Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  Pain contorted his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut. One bruised hand balled into a fist.

  “I failed Smoky.” His deep voice cracked. He cleared his throat but the huskiness remained. “I should have nailed him down sooner, forced him to tell me the problem. When I asked him what the hell was up with all his hiding-under-the-radar shit, he blew it off as gambling debts. And, dammit, that had happened so often, I took him at his word.”

  Tawny rubbed his tight shoulders, wondering how much she should say.

  His swollen hands fisted again. “I could’ve gotten that damn Honus Wagner card back from him and settled the squabble with Gabriel. He didn’t have to take off and get himself killed in the hurricane.”

  She summoned her courage to break more bad news. “I didn’t want to tell you before but maybe he didn’t leave only because of Gabriel. I think he meant to commit suicide. That’s what his buddy Commodore thinks, too. He said Smoky was in a lot of pain from the amputation and he’d hinted about killing himself. But…” She caressed Tillman’s cheek. “Smoky didn’t want to go without saying goodbye to you. You’re the son he wished he’d had.”

  Tillman pondered, staring far beyond the bedroom walls. Tawny knew he had to be thinking of his other loved ones who’d tried to kill themselves. His mother had succeeded. His sister tried and ended up in an institution, forever impaired. Most recently, Tawny had saved his oldest daughter, Mimi, from an overdose, and she was still in treatment. Guilt and frustration dogged him that he couldn’t solve their problems, that he couldn’t prevent their despair.

  The silence stretched into several moments. At last, he said, “Smoky talked me out of killing my old man.”

  Tawny straightened. She knew Tillman’s relationship with his father was troubled but she hadn’t heard this part before. “What happened?”

  “It was the second time my mom tried to kill herself. First time, I was a little kid.”

  Tawny flashed back on the heartbreaking story he’d once told her of finding his mom unconscious and giving her CPR, even though he was only ten years old. That was when, despite her intense dislike for him, he’d cracked open Tawny’s heart.

  “Second time,” he went on, “I was sixteen, almost as big as I am now, pissed off and boiling over with testosterone. My mom found out about yet another girlfriend and took pills. She was in the psych lockdown. I knew if the old man didn’t stop philandering, she’d try again and eventually succeed. But he wouldn’t quit. I decided to off him so he couldn’t hurt her anymore.”

  Tawny’s heart ached. She ran fingers over his stomach, skin taut as a drum.

  One side of his mouth twitched. “I had it all worked out. I’d been tailing him and knew what time he’d leave for his girlfriend’s house. I’d jump him in the dark, slice his throat open, take his Rolex and wallet. Make it look like a robbery gone bad. Had rubber gloves and a rain slicker to keep blood spatter off me.”

  Tawny held her breath, trying to hide her shock. But Tillman wasn’t looking at her.

  He continued: “Had my alibi planned, too. That night, I was down in Hardin, supposed to pitch in a varsity game, fifty miles from home. Claimed I’d strained my shoulder and went to the locker room to ice it. I’d allowed enough time to race home to Billings, kill him, then get back to Hardin before the game was over. But Smoky sensed something was up. He caught me in the parking lot.

  “He sat with me in my car for two hours, ignored the whole rest of the game. Any time the other coaches came looking for him, he’d yell out to handle it themselves. He wasn’t going to leave me alone until he’d talked me out of doing a crazy thing that he said would ruin my whole future.” He heaved a sigh. “My miserable old man doesn’t know he has Smoky to thank for his long life.”

  They sat in silence, leaning together, until Tawny felt a spasm shake him. His face contorted in a mask of anguish. Wounded animal sounds choked in his throat.

  She clambered to her knees on the mattress and embraced him, pulling his face into her breast. He shook in her arms, his body wrenching. She held him tight even when he tried to pull away. “It’s OK,” she murmured into his black curls. “Let it out.”

  Chapter 16 – Tracking Number

  The next morning, Tawny rose quietly and picked up Tillman’s laptop, leaving him snoring in bed. In the kitchen, she made coffee then sat at the table with Smoky’s wallet. In the middle of the restless night, between the moans of Tillman’s nightmares, an idea had occurred to her. The wallet might hold a clue to the coach’s intentions.

