A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge

by Terry Shames

  This is the woman Rowena and her husband talked about at the reception after Vera Sandstone’s funeral. “You ever hear any rumors that there was anything between her and Eddie?”

  “Not that I recall, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t.”

  “You know where I might find her?”

  “I’ve got to hand it to her—for all the scandal she caused, she stayed right here and rode it out. For a while she opened up a dress shop, but I think being around women all the time didn’t suit her. For the last twenty years she’s been working for the County Fair Association—I think she gets plenty of action there.”

  I thank her for giving me two good leads.

  “If you talk to Careen, you be careful. Last I heard she had ditched husband number three and was on the prowl.” She pauses, mischief in her eyes, “But then again, I think she goes for younger men.” Her yelp of laughter follows me down the corridor.

  I call over to the college, but they tell me Stubby Clark is gone for the day, so I’ll have to talk to him later in the week.

  I’m going back by the hospital to see Jenny before I leave town, but I’ve got one more stop to make. Wallace Lyndall gave me the address for Jett Borland’s girlfriend, Janice Gerson. She’s a clerk at a grocery store, and I called and found out she’s off today at five o’clock. I wait until she’s had time to get home and settle in before I ring her doorbell at six o’clock. She lives in a duplex in a marginal neighborhood.

  She answers the door carrying a little girl on her hip. The girl, maybe three years old, has been crying and is sucking her thumb, and Janice Gerson looks frazzled. “Oh,” she says. “I thought you were the pizza guy.”

  “Pizza!” the little girl whines and buries her face in her mamma’s neck.

  “I’m Samuel Craddock, chief of police over in Jarrett Creek, and I’m looking for Jett Borland.”

  “You’re outta luck. Jett’s in Abilene.” Janice is pretty, with short brown hair and soulful brown eyes. She’s wearing jeans and a baggy gray T-shirt and sandals.

  “You his girlfriend?”

  She grimaces. “Sometimes.”

  “You know when he’ll be back?”

  “Supposed to be back last night, but I haven’t heard anything from him.”

  “Mommy! Pizza!” The girl has a healthy set of lungs, and Janice Gerson flinches and pulls away from her.

  “Kimberley, that’s too loud,” she says. “You hurt my ears.”

  The girl hits her mother half-heartedly, but instead of reacting angrily, Janice rolls her eyes at me.

  “I’m sorry, why do you want to talk to Jett?”

  “There are a couple of questions I need to ask.”

  “This is about Scott, isn’t it? Scott has only been out of prison a couple of weeks and it sounds like he’s already managed to get Jett into trouble.”

  “I don’t know whether he has or not. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  She shifts her daughter to her other hip. “Kimberley, you’re getting so big it’s hard for me to carry you. You’re a big girl.”

  At those words, Kimberley is emboldened to look at me. “You’ve got a hat,” she says, pointing at the hat I’m holding in my hand.

  “I do. A well-used hat.”

  Janice grins at me. “A hat that’s seen better days.”

  “I’m not a big shopper.”

  This time she laughs. “A cop with a sense of humor. A rare bird.”

  “I don’t want to keep you. Do you happen to know why he went to Abilene?”

  “There was a ‘business opportunity’ that Scott was excited about. Jett went with him to try to keep him out of trouble. Not that that has worked too well in the past.”

  “When did they leave?”

  She bites her lip, thinking. “Five days ago. I told Jett to stay out of his dad’s business, but he’s loyal.”

  I hear a car pull to the curb and turn to see a pizza delivery car. The guy jumps out and runs up to the house, pizza in hand. “Sorry about the delay,” he says. “That’ll be eighteen seventy-five.”

  Janice looks at me as if she’s hoping I’ll take the hint and leave, but I’m going to try to stay long enough to get my questions answered. “Okay, wait,” she says. She disappears inside and comes back with twenty dollars. She hands it to the guy. “Keep the change.”

  I take the pizza box and say, “Let me carry that in for you.”

  “Okay, Slick, come on in,” she says.

  I follow her into the kitchen and put the box down on the counter. She tries to set her daughter down onto the floor, but Kimberley clings tighter. “No!”

  “Let me do it,” I say. I open the pizza box. Janice pulls a door open and points to the plates. I get out a couple of plates and put them on the table, and Janice pulls out a chair and sits down.

  “Here you go, Pumpkin,” she says. “Might as well get a plate for yourself, too,” she says to me. “Looks like you plan to stay.”

  “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’ll be out of here soon. I need to clear up one more thing.”

  “Suit yourself. You mind getting me a Coke out of the refrigerator and some milk for Kimberley?”

  I do as requested and then sit down and watch her feed pieces of pizza to her daughter and herself.

  “Do you know what kind of business Scott Borland was looking into?”

  She shakes her head. “Not a clue. He’s always got some big scheme going.”

  “Going back into the meth business?”

  She flushes and pushes her hair back from her neck. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  Kimberley wiggles down off her lap, and Janice heaves a sigh of relief. “Go find your doll,” she says. Her daughter wanders off into the living room.

  “Tough being a single parent.”

  “Sometimes. My mamma takes care of her during the day, so it’s not so bad. And she’s a good baby.”

