Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn

by Bill Hopkins

  “Poverino, you die nearly in the fire and I make special for you, but you go to be with frogs.”

  “Momma.” Alessandra put her finger to her lips. “He’s had a rough time.”

  “I lose two good guests and the judge not will eat my food. Throw it to the pigs.” Mrs. Bolzoni sniffed and clumped back into the house. “Frogs bring nothing but trouble,” she threw over her shoulder before the door slammed.

  Lost two guests? The Four Bee had somehow morphed into The Hotel California? You can check in any time you like, but you can never check out? No. Wait. That’s not what the song said. But if two guests had gone, then that meant Rosswell could double up on his portions. Haste clouds judgment.

  Alessandra interrupted Rosswell’s thoughts. “You’ll have to forgive her. There’s been a lot of strange things going on around here lately.”

  “Your mother’s a saint on earth. I need to eat her supper. It would be rude of me not to.”

  “We need to talk, you and I.”

  “I’ll be glad to talk to you, Alessandra.”

  “It’s important.”

  “First, tell me which guests left.”

  “Philbert and Theodore.”

  “I’ll try to help your mother by making sure the leftovers are minimal.”

  “Thank you, Judge. And then a talk?”

  “Tomorrow. I promise.”

  After supper, Rosswell fired up the truck’s replacement, a 1999 metallic bronze Kia Sephia with the driver’s door spray-painted white. He dubbed the asthmatic four-banger Sofia. Gas mileage ran close to ten miles to the gallon and Rosswell wasn’t certain that the pistons fired in sequence. The sun, although not yet setting, shined clear and bright, allowing him to drive in a strong light. He needed the strong light to see through his tears at the thought of giving a thousand dollars to the husband of one of his clerks for the piece of junk he was driving. There wasn’t time to go car shopping. Rosswell needed a ride in a hurry and the Kia Sephia was the only thing available on the spur of the moment. Plus the tags had been expired only a month. Rosswell prayed that all the state troopers were somewhere else today. Tomorrow, he’d make the car legal.

  “Judge, I’ve got a question.” Ollie settled in the corner booth in the back of the restaurant, the one badly lit by buzzing fluorescent ceiling lights. “Who started that fire? And where is Jill?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  Mabel trotted up. “I need your order. The place is filling up.”

  Rosswell didn’t hesitate. “The biggest steak you’ve got.” It was a good time to make up for all the meals he’d missed recently. “Rare. With blood running from it. And a huge baked potato. Make that two potatoes. Lots of butter. Real butter.”

  “Drink?”

  “Water. I’m on a diet. Oh. And coffee. Make it to go.”

  “Ollie?”

  “Don’t call me Ollie. I’m your father!”

  “I know.” She waited, pencil poised.

  “Cheese sandwich and a Coke.”

  Mabel scurried away.

  Ollie said, “Kids have no respect these days.”

  “It’s an epidemic.”

  “You’ll blossom soon from two things. The food. And the hot air inside you. Tell me where Jill is.”

  “The short answer I’m sure of first. I don’t know where Jill is.”

  “And the long answer of who started the fire you’re not sure about?”

  “I’ll tell you what started that fire. A big front from the Gulf of Mexico brought in lots of humidity and wind.” Rosswell drew a meteorological picture (a large arrow pointing north) on the paper placemat to demonstrate. “Then a dry front from Canada increased the wind and lowered the humidity.” A large arrow going south. “Add in a drought.” Squiggles, indicating evaporation. “A couple of sparks or lightning.” Zig-zag lines. “I know it’s complicated, but that’s a recipe for a perfect firestorm.” Rosswell admired his own handiwork.

  Ollie drummed his fingers on the table. “Nathaniel Dahlbert started that fire and you know it.”

  “Did you smell gasoline or any other accelerant? I mean before the cars started crashing into each other.”

  “Uh…no.” Ollie stopped drumming and bent to inspecting his fingernails. “Doesn’t prove anything. It’s a wonder we survived.”