  She opened the leather billfold, removed the driver’s license and fishing license. Nyala’s photo was still damp. Although the woman’s dazzling smile was seductive, even playful, an air of mystery clung to her, as if she always kept a secret, like an African Mona Lisa.

  Next, Tawny pulled a wad of papers from an inner compartment and carefully spread them on the table to dry. Some had started to dissolve from being wet, the folded edges tearing. With ink smeared, several were unreadable. She found a business card for the lab that had made Smoky’s prosthetic leg.

  Another card was from Sports of Yesteryear with only a phone number, no address. The subheading read: Memorabilia for the Discerning Collector.

  One scrap of paper looked like a postal receipt. Through her readers, she squinted to make out the tiny, faint print—dated in August, over a month before, and sent from a post office branch in St. Petersburg. A postal code for a destination address was too blurred to read. She recognized a long string of numbers as the tracking code.

  She opened Tillman’s laptop, logged into USPS.com, and typed the numbers into the search bar.

  The result showed an item mailed on August 7 from the branch on First Street North in St. Petersburg. The destination was Panama, arrival confirmed on August 14 to general delivery in a town called Puerto Armuelles.

  Who did Smoky know in Panama? What did he send there?

  If he saved the receipt, it must be important.

  Recollections clicked quickly in her brain. Gabriel had told Tawny and Tillman that the Honus Wagner card disappeared from his safe about a month before. Smoky might have mailed it to someone in Panama.

  Nyala said she met Smoky three years ago on an airline flight from Panama, shortly after the amputation of his leg.

  Yet Gabriel said Smoky had been working for him for many years.

  Brother and sister knew Smoky well. Nyala had an ongoing sexual relationship with him. Gabriel trusted him enough to share his safe combination. Yet Nyala claimed she hadn’t met Smoky until three years ago. Their stories didn’t mesh, meaning one or both of them was lying.

  Tawny wondered if Nyala knew Smoky had stolen the Honus Wagner card from her brother. The woman apparently didn’t approve of the beating Gabriel’s thugs had given Smoky yet otherwise she seemed ambivalent. Gabriel claimed his sister wasn’t involved in his business yet her name appeared as the registered agent for Sports of Yesteryear.

  What was the relationship among the three of them?

  Tawny sensed if she uncovered the truth about their connection, that might hold the key to solving the mystery of Smoky’s death.

  Tillman suspected Smoky intended to disappear to escape from Gabriel but the attempt had gone awry during the hurricane. If his plan had worked, Smoky might have resurfaced in Panama to begin a new life, using the Honus Wagner card to finance his fresh start.

  But, to succeed, Smoky would need help—help to escape during the hurricane, help from an accomplice in Panama to keep the three-million-dollar baseball card safe for him.

  Smoky had admitted to Tawny that his circle of friends was small, most driven away by his gambling addiction. His former girlfriends no longer wanted to be associated with him.

  His buddy, Commodore, believed Smoky went out in the hurricane to commit suicide. Or maybe he told that to Tawny to back up Smoky’s motive for disappearing. As she reviewed their conversation, she decided Commodore seemed transparent and truthful, not deceptive, unlike Nyala and
Gabriel.

  The X-Isles bartender, Parrot, had said if a man wanted to disappear, that was his own business. Parrot might have helped Smoky.

  Tawny pondered what had happened during the final few hours of Smoky’s life.

  Maybe he hiked to his boat on the far end of the lake then ventured out in the storm, perhaps planning to meet up with a trusted friend.

  Somehow, that theory seemed unlikely. In the violent wind and rain, too many things could go wrong to count on a rendezvous by boat.

  Unless the Commodore was right about suicide and Smoky deliberately motored into the hurricane, intending to die at sea.

  Tawny’s head spun with confusing possibilities as she poured another cup of coffee. Then the bedroom door opened.

  Tillman emerged from the hallway, naked, haggard, with bloodshot eyes and lines of strain between his brows. Barefoot, he crossed the kitchen, took the mug from her hand, and drank.

  “Rough night.” His voice was gravelly. His knuckles remained swollen and discolored.

