped his hand and held it to her lips. “I will,” she murmured against his long fingers.

  “Anytime before tomorrow will be fine.” Deadpan.

  She grinned, relieved that he’d eased the tension. For now. “You know what else I like about you? Never any pressure.”

  Tillman’s phone rang. The screen said Raul. He put the call on speaker.

  “Señor, Jessica’s dog found something else in the swamp.”

  Tillman frowned at Tawny. “What?”

  “Bones. Not much left but they smell very bad.”

  “What kind of bones?”

  “At first, I think maybe a deer leg. But they look different. I think you need to see this.”

  Chapter 12 – Bones

  Tawny and Tillman abandoned the trip to Gabriel’s store in St. Petersburg and instead sped back to New Port Richey.

  There, they found Raul and Jessica at their picnic table, which was covered with newspapers. The girl leaned against her father, his arm around her shoulder. Churro sat beside them, pink tongue hanging out of his smiling mouth. When he spotted Tawny, his tail wagged.

  On the newspaper lay two bones, about eighteen inches long, one thin, the other thicker, barely held together with strings of ligament, muscle, and discolored flesh.

  Tawny breathed through her mouth, trying to avoid the stench of decay. The broken, ragged ends looked as if alligator jaws had shattered them. She asked Jessica, “Where did Churro find this?”

  The girl shrugged. “I’m not sure. We went back to the island where we found the wallet. I gave him another sniff of Smoky’s sock. He ran off along this inlet that leads to the river. I chased him but couldn’t keep up. Then, all of a sudden, he’s running back to me with these stinky bones in his mouth, jumping and wagging his tail, all excited.” She swallowed hard. “The way Churro acted, they gotta be Smoky’s.” Her lip quivered.

  Tillman stepped away from the stench and pulled out his phone. “Maybe now the sheriff will launch a search.”

  ***

  Three hours after Tillman’s 911 call, a Pasco County detective named Boyd showed up. He was in his mid-thirties, with a shaved head and deep tan. His horn-rimmed glasses didn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. He mentioned he hadn’t slept for the last seventy-two hours, trying to identify bodies and tracking down people who’d gone missing in Irma. He examined the bones on Raul’s picnic table.

  Tawny leaned against the side of Raul’s house in the shade, feeling queasy. While waiting for the deputy to arrive, she’d brushed her teeth but the rotting smell still permeated her nostrils and mouth.

  Jessica sat quiet and still on the ground beside Tawny, back propped against the cinderblock wall, hugging her knees. Churro lay with his head on her feet. His worried brown eyes flicked back and forth between the girl and the detective.

  Boyd turned the bones around in his rubber-gloved hands. “Human, all right. A tibia and fibula. Little bit of the ankle structure is still attached.” He ran his finger along a vertical crack in the thicker bone. “Gator probably munched on it. See the jagged way it’s split here at the upper end. Fish and turtles ate most of the flesh. Doesn’t take ’em long to clean all the soft tissue off. So, I’m guessing this hasn’t been in the water more than a few days.”

  He dropped the bones into an evidence bag. “I’ll call the dive team out to search the lake for more remains. But it may be a while. We’re all spread pretty thin with Irma’s mess—I haven’t seen my wife and kids for four days. The divers are regular deputies with usual duties so, unless there’s a known location where the victim likely is, they only do water searches when they have time.”

  “We just filed a missing person report on Smoky,�
�� Tillman said.

  “You never know.” One side of Boyd’s mouth quirked. “These may not belong to him. He could still be alive. Meanwhile, can you give me something that has Mr. Lido’s DNA on it for comparison? Something with blood or saliva.”

  Tawny straightened. “The night he got beat up, he complained about loose teeth. Maybe there’s blood on his toothbrush.”

  Boyd’s brow furrowed. “Beat up?”

  Tillman folded his arms. “Yeah. The evening before Irma hit, three guys showed up and kicked the crap out of him. Tawny chased them off with a shotgun. We think it might have been over gambling debts but Smoky refused to say.”

  “Did you file a report?”

  Tawny shook her head. “He didn’t want to. Then the power went out and he disappeared. Since then, we’ve been more concerned about finding him.”

  Boyd asked, “You figured he’d gone on the run from the guys that beat him up?”

  “That seemed likely,” Tillman said. “But now, these bones make it look like he got lost and drowned. Goddammit.” He kicked at an empty beer can left behind by the flood. It flew across the yard and clunked hard against the stump of the fallen oak tree.

  Jessica rose and grasped Tawny’s hand. The dog stood and leaned against her other side. Flanked by support, she spoke up. “Smoky’s got a little fishing boat with a trolling motor. It isn’t where he usually docked it. Maybe he took that out in the river and got swamped in the storm.”

  The detective studied Jessica. “It’s your dog that found these bones?”

  The girl laid a hand on Churro’s back. “Yes. I want to train him as a search dog. I don’t know exactly where he found them. He screwed up big time. He should have stayed with them and alerted me. But we haven’t got that far in his training.”

  Boyd lifted an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not exactly proper protocol for a search K-9 to chew on evidence but, hey, he did find them.” His shrug said don’t beat yourself up.