  Mabel arrived, bearing a plate with the largest sirloin steak Rosswell had ever seen, plus a water and a huge coffee. The sides, two gigantic baked potatoes, rested on a separate plate, both drowning in butter. “Hope that holds you until your bedtime snack.”

  “That is my bedtime snack. I need it to go.”

  “You know where the go boxes are.”

  Ollie’s sandwich and soda were, in Rosswell’s estimation, puny compared to his bedtime snack.

  Ollie snatched up Rosswell’s ticket Mabel had laid on the table. “Hope you charged him enough. That looks like a week’s worth of meat for an ordinary person.”

  Mabel said, “If the judge starts getting too expensive, he can work it off on weekends,” then disappeared.

  Rosswell fetched a go box from the pantry and began arranging his food. “A wildfire is an inefficient way to kill someone. We’re living proof.” Enough salt and pepper landed on the steak to preserve it for an eon. “We survived because we found a break in the fire and skedaddled.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Nathaniel is trying to kill us.”

  “He’s had lots of chances to knock us off but didn’t take them.” Tucking the tabs of the box securely gave Rosswell a chance to think. “Back to the same question I had earlier. Why are we still alive?”

  “He’s not had a good enough chance to kill us yet, or we would be dead.”

  “What about the cave? Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?”

  “Judge, with the stress we’ve been under, we could’ve seen Peter Rabbit hopping down the bunny trail.”

  Rosswell sipped from the syrupy coffee he’d prepared with a glutton’s share of sugar and a dash of salt. “Maybe we can agree on this.” Delicious. He slurped down the last of the coffee and signaled Mabel for a refill. “I’m not saying that Nathaniel isn’t trying to kill us. I can’t figure out why he hasn’t killed us yet. Are we serving some kind of purpose for him?”

  “We’re providing an immense amount of irritating entertainment for him.”

  “I learned something in the military. An officer in the field who’s spying on his opponent looks for five things: shape, shadow, color, movement, and sound.”

  “We’re not in a war.”

  “Yes, we are. Let’s think about this situation with Nathaniel as if we were scoping him out in the field. First, shape. He’s got a business that looks legitimate yet he’s hiding something. Shadows are next. If you’re skulking around, you don’t want the enemy to see your shadow. Turk is one of his main shadows but that guy is as stupid as a drunk possum. Color’s a good one. Nathaniel is so white he’s an albino and his orange hair makes him stick out like a scarecrow singing alto in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.”

  “Color. That’s a good one. Maybe he’s blending in somewhere and we haven’t noticed him because he’s too obvious to hide. Take me. I can’t disguise myself. Even people who don’t know me recognize me.”

  Rosswell nodded, discarding the temptation to voice an observation that a giant rodent sporting a purple tattoo atop a bald head is hard to miss. “Next is movement. Lots of people know about him but we can never catch him outside of his castle, except for the time I saw him talking to Mrs. Bolzoni.”

  Ollie said, “Last one is sound. We’ve never heard a sound from Nathaniel except when he’s up close. And he sounds like he’s got a problem with his voice.”

  “Maybe he’s sick.” Ollie started to speak, but before he could, Rosswell shushed him. “That’s it. Nathaniel is sick. He’s dying. He knows he’s dying. He wants us to die before he does. It’s all in the timing. We know he’s got Tina. But where?”

  “You’re right, Judge. I und
erstand completely. Except that we don’t know that he has Tina.”

  “You’re both missing something important.” Jill, complete with coffee pot and waitress dress stood next to their table. “But you could use some apple pie.”

  Chapter 33

  Sunday Night, continued

  Jill’s appearance failed to elicit a response from either Rosswell or Ollie.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  Rosswell said, “I haven’t seen a cat. Have you seen a cat, Ollie?”

  “Jill, all I know is you sure took off like a fraidy cat, leaving us locked in a closet.”

  “The closet wasn’t locked.” Jill filled Rosswell’s coffee cup. “You guys don’t know how close you came to dying.” She slid a large slice of apple pie in front of him, then did the same for Ollie. “I baked this pie from apples I peeled.”

  Rosswell said, “Maybe you’d like to tell us why you exposed us to mortal danger.”