  She rose on tiptoes to kiss him. “You were having nightmares.”

  “Not surprising.” He pinched his forehead. “Hangover.”

  “Want some breakfast?”

  “No.” He drank more coffee. “Going to see the attorney in St. Pete.”

  “The one you went to law school with?”

  “Yeah. I texted her. Appointment’s at eleven.”

  “Today? She’s going to meet you on a Sunday?”

  He gave an offhand shrug. Even hungover, the man could be amazingly persuasive.

  “OK, I’ll get ready.” She turned toward the bathroom.

  His heavy hand grasped her shoulder. “Some rotten vacation.”

  She tipped her head sideways. “Sure hasn’t been boring.”

  He scowled. “I figured we’d spend half a day, tops, sorting out Smoky’s problem then laze around Clearwater Beach the rest of the time. Sorry it didn’t work out that way.”

  “Irma kinda put a dent in the plans.”

  He stroked the back of her neck. Although his fingers were bruised, they still gave off sensuous electricity. “Through all this, you’ve been amazing.”

  She rested her head against his chest. “Thank you.”

  He pulled her close, his warmth surrounding her. “I got us a reservation at the Hyatt Regency. They’ve been jammed with hurricane refugees and out-of-town contractors here to repair the damage. But a suite just opened up with a whirlpool tub. We can finally get out of this dump.”

  She nestled against him, savoring his feel, his smell. “Nice.”

  “I also scored a rental rig, only one available in central Florida. I was on the phone with reservations when a contractor turned in a pickup. You don’t mind renting a truck, do you?”

  “I’m a Montana girl. I was practically born in a truck.”

  He squeezed her waist, making her wish they had time to go back to bed. “We’ll drive Smoky’s T-bird to the hotel. The rental lot’s not far from there. I already booked you a massage in the spa. While I talk with the attorney, you can relax and be pampered. When I finish in St. Pete, we’ll start this vacation for real.”

  She leaned back and gazed up at him. “For a guy with a hangover, you’ve been busy.”

  “Gotta make it up to you for putting up with my shit.”

  She nibbled his bristly chin. “That all sounds wonderful.” Then she remembered the items on the table. She pulled free and retrieved the paper. “Look what I found in Smoky’s wallet. It’s a post office receipt. Smoky mailed something to Panama more than a month ago. I wonder if it could have been the baseball card.”

  Tillman glanced at the damp scrap but shook his head. “I don’t care if it is. I’m not busting my ass to get Gabriel’s card back for him. As far as we’re concerned, Honus went to the bottom of the swamp with Smoky. My only job now is to have him declared dead and settle the estate.”

  Unanswered questions chafed at Tawny. “Are you sure?”

  “Damn sure. Now let’s pack and blow this joint.”

  ***

  While Tillman went next door to enlist Raul’s help to remove the T-bird hardtop, Tawny packed. When she rolled their carryon bags out to the carport, Raul, Jessica, and her dog Churro were there to say goodbye.

  As the men shook hands, Tawny hugged the girl. “Thank you for all your help.”

  Jessica clung to Tawny’s arm. “I wish you were staying so you could meet Mama. Uncle finally found her in Puerto Rico. Papi’s sending her money to come home.”

  “That’s wonderful. I know she’s missed you.” Tawny produced a baggie full of leftover barbecued chicken. Churro plunked his butt on the ground as his nose twitched at the scent of food. She handed him several bites which he gently took. Then she gave the rest to Jessica. “Churro’s treat for later.”

  The dog leaned against Tawny’s leg, tail wagging. She scratched his ears.

  “I’m going to keep training him to be a search dog,” Jessica said. “Next time, I want the person to be alive.” Tears glistened in her brown eyes.

  Tawny kissed the girl’s hair. “It’s sad that Smoky’s dead but at least we know, thanks to Churro.”

  Tillman shook hands with the girl, who still looked up at him with awe bordering on fear. Churro thrust his nose into Tillman’s crotch. “Shit!” He jerked backward.

  Tawny suppressed a smile and took his arm. “We better go or you’ll be late to your appointment.” She winked over her shoulder at Jessica, who giggled soundlessly.