  “Is she Jett’s?”

  “No, but I was with him so long that she thinks he’s her daddy. He still comes by to see her.” She looks embarrassed. My guess is he comes around and sweet-talks her and she’s lonesome taking care of this baby by herself and so she spends time with him.

  There’s a crash from the living room, and Kimberley sets up a wail. “Uh-oh, bedtime.” Janice jumps up and heads for the living room. I follow her. Kimberley is sitting on the floor wailing, having pushed a vase onto its side on the coffee table. It had a single flower in it, and water from the vase is dripping onto the floor. “Nothing to cry about,” Janice says. “Let me get a rag and you can help me mop it up.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you tell Jett I was here.”

  She seems like a nice girl. I don’t know why she’d be mixed up with somebody like Jett Borland.

  I stop back by the hospital to fill Jenny in on the conversation I had with Janice Gerson. The bruise from the bump on her head has spread out so that her whole forehead and one eye are shades of purple and yellow. “Bottom line,” I say, “we can’t find Borland at the moment, but we’ll keep checking back at his place.”

  Jenny sits up a little higher, wincing as she does so. Just then the door opens and a familiar face peeks around the corner.

  “Monica!” Jenny says.

  The nurse I couldn’t seem to get along with when Jenny’s mother was in the hospital bustles over to the bed and gives Jenny a hug. “I heard you were in here, and I came to see you as soon as I got done with my rounds.” She looks at me and her face clouds up. “Oh, it’s you again. Trying to cause trouble with Jenny now that you’ve finished with her mamma?”

  “Monica, stop that!” Jenny starts to laugh and then groans. “Ow, don’t make me laugh. That hurts. Listen, Samuel is a good friend of mine, and you have to be nice to him.”

  “If you say so. Now, honey, if there’s anything that isn’t right in here, you let me know. I’m not on this ward; I’m upstairs. But you send somebody to find Monica and I’ll set everybody straight.”

  “I will.
But if I have any say in it, I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

  Monica cocks an eyebrow at Jenny. “You’ll do what the doctor says! I know people like you. You think you don’t need to follow the rules like everybody else. And the next thing you know, you’re back here with an infection or pulled stitches. You stay put until the doctor says otherwise.” Monica turns her attention to me. “If you’re such a good friend, you’ll make sure she follows orders.”

  “Count on it,” I say.

  Monica glances at her watch. “All right, I’ve got to get back.” She’s almost to the door when she pauses and says, “Did the man who came to visit your mamma get everything squared away with the paper he wanted her to sign?”

  Jenny looks confused, but before I can hear the explanation, my cell phone rings. Monica glares at me, but I have to answer it because it’s Zeke Dibble.

  “You on your way home?” Dibble says. “Jim Krueger’s after you. Apparently he has a prom rebellion on his hands.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “The kids are giving me trouble,” Jim Krueger says. He mops beads of perspiration from his forehead, dislodging a long thread of hair from his comb-over so that it springs up like a question mark.

  “I’m not surprised.” I could have told him the kids were likely to rebel at some point. Every year the rules for the prom get tighter. First it was more chaperones, until it seemed like there were more chaperones than students. Then the doors of the gym were guarded during the dance so that the kids couldn’t go in and out—not a bad thing, because it cut down on the drinking outdoors between dances and the girls didn’t have to put up with boys who could barely stand up, much less dance or drive home. Then it was tightening the reins on after-prom parties.

  This year someone’s bright idea is to keep the kids in the gym all night. The plan was to have party games and a casino with fake money, ending up with breakfast. But the Baptists put up a fuss about the casino, and the organizers ended up with a bunch of games that sounded like they were more appropriate for children than teenagers.

  “Several of the kids signed a petition saying they aren’t going to attend unless the rules are relaxed,” Krueger says. “Trouble is I can’t figure out who’s behind it. And the parents who planned all this are demanding that I find out which kids are behind it and expel them.”

  He looks so bleak that I can’t help laughing. “Jim, I wouldn’t have your job for a million bucks.”

  “That doesn’t help me much. Any ideas? I hate to think of the kids tearing around all over town after the prom getting into mischief.”

  “Let me ask you something. When you were in high school, did the parents get this involved in the prom?”

  Jim stares and blinks for a few minutes. He starts to nod. “I see your point. You’re right. Back when I was in school, the prom committee was the senior girls and as far as I can remember the school had the devil of a time finding parents even willing to chaperone—much less spend the night here supervising. But times have changed.” He scoots forward to prop his elbows on his desk. “Trouble is, it’s a little late to be telling parents they can’t be involved. Honestly, Samuel, it’s like they think it’s their prom instead of the kids.’”

  It’s times like this I wish Jeanne were still alive. She would have known what to do. So all I can do is try to think what she would have suggested. The key is in what Krueger said about people thinking this is their prom. They need to be given something to do that’s more appealing than holding kid’s games for their almost-grown high schoolers. “Who is the most well-liked family in the senior class?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who would parents go to for advice if they had a problem with one of their kids?”

  “I suppose that would be Emily and Jake Ford.” He gives a mirthless laugh and shakes his head. “If you ask me, Emily is sometimes a little far-out, but she’s the first one anyone mentions if there’s anything to be done.”

  “Is she one of the parents planning the prom?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “She bowed out. She said she thought they were going overboard.”

  “Can you call her and get her in here?”

  “It’s almost six o’clock. She’s probably cooking supper.”

  “Let’s try her anyway. Tell her there are problems with the prom.”

  Emily says she’ll be right down, and fifteen minutes later she arrives, puffing into the office like she’s run all the way.

  “You caught me doing my workout on my exercise machine,” she says. “I hate it, so I was happy to leave. Although I made myself run here so at least I’d get some exercise.” She pulls her T-shirt away from her chest and flaps it. “I probably smell like a goat.” She laughs. I don’t know her at all except to nod to, but I like her right away. She’ll do fine for my purposes. “What’s going on that has to get done right this minute?”

  Krueger explains that the kids are digging their heels in. She sighs and shakes her head. “I tried to tell them they weren’t dealing with third graders, but Mary Lou Jennings has always been a helicopter parent.”

  That isn’t a term I’ve heard before, but I figure I know pretty much what it means without her having to explain it. “The trouble is,” I say, “what do we do now? I think we have to have something that appeals to those parents that they’d rather do than hang around the gym all night.”

  “Hmm.” I can see the wheels turning. “Something kind of unusual and that makes them feel ritzy.” She looks at me in a calculating way, and I start to worry that she’s going to involve me in some way. “I hear you know something about wine. How about a wine tasting? I could run over to San Antonio this week and buy some wine and fancy cheese. And I’d tell them that you’re going to be there to give a little tutorial about the wine.”

  “Oh, no. Wait a minute,” I say. “I need to be on duty.”

  “You only have to be at the party long enough to say a few words. Thirty minutes? Okay, twenty minutes. It can’t be that hard. But if parents know you’ll be there, they’ll be more inclined to come.”

  “Why is that?” Jim Krueger says, before I have a chance to ask.

  “Samuel is the chief of police. They’ll figure if it’s okay with him, it’s got to be okay to sample a little wine. And besides, you’ve got to admit it’s a little unusual. Kind of like a talking dog . . .” She grins.

  “I know, I know, it doesn’t matter what I say.”

  She’s all business and writes down my suggestions for a few different kinds of wines. I tell her to ask the advice of the store where she buys it. “Tell them you have a budget. Speaking of budget, how is this going to get paid for?” I turn to Jim Krueger.

  “Money’s no problem,” Emily says. “I’ll charge the parents. That way they’ll think it’s worth more. And if I need any extra money, Jim’s going to have to find it in his budget.”

  Krueger grumbles a little but admits that it’s better than having the kids refuse to go to the prom. “Now the thing is,” Krueger says, “what are we going to do about the rules for the kids? I hate to give in to their petition. That’s not a good precedent.”

  “Why not?” Emily says. “It’s the end of the school year. By next year nobody will remember what happened this year.”

  “I like your style,” I say. “You ever thought about running for public office?”

  “Got too much sense for that,” she says. She jumps up. “Is it all settled then? Because I’ve got to get home. My daughter’s about to have a nervous breakdown because she suddenly doesn’t like her dress. Sometimes I think we ought to drop the whole idea of a prom!”

  CHAPTER 18

  I stop in for breakfast at Town Café the next morning, and everybody is full of a story that shakes all the other news right off the map. Gabe LoPresto’s building company has won the bid against some big outfits to build the new outlet mall that Loretta told me about. That must be what had him so excited last time I saw him. Gabe hasn’t shown up yet, and everybody’s
waiting to hear the full story.

  Town Café is nothing to look at—a Quonset hut with the inside finished in knotty pine. The walls are decorated with a couple of deer heads, photos of every Jarrett Creek sports team from the last twenty years, neon beer signs, and year-round Christmas tree lights strung along the front counter. But it’s the local gathering spot because the food is good.

  “LoPresto’s probably over at Palmer’s trying to find a bigger hat,” one of the men says. Everybody laughs, but we’re proud of Gabe.

  Finally LoPresto comes busting in the door with a big grin on his face, wearing a snappy black Western-style business suit with his best snakeskin boots and his good hat. He deserves to be pleased with himself. He may be a braggart, but his company has a good reputation and his getting the contract is going to put a lot of local people to work after a period of trying financial times for the town.

  “Gabe, I’m buying you breakfast,” Harley Lunsford says. We all look at him with wonder. He’s never been known to offer a dollar when a dime would do as well. But then he says, “Better yet, you buy—you can afford it now.”

  LoPresto laughs along with us. We pump him for information, and he’s happy to tell us how he outwitted “the big boys.” He came up with an efficient plan for tearing down the old subdivision, which meant he could underbid the other companies. He tells us that he’s going to be looking for subcontractors from all over the place. “If anybody knows of carpenters looking for work, tell them I’m going to be hiring. First, though, I’m looking for anybody who can do grunt work. We’ve got a lot of tearing down to do and permits to get before we even put a spade into the ground.” He stands up. “You know, Samuel, you may not have to hang on as chief much longer. If the economy picks up around here, we could be in a position to hire a new one.”