  Mabel hollered from across the restaurant, “Jill, station five.”

  “I’m busy, but let me sketch it for you. My friends came over to see me. While we were in the front yard, Turk and Nathaniel drove by and fired a couple of rounds. We took exception to that so we gave chase. Then the fire started. The bad guys got away. I had to make sure it was okay to be seen in public before I showed my face. Gotta go. Customers.”

  Rosswell and Ollie watched Jill take a few more orders before Rosswell said, “That’s the biggest crock of crap I’ve heard since the gray goose ate granny’s grackle.” He shoveled a couple of bites of pie into his mouth, closing his eyes and chewing. “Hmmmm.”

  “Goose? What goose? Why would a goose eat a grackle?”

  “It’s an old saying in my family. My grandma said it all the time.”

  Ollie said, “I wonder who these friends are that Jill is so proud of?”

  “I think she has imaginary friends.” Rosswell patted his mouth with the napkin. “But I’ll ask her.”

  Jill glided by their table. “I get off in two hours. We’ll talk.”

  In what passed for Mabel’s office, yet another conference on the situation took place after Jill ended her shift. The single light bulb hanging from a wire nailed to the ceiling had blown out. With a lot of complaining and groaning, Ollie climbed up on a rickety stepladder and screwed in a fresh bulb. It was a new-fangled “green energy” contraption that took fifteen minutes to warm up to the point where it could shed a milky luminescence, fainter than most stars.

  Rosswell seated himself in a wobbly wooden chair behind a tiny desk strewn with papers. “Who are these friends of yours that you’re so proud of?” The dust in the air made him sneeze.

  Jill looked around, apparently searching for a chair. “I don’t know.” She found a plastic soda carton, upended it, and sat.

  Ollie stood the whole time. “You hang around with strange men? You’ll get in trouble if you hang around with strange men. Present company excluded.”

  She wiggled around on the carton. “I think they were undercover agents or spies or something.”

  Spies? Undercover agents? In Sainte Genevieve? Rosswell perked up. This could be interesting. Or maybe cause Gustave to carry Jill to the mental health center. She sounded paranoid enough to keep Ollie silent.

  “And,” Rosswell said, “what were they spying on?”

  “Not spies. They were law enforcement of some kind. CIA. FBI. IRS. Homeland Security. TSA. USDA. FDIC.”

  “Lots of federal cops running around these days. It’s hard to tell who’s chasing who.”

  The gaffe roused Ollie from his silence. “Whom.”

  Rosswell bit his tongue, then loosened his teeth when it began to hurt. “Tell us about the cops from the unknown agency.”

  “They wouldn’t tell me their last names, only their first names. One was tall with square shoulders and eyes popping out like he had a thyroid problem. The other one was shorter. His hair was cut down to practically nothing and he wore a jewel stuck in his earlobe.”

  “A diamond earring. Philbert is his name. The tall one is Theodore.”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  Rosswell briefly explained how he’d met up with Theodore and Philbert one week ago, the day he’d seen the body tossed into the river. He didn’t tell Jill a lot of the details, including the Farmington conversation with Philbert. He still didn’t trust her. “Where did you meet these two?”

  “Right here. This restaurant.”

  “Convenient. Let’s go see those two gentlemen.” Maybe they’d moved to different lodgings in Farmington.

  Jill shook her head. “They left. Something about bigger fish to fry.”

  Ollie angled toward Jill. “You’ve been hoodwinked. Those two were a couple of con artists. They sniffed around for awhile and couldn’t find any money to steal so they left town.”

  Jill puckered her lips into a pout. “You don’t know that.”

  Rosswell thought that it was not beyond belief that con artists could become auditors for the federal government. It had happened before. He made a mental note to discuss with Ollie in private the huge number of con artists working for the government.

  Jill continued her defense of Theodore and Philbert. “They saved my life.”

  Rosswell deposited a load of full attention on Ollie. “Why do you think they’re con men? Why couldn’t they be the secret police?”

  “We don’t have secret police in this country.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Answer the question.”