  In the T-bird, Tillman grunted as he backed out of the carport. “Damn dog’s fixated on my manhood.”

  Tawny chuckled. “At least that gives you something in common.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Did you give back the keys to Raul’s van?”

  “Yeah. And when he wasn’t looking, I stuck five hundred cash in the visor. He’ll need that to bribe officials to get his wife out of Puerto Rico.”

  Tawny squeezed his arm. “I don’t care what everybody says—you’re not an asshole.”

  “Yes, I am, and shut up.”

  They drove south on Highway 19 in bright morning light. Tawny’s earlier sunburn had peeled away. She raised her face to the pleasant warmth, inhaling the sea breeze, anticipating romantic walks on the beach and rolling around in the whirlpool tub with Tillman. But the workaholic lawyer couldn’t stay away from his practice much longer.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “Talked with Esther this morning. She got continuances on a couple of hearings. But I have to be back in Billings by next Thursday.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Still gives us enough time to get married at the hotel. I checked. The Sky Terrace is available.”

  Her jaw clenched in anticipation of another argument. “Not going to happen, Tillman. If it does, I want our children with us. Neal would need time to get leave and fly home from wherever the hell the Army has him posted. It’s going to mean a big fight with Emma. You know how she feels about you. And I can’t get married without my best friend. Virgie has to be my matron of honor.”

  She’d carefully lined out her arguments. Now she waited for the rebuttals she knew he would launch. But they didn’t come.

  Instead, his smirk grew broader.

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

  “You are.”

  “Why?”

  He turned onto the Highway 60 causeway. “Because we’re finally getting down to earnest negotiations.”

  She glared at him. “You make it sound like a settlement conference in some lawsuit.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She folded her arms. “Tillman, you’re the most exasperating man I’ve ever met. Why would I want to marry you?”

  “Because we’re good together.”

  Yes, they were. But Tawny wasn’t about to admit that. She hunched in the seat. “Can’t we just enjoy the time we have left here?”

  Sun sparkled on the placid turquoise Gulf and palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze but Ti
llman refused to drop the subject. “At least, pick out a ring. I checked a website for a custom jeweler in St. Pete. Nice designs you might like. When I called him, he said he can cut off your old ring.”

  Horrified, she covered her left hand. “I don’t want to cut off my ring.”

  “Why? You’re not married anymore.”

  She massaged her knuckle, broken several years before. Permanent swelling ensured she could never slip off the worn gold band. And that was fine with her. “Maybe you tossed your wedding ring when you got divorced but mine is precious to me.”

  “Fine, be sentimental. I’ll still buy you a better one.”

  “Don’t you understand? It’s not how fancy the ring is. It’s what it represents. Thirty-two years with a good man. It took a lot of building by both Dwight and me.”

  She twirled her ring, while a growing pain pulsed in her temples. Arguments with Tillman wore her out and happened too often. She loved so much about him, his tenderness toward his children, his brilliance and dedication, how he never gave up, no matter how impossible the task. And his sensuous ways in bed thrummed in a constant undercurrent she couldn’t ignore.

  But Dwight would never have lashed out at her as Tillman did last spring during the crisis with his daughter, Mimi.

  How could she explain? “Tillman, if I marry again, I don’t want it to blow apart. I don’t know if you’re capable of building a marriage that will last.”

  His already-dark eyes deepened into bottomless caves. “I’m not the man Dwight was.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it. You’re both good men but you’re different.”

  He turned into the portico of the pink hotel and braked in front of the uniformed valet. “And you don’t think I can live up to Saint Dwight.”

  The resonant boom of Tillman’s voice often startled people, even if he wasn’t shouting.

  The valet stepped back in alarm.

  Tawny’s face grew hot with embarrassment. “Let’s not talk about this here. Please.” Not in front of strangers who shouldn’t know their deeply personal business.

  He got out of the car and stared down at her, an unreadable expression in his nearly-black eyes. She couldn’t identify if it was anger, sorrow, or pain. Now he did raise his voice to a shout: “Decide if you want to stay married to a dead man or have a live one.”