Longnecks & Twisted Hearts (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 3)

by George Wier

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  During the two months following the storm that stranded them, Louis du Orly, the survivors of his crew and half a dozen imprisoned Spanish trekked deep into the heart of an East Texas forest of unimaginable extent, and there at the center of a great encampment of natives, homes were constructed for them and they settled down to live out their lives.

  Louis took a Navasota squaw as his wife and lived there for another ten years.

  In 1681, the journal was penned in a different hand, that of Le Fitte. The captain had begun to go mad. He babbled and raved about impending invasions from the Aztecs and from the Spaniards, about gold and jewels and the hunt to find him, and about a “blue bone”.

  Le Fitte’s scant and cryptic hand detailed his Captain’s last days, filled with madness and severe fevers, from which he would never recover.

  The final entry stated simply “Summer 1683", and preserved du Orly’s final words: “The blue bone is possessed by the spirits of all who touch it. It feeds on their desires, their greed, and therefore must be buried deep in the earth. This is my last command to you, noble son. Bury it. Bury it deeply.”

  Le Fitte carried out his master’s command in that final entry, consigning the blue bone, the body of the Captain, and his immense yet worthless treasure “in the grotto of the gods beneath the land,” where it would never be seen again by mortal eyes.

  “They sealed the hole,” I said.

  “Yes,” Larrabeth replied.

  “But CTL&P found it,” Mary Jo said.

  “Sandy Jones found it,” I said.

  There followed a silence that lasted whole minutes.

  “Bill,” Larrabeth said finally, handing me the journal, “this should be in a museum. It’s worth quite a bit.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll make sure it finds its way to safe-keeping. But only after the cleanup.”

  “Right,” she said. “We’ve got to get those damned core rods disposed of. That son of a bitch Throckmorton. I don’t hate people too easily, but I’ll tell you, if anybody deserved killing, it was him.”

  I could have easily commented, but I kept my mouth shut. It’s too easy to speak ill of someone after they’re dead and gone, especially if you didn’t know them personally. I was at least happy about the fact that I’d never gotten to know Terry Throckmorton. Larrabeth’s tone was all I needed to hear to convince me that had I known him, I would likely have echoed her comments.

  “Brad knew,” Mary Jo said. “It was what he couldn’t tell me.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think he did. And Sandy knew as well. And someone else, other than Terry Throckmorton and the drivers that brought those core rods in.”

  “Who?” Mary Jo asked.

  I allowed the question to hang there in the air for a moment. I turned to face Larrabeth Williams.

  “Ma’am,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Larrabeth said.

  “When Mary Jo called me to tell me about Brad’s death, she said he was murdered.”

  “That’s right,” Mary Jo said from the rear seat. “I knew it then and I know it even more now.”

  “And with his brother, Freddie dead now, and not a mark on him, just like Brad...”

  Larrabeth sighed. She looked straight ahead, out into the night. Or perhaps she was looking inward, examining herself.

  “This,” she began, “is a double-murder investigation.”

  Larrabeth turned in her seat to face Mary Jo.

  “Ma’am,” she said. “I’m going to find the man who killed your husband and your brother-in-law, I promise you. And when I do, I’m going to make sure he wishes he was never born.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was 6:00 a.m. and the sun was threatening to rise through a scudding of low clouds to the east.

  I took Mary Jo back into town with me and ensconced her in the hotel where I’d stayed in the night before. My room was next door to hers, just a rap on the wall away if I were needed.

  I slept fitfully, until I got a knock on my door at a quarter till noon. I was sure it was Mary Jo.

  “Heidi!”

  “Hi, Bill,” she said, holding a small clutch purse primly in front of her. She wore a light-yellow sun dress and her hair was gussied up. I rubbed sleep out of my eyes.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, and held the door open for her. “There’s a chair. I’ll sit on the bed.”

  “You haven’t changed clothes,” she said.

  “Too tired.”

  “Busy night?”

  “You could say that,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Mike. He’s got funny ideas in his head. He’s says you might be a loose cannon. That you’re running around either getting people killed or killing them yourself. What’s going on?”

  “Heidi,” I began, then didn’t know how to continue. I wanted to tell her that she was out of her depth, that she was better off not knowing things. Really, I wanted her to leave so I could crash for another eight hours.

  “Bill,” she said. “My husband is going... I feel like he’s losing his mind. His best friend is dead, and now his best friend’s brother is dead, his boss is dead, and I want to know what the hell is going on.” She said all of it quietly, as if she knew a raised voice might bring unwanted attention.

  “Mary Jo’s next door,” I said. “Thank you for not shouting.”

  “I couldn’t shout at you, Bill. I... I like you.”

  What else was there to say? “I like you too, Heidi.”

  “At one time you said it differently. The word wasn’t ‘like.’”

  “I know,” I said. “I know. It was a long time ago. A lifetime.”

  “Maybe. Not so long for me, though. I don’t have many friends, Bill. Mike doesn’t like for me to have friends.”

  “I’m sorry for you, Heidi,” I said. I began itching for a way to get her to leave.

  “Don’t say that,” she said.

  I faced her. “Heidi,” I said. “You live in another world. A bubble world. You always have. Everything you’ve ever needed was given to you on a silver platter. When I knocked on your door once back in high school, do you know who answered? Your maid. Do you know who she was? She was my seventh grade history teacher. She left education, a thing she loved more than anything, because she could make more money working for your parents.”

  “Don’t be mean, Bill,” she said, quietly.

  “I’m not being mean, I’m being real. You’re a fine woman. You’ve got a good husband, who also makes good money. You’ve got a big house with a sculptured lawn and a Japanese tea garden I wouldn’t mind having. No, I’m not actually jealous, it’s just that I’m exhausted and I don’t have time for this. Tell Mike to chill. I’ve got everything under wraps. I’m closing in on Brad’s killer.”

  “But you still need friends,” she said.

  “I’ve got friends. Friends in places you’ve never dreamed of, both high and low.”

  “I’m leaving.” She stood, stared down at me for a moment, her teeth biting her lower lip. For a moment I thought she was going to slap me.

  She turned toward the door.

  “Go home, Heidi,” I said.

  She walked out the door without a word and slammed it behind her.

  *****

  I couldn’t get back to sleep.

  I went down to my car, fished around in my trunk until I came up with the suit bag I was hoping was still there. I hadn’t seen it since I’d brought the car back from West Texas and a visit to a Texas Ranger friend the previous spring.

  I was in luck. Inside there was a set of clothes, including a pink shirt purchased for me by Julie that I swore I’d never wear. But what the hell? Only real men can wear pink and get away with it.

  Back upstairs and into the shower I let the water scald and sting me until I began to come back to life.

  I dressed and tapped lightly on Mary Jo’s door. She answered, looking refreshed.

  �
�Take me home, Bill. I’ve got to get my car. There’s a memorial service for Brad today at three.”

  “Sure.”

  *****

  It bothered me, prodded at me until the moment Mary Jo asked me to stand up and say a few words about Brad. There, two rows behind Mary Jo were Mike and Heidi. What I was thinking of that whole time was: “What in the hell is a blue bone?”

  We were under a small pavilion in Astin Park, a stone’s throw from Lake Bryan, the same lake I’d once fallen into as a child during a school picnic. Brad had been there, laughing his ass off at me before helping to pull me out. The pavilion hadn’t existed then. I looked down at Mary Jo, then at Mike and Heidi, then across the many waiting faces until I picked out Larrabeth Williams and a deputy seated in the back row.

  I gave them all a smile and began. I told them stories of Brad and me — some of the off-the-wall stunts he’d pulled during the many years I’d known him. I had them alternately laughing and tearing-up, as I went from a very Brad-like antic to something he’d once told me during one of his more poignant moments. I let the weight of the words carry out over the audience, and a silence flowed back to me.

  And then I felt it.

  A chill went through me.

  He was there, the presence from the dark house.

  Among the thirty or so of us, he was sitting there, his eyes boring into me as they had tried to do through the inky blackness of Mary Jo’s kitchen.

  I scanned the faces, trying to be natural and yet deliberate, but my search turned up nothing.

  I decided to leave off with a few words of comfort for Mary Jo, telling her that I knew Brad had loved her more than anyone or anything, but then it came to me. There was an opportunity here.

  “Mary Jo,” I said, turning to her. “We will find him... the person that did this to Brad, and to Freddie. We will get him. I promise you.”

  I had the complete attention of every person there. The attention was palpable, solid.

  Mary Jo nodded at me, mouthed a heart-felt “thank you” to me, and then wiped the tears from her eyes with a wadding of Kleenex.

  “Brad,” I said, looking slightly up and past the crowd, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me most. You were my oldest friend, and I will miss you. I’ll get him, Brad.” I dropped my gaze level again and looked, waiting for a sign of any kind. A look, a shudder, a flinch. Anything.

  One last look, meeting steady gazes.

  “I’ll get him,” I said softly, and knew that every person there heard me perfectly, including him.

  The cool breeze had died completely. Stillness. Not a sound, not a movement.

  I was done. I stepped away from the small lectern and sat down beside Mary Jo.

  She squeezed my hand and then stood, turning to take in the crowd.

  “Thank you Bill, for those kind words,” she said. “And thank you all for coming. I feel like Brad is here, watching us, and that he is pleased with your attendance here. Please join with us in singing Amazing Grace.”

  We all stood and Mary Jo led us in a strong and clear voice.

  And I wept hot, fierce tears, for all the good it did me to resist.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mike and Heidi came up to me after the ceremony as the crowd dispersed. Heidi chatted with Mary Jo and Mike pulled me aside.

  “That was either very smart or very stupid,” he said, but he was smiling. “You’ve put the fear of God in somebody, hopefully.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I noticed Sheriff Williams standing in the sunlight at the edge of the pavilion, watching people file back to their cars. She looked my way and dropped me a wink and shook her head in the negative. No likely suspects, that meant.

  “You and Mary Jo are welcome to join us for dinner,” Mike said.

  Mary Jo must have overheard. She came over with Heidi in tow and said: “I can’t accept.” She turned to me. “I’m leaving, Bill. I’m leaving town, right this minute. I won’t be back.”

  “Mary Jo,” I began, but she cut me off with a nod of her head.

  She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear.

  “See that they bury Brad’s body properly. Then go back to your family. Your wife needs you right now.”

  “I’ve got to —”

  “I know. You made a promise and I know you’ll keep it. But for now, do what’s right for you. You’ve done all you can for me and for Brad, except to see he’s buried. I can’t do that, myself. I have to go. I won’t be calling you, Bill. Don’t call me. I have to start life over again. Please understand. I promised Brad I’d go, remember?”

  She regarded me close-up, her eyes probing mine. They were clear and bright and full of life. Brad was gone from her, now. A great weight had been lifted.

  I nodded to her, understanding her fully.

  “Go, Mary Jo. Live life.”

  “Take care of yourself, Bill Travis,” she said. “I love you.”

  She kissed me tenderly on the cheek, then she was away and walking toward her car. I stood there and watched her go. She never looked back.

  “Well,” Heidi said, and left it at that.

  *****

  I had an uncomfortable lunch with Mike and Heidi. I had other fish to fry at the moment, but it was something I couldn’t get out of unless I wanted to turn the couple into complete enemies.

  We dined at a posh restaurant, a private club on the top floor of a bank building, blocks from my old high school.

  “Bill,” Mike said. “I’ll make sure they bury Brad with some respect. I feel responsible for him. I tried to warn him to leave well enough alone. You go back to Austin.”

  I thought about it. Julie and our baby were waiting for me.

  “Thanks, Mike,” I said. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Bill,” Heidi began, but Mike looked hard at her. “Nothing.”

  “I have a feeling,” Mike said, “if you don’t go, then you might be sorry.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked him. “That won’t work.”

  “I’m not threatening you, you prick. I’m advising you. I don’t want to read about you in the papers, that’s all.”

  “I feel like you know something and you’re not telling me.”

  He began cutting his filet mignon. Heidi took a sip of wine and tried to appear as though she were looking at something outside the window. The only thing out there was city skyline.

  “Look,” I said. “Brad’s dead. So is Freddie. Terry Throckmorton’s dead. Mary Jo’s gone from town. That narrows down the playing field a whole lot.”

  “Why did you bring the Sheriff in on this, then, if it’s so simple?” Mike asked.

  “She brought herself in. This is a double-murder.” I’d had enough. “Look. I’ve got to go. I’ll let you do something good. You’ve got the pull and you’ve got the money. Bury Brad when they release his body. I’m leaving for Austin.”

  “When?” Heidi asked.

  “Right now.”

  I got up, opened my wallet, fished out a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the table.

  “I hope that covers lunch,” I said, then turned and stalked out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He was waiting for me at the same intersection as before.

  Red and blue lights flashed at me in my rearview mirror.

  “Aw hell,” I said.

  I pulled over and stopped, rolled my window down. It was hot out, a traditional Texas summer outdoor oven, the temperature set on ‘Broil’.

  I stayed put and waited. After a minute a familiar face grinned down at me.

  “Hello, William.”

  “Hello, Officer Leonard.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “I’m not. Just leaving.”

  “Good. I’ll escort you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said.

  “I’ll just do you this one last favor,” he said.

  “Thanks a million
.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I was home with Julie, our new daughter, Jennifer, and our adopted daughter, Jessica.

  Jessica surprised us both by taking time out of her social schedule — which, for a thirteen year-old seemed of late to be busier than some child movie stars — to help with the baby. To hear Jessica put it, she could have used a handful of booking agents and still not gotten everything done. But to see her hold the baby and dance around our bedroom, smiling down at little Jenny and kissing her little forehead for the five-hundredth time, well, let me tell you, this father felt no small measure of pride.

  Julie seemed to be pleased with me as well. Possibly it had something to do with my coming home so soon. She didn’t ask me any questions about Brad or Mary Jo, didn’t comment when she knew I was still trying to sort it all out, and didn’t trade verbal jabs with me the way we usually did. I would have to say she was pleased with herself. And she should have been. Jennifer was beautiful.

  I got the call on a Saturday afternoon while Julie and I watched a rare movie together and Jessica was changing the baby.

  “Hello?”

  “Bill Travis?” I recognized the voice. Husky, female. A certain East Texas Sheriff.

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  “You must have caller-ID,” she said.

  “Or I must recognize your voice.”

  “All right. I’m calling about Sandy Jones.”

  “Your cousin,” I said.

  “Yeah. Him. He’s gone crazy, Bill. I need your help.”

  *****

  Another long highway trip and therefore another chance to go over everything that had happened, uninterrupted.

  I remembered Mary Jo kissing me on the cheek and turning away, leaving for good. A presence in the pitch blackness, probing for me. Flashlights roving over ancient cavern wall etchings. An empty grotto. A promise to Mary Jo and to Brad and the assembled mourners. The knowledge that the killer was right there, looking directly at me.