  “Rosswell, you’re acting awfully judgmental.” Ollie took his turn to pout. “Let’s see. If they were cops, they would’ve busted Nathaniel’s baby selling ring. That’s illegal, you know. That’s pretty big fish to fry. The headlines would look great. If they were really cops. I think we need to contact the state cops. Gustave’s so crooked they’ll have to screw him into the ground when he dies.”

  “I’d imagine that the state fire marshal will investigate the fire.” A good reason to bring Jim Bill on board. I’ll make some calls. Rosswell needed to ask Jill more questions. “Did you see Nathaniel shooting at you?”

  “No.” She reached into her purse for a lipstick. “I heard gunshots and Theodore said that he and Philbert both had seen Nathaniel shooting at me.” She applied the lipstick without consulting a mirror. Rosswell admired women who could do that. Without help from his car’s rear-view mirror, he had trouble finding his face when applying lip balm, and usually wound up with a healthy smear on his chin.

  “I hate to be the one to defend that rusty-haired son-of-a-bitch, but he was nowhere around.” Ollie leaned even closer toward Jill. “Theodore and Philbert wanted you to trust them. What better way than to create a fake threat on your life and then rescue you from it?”

  Jill backed away from Ollie. “It wasn’t fake.”

  “Another thing I need to know is who was helping Karyn deliver the baby I saw from the passageway. You were going to tell me before Theodore and Philbert arrived.”

  “Susannah Acorn.”

  “Gustave’s daughter?” Ollie’s eyes grew wide. “Frankie Joe’s wife?”

  Rosswell said, “I suspected Frankie Joe and Susannah were in on this. Frankie Joe’s story about what happened on the ferry was too cut and dried. Gustave gave him a script to read which was supposed to divert attention away from him, his daughter, and son-in-law. Didn’t work.”

  “I told you my sister was the bad girl here. Karyn wants to keep helping Nathaniel because she’s making good money. Gustave is a rotten bastard. He and Nathaniel are in this up to their breathers. I want to see those two in jail.”

  “Jill.” Rosswell stood and grasped her hand. “Listen to me. There’s only one thing I care about right now. You must tell me the truth. Where is Nathaniel hiding Tina?”

  Jill’s weeping made him fear the worst, that Tina was dead.

  Ollie said, “This is not the time for tears, sister.”

  She rubbed her cheeks with the heels of her palms. “Damn i
t, Ollie, I’m not your sister.”

  Rosswell steeled himself. “Answer the question. Where is Nathaniel hiding Tina?”

  “She’s not in Sainte Gen. She’s not even in the United States. She’s in Brazil.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “She’s a prisoner on a baby farm.”

  Chapter 34

  Monday Morning

  Sipping his espresso on the balcony before dawn, Rosswell considered three alternatives: First, believe Jill was telling the truth that Tina was imprisoned on a baby farm and immediately strike out for Brazil. Second, go back home to Marble Hill. Third, continue searching for his beloved in Sainte Genevieve County. The first sounded grotesquely impulsive, the second tempted him to alternately scream at a brick wall and then pound his head against it, and the third was like surrendering to an unknown enemy.

  The only decision he arrived at was to sip another espresso. A double with dark brown sugar and a touch of extra salt. And a couple of shots of chocolate syrup to round off the flavor. The sunshine caressed his face. A smile from somewhere deep inside struggled for freedom. Caffeine and sugar launched rockets, even in the most depressed soul.

  Once dressed and after consuming huge amounts at Mrs. Bolzoni’s breakfast table, he made his way down to The Four Bee parking lot to gaze upon the piece of crap that was Sofia. Between the ninety sunny degrees and no air conditioning in his so-called ride, he knew he’d be a big sweat ball by the time he arrived at the courthouse. He checked his watch. 8:00 AM.

  His cell phone rang. His bank.

  “Rosswell Carew.”

  “Is this Judge Carew?”

  “Yes, Muriel, it’s me.”

  “This is Muriel Thornmorton, calling for Judge Rosswell Carew.”

  “Hello, Muriel Thornmorton. This is Judge Rosswell Carew.”

  “At the bank.”

  “Yes, I know where you work.”