Hometown Secrets

by David Bishop

  “Not really. Just wanted to know if there would be any hiccups depending on what I had you handle.”

  “None that I can see at this point; I doubt any will develop. So, what brings you in today?”

  “For us to meet, for you to know I’m here, which you shall hold in strict confidence. And, I wanted to learn a few things.”

  After Austin offered her a beverage, which she declined, he asked, “You were saying you wanted to learn a few things, such as?”

  “If I wanted to sell mother’s place after the reading, how long do I need to wait to get started with the process?”

  “A few days should do it nicely. We’ll need to establish your ownership. I can prepare the documents and take them to the judge for his signature. After that we can record the deed to you at the county seat and you can proceed with a sale as soon as you find a buyer. Is that your plan?”

  “Not definite, but I expect so.”

  “That’s fine. I can take care of what you’ll need.”

  “Thank you. Now, on a different subject: Aren’t the owners of real estate a matter of public record, without exception?”

  “We lawyers tend to shy away from the words, ‘without exception,’ yet I’m unable at the moment to think of an exception. For practical discussion, access to public records is normal and customary. Why?”

  “I want to find out the identity of the owners of record of the two properties used by Billy Cranston to run his whorehouse and his gambling casino.”

  “Why?”

  “Would it be correct to say that if something is a matter of public record anyone has a right to learn the information without having to justify or qualify their reason for wanting to know?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you find out for me?”

  “Certainly, I’ll have Rita, out front, get on it right away. I will be out of town all day tomorrow, but I have an opening at four in the afternoon on Monday. I should know by then. Will that work for you?”

  “That would be fine.” Linda stood up and shook hands with Denton Austin. “If there is a mortgage or other recorded documents with respect to either property, I’d like copies of those as well. I’ll be here Monday at four. Whatever time is left out of this first hour, please apply it to this task and our next meeting. If more is due by then, I’ll pay you when I’m here on Monday.”

  Before walking out of the attorney’s office, she turned back, “Mr. Austin, I’ve been by mother’s place a couple times, discreetly. Someone is keeping it up. Mowing and caring for the flower beds. Whoever is doing it even replaced a few failed boards on the porch. Did you hire that done?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who’s doing it and who is paying for it?”

  “Yes, I do. There is no charge for it.”

  “Who would be doing it for free?”

  “Dixon Wardley, the man you asked about. Dix is a local handyman. He used to teach and coach at the local high school. He has been caring for your mother’s home since her death. He also did some work for her before she died.”

  “Why is he working it for free?”

  “You’ll have to ask Dix. He is a man who follows his own conscience. A different man who does occasional odd jobs for my office happened to drive by your mother’s place when Dix was there working. My man reported it to me. Later I talked with Dix about it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you know who I am?”

  FRIDAY

  “Get in here, Reggie,” Billy Cranston bellowed after opening his door. He motioned toward the bar on the sidewall while asking, “Any strangers in town?”

  “None I’m aware of Billy. Not counting that Benson woman. Why do you ask?”

  Cranston ignored the sheriff’s question. “I want your report on her, the Benson woman.”

  “No record,” the sheriff mumbled as he headed for Billy’s built-in bar which held several popular brown liquors, including the one preferred by Sheriff Blackstone.

  “What do you mean no record?”

  “Just that.” The sheriff added a little water from a pitcher set apart from the bottles. “I found nothing in our records or in the records up at the capitol. No warrants or tickets. Her fingerprints came up no match.”

  “I can’t believe that FBI fingerprint files do not include this woman.”

  “I didn’t run it through the FBI, only the state capitol.” The sheriff sat down in a leather recliner, across from Billy, lolling his leg over the padded arm.

  “Why the hell not? I want this damn woman ID’d.”

  “I understand that, but FBI files are accessed for suspects. Carol Benson is not a suspect. She was no more than a witness inside The Drop when Molina was shot.”

  “Let me make this clear. Do it or I’ll appoint your deputy acting sheriff and have him do it. Dummy it up however you want. Unidentified print found at the scene of a crime. However, just get ‘er done. . . . Fast! I want this information yesterday.”

  “Okay, Billy, okay. Lighten up, will ya.”

  “Is there anything else, Sheriff Blackstone?” Sarcasm dripped off the word sheriff.

  “One more item,” the sheriff said, ignoring Billy’s unpleasant tone. “Tomorrow is the day we get the fee from our unofficial guest. Any change in the amount? If there is, I’ll need to let ‘im know right away.”

  “Likely we’ll up it at the end of the year, but not now. Okay, Sheriff, is that it? Nothing else?”

  “The lighter I found at the back of your barn. Turns out I got somethin’ on it.”

  Billy leaned into his forearms which were pressed against the edge of his desk. He spread his hands, palms open, an impatient look on his face.

  “Mackie at the jewelry store remembers selling it a few months ago. He doesn’t recall who bought it, but it was the last of a dozen he had in stock. That’s why he remembers. ”

  “So, he sold several of them over the last so many months. The one you found might be the last one he remembers selling or the one before that, or the first one he sold who knows how far back. Right?”

  “Don’t think so, Billy. We got more . . . some more anyway.”

  “Why don’t you stop dragging this out and give it all to me before we get any older.”

  “Mackie cleaned it up some to get off the gunk from the fire. He used one of them jeweler’s wheels. Well, sir, when it was cleaned up, right there, plain as day was an engraved letter C. That’s why he recalls this here was the last of the batch.”

  “But he doesn’t remember who bought it, right?” After the sheriff shook his head, Billy asked, “Does anyone come to mind, Mr. Lawman, who might fit this engraved C?”

  “Carlos certainly,” the sheriff replied. “Carlos Molina was a smoker and I recall seeing him use a lighter. He coulda bought it from Mackie. But we can’t know that. Of course, there’s also Carol Benson. She could be the C. Then there’s Vera Cunningham. The Benson dame didn’t get into town until the day after your barn burned, so she don’t figure. As for Carlos and Vera, I can’t see no reason why either of those two would torch your barn.”

  “Vera Cunningham doesn’t smoke. And, besides, Vera is a go-along-to-get-along gal. Hell, the letter ‘C’ fits a good dozen or more people around here. A glance at the phone book will confirm that.”

  “One more thing, Billy,” the sheriff began with his chest puffed out like a proud peacock. “I did some digging and you’d never guess whose middle initial is C.”

  Billy looked impatient, his eyebrows rose. “I’m aging here, Reggie.”

  “Dixon Wardley, that’s who, Dixon C. Wardley. I could see him burning your barn.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  “Damn Billy. You know why. Dixon is the only dude in these parts who gives you any ration of shit about anything. He don’t back down. The man loves to yank your chain.”

  Billy rubbed his chin. “You hold onto that lighter. One day we might need to chat with that asshole Dixon about all the shi
t that’s been going on lately.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Are you Suggesting Murder?

  Linda was in the small side lobby of her hotel watching through the window when Dix pulled up at six. She had earlier walked over to the Stop By Bar & Grill to purchase a pair of black shorts like the ones Wendy had worn while serving them ribs and beer. The shorts were sold at the front counter. The name Stop By was printed in hot pink on the butt of the shorts. Unless you were part of the restaurant’s wait staff, the shorts were a little racy for public consumption. That’s why she had called Dix to pick her up at the side entrance. Her pair was not quite as tight as Wendy’s had been. To complete her outfit she again wore the top she bought from Vera, the one which stretched out over her shoulders. She also wore the platform heels she had worn for the dinner they shared.

  Dix pulled up. She went out and got into his pickup. He drove off, lightly grasping her bare thigh with his right hand as he made a left turn. She smiled. “It’s only a few minutes to my place,” he said.

  Dix lived northwest of Linda’s mother’s place. A small house on a paved road, the last residential street anyone would consider being in town. His yard was well kept. The beds had mostly shrubs with some flowers, no weeds. A man-sized rocker sat on the porch next to a cushioned wicker chair. The windows were clean. The man took pride in his home, at least the outside. He opened the front screen, unlocked and opened the door, and followed her inside. The living room was nicely furnished in choices clearly masculine, but not overly so. Leather couch coaxed up close to a glass-top table, a big-screen television, and an area rug over hardwood floors which were nicely finished with a medium-dark stain.

  He led her out through a rear screen door to a privacy-fenced backyard where he had the BBQ already loaded with charcoal briquettes, heaped and glowing. He spread them out somewhat evenly. “Burgers okay?”

  “Sure. Great. How ‘bout one of those beers you mentioned?”

  He motioned toward a cooler on the wood deck next to a table and chairs sitting under a large umbrella. “I’ll take one too, if you don’t mind getting it.”

  Linda took the caps off. They clinked bottlenecks and took a first drink.

  “I’ll put the burgers on,” he said. “Go inside and look the place over if you’d like.”

  She did. The kitchen was nicely appointed. Ceramic tile counters topped with a subway tile backsplash. The appliances were black and looked quite new. A basket of fruit stood on the long side of the counter, a second basket held two loaves of bread, one had raisins.

  At the end of a short hall, she lingered in the doorway to his bedroom. The room was furnished pleasantly with a dresser, a freestanding floor mirror, and a nightstand on the side of the bed where an indentation in the mattress reported his favorite position for sleeping. The king-sized bed seemed right for the man, even more so if he had company. At the other end of the hall, a guest bedroom had a queen-size bed and a plain chest of drawers with a closet occupied by a dozen or so empty hangers. The house had been built in the era when houses came with one bathroom, but it was very clean.

  She wondered if he had spruced up the place because she was coming or if he kept it clean all the time. With time and continued interest, she would learn the answers. She pushed open the rear screen to see a flash of flame rise from fat dripping into the bed of the barbeque.

  An hour later they finished their burgers, opened two more beers, went inside, and got back to what had been interrupted at her hotel the prior night when she discovered her room had been searched.

  He took off his shirt and boots, before sitting on the bed to watch her undress. She felt hot knowing his eyes were roaming her body. She undressed slowly. First, she took off her top, and then her shelf bra. After that she walked over to him, leaned down and kissed him on the mouth.

  “Do I look as good in these shorts as Wendy?” She turned slowly in a circle so he could see her from all sides.

  “Wendy? Wendy who?”

  “Of course, Wendy wasn’t able to wear them topless and with platform heels.” She then walked out the bedroom door and down the short hall. After turning, she slowly walked back toward him, his eyes on her the entire time. It always turned her on to know that a man she wanted was watching her.

  She walked around the bed to stand next to the floor-standing mirror while she wiggled out of her tight black shorts. This position gave Dix the choice of seeing her butt or the reflection of her naked front in the mirror. She hung the shorts on the post on the side of the mirror and returned to him.

  For the next hour and more, they used their hands, mouths, and bodies to make love in his bed. They started slowly, her eyes looking into his and his returned her gaze. His eyes also drifted over her body from head to foot. She swung one leg over him and sat down, looking down into his eyes as he looked up at her breasts. She leaned down and kissed him, long and wet. He ran his hands over her legs and her breasts, up her neck and across her mouth. While gently moving her hips, she eased her way down his body and took him into her mouth.

  They began with her on top. After a while, he grasped her hips to keep them connected while he rolled them over to take the top position. The pace of their pelvic thrusts intensified, often exceeding that of the music.

  Dix was a strong lover, gentle, firm. He was patient, taking the time to slowly build her excitement until she achieved full satisfaction. In turn, she took care bringing him to a climax. With his release, he looked into her eyes and she climaxed again. In bed, he reminded Linda of her deceased husband, Clark, which was a good thing. Afterwards, she dozed off-and-on in his arms while he stroked her hair.

  One of Linda’s weaknesses, or maybe not, was that she fell in love easily. By count, in twenty years she’d had two husbands, and two years ago a crush on Ryan Testler. She thought of Ryan as remembered passion, with periodic hints that their last chapter had not yet been written.

  It was time for another love. From what Vera had said Dix seemed an ideal candidate. He had certainly passed tonight’s test with flying colors. Linda felt pleased to have finally lit the torch Vera said Dix had been carrying since the years when Linda’s breasts were perky enough to not need a shelf bra.

  What the heck, she thought, I’m a modern woman. I don’t love indiscriminately. I’m selective, somewhat anyway.

  At ten they went back outside and opened one more beer, which they shared sitting at the table where they had eaten. After talking a bit about the stars she asked him a question.

  “The other night I asked what you would choose if you had a magic wand that could grant any wish.”

  “I remember.”

  “You said you’d wave it to make Cranston the town it could be out from under the domination of Billy Cranston.” He nodded. “Seeing we have no magic wand, what do you think it would it take for that to happen?”

  Dix looked up, wrinkled his brow, and used one thumb and forefinger to simultaneously wipe the corners of his mouth. He looked at her—straight on. “The short answer is the removal of the Cranstons. Billy has a stranglehold on the life of the town.”

  “The newspaper, the radio station, the bank, and inappropriate access to both the phone company and the post office, is that what you mean?”

  “Among a few other things like control over the sheriff’s office and the courthouse, but, yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “We both realize Billy will not voluntarily give up control of a town his family has had under their thumb since its founding. There are no magic wands. So how can we get that done?”

  “If Billy died.”

  Linda uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Are you suggesting that Billy should be murdered?”

  “I’m not suggesting anyone be murdered. At this point, I’m merely brainstorming. His death would be one way.”

  “What other ways?”

  “Convince Billy it is in his best interest to relinquish that control. For those key enterprises you mentioned to be sold. To have
his handpicked stooges resign from their elected offices, and to hold new elections without his lackeys being eligible to run. Have Billy’s handmaiden judge retire; he’s old enough. Replace his relative who is postmaster. Things like that should do it.”

  “You’ve apparently given this some thought, Mr. Wardley.”

  “Yes, I have.” He opened another beer and offered Linda the first drink from the cold bottle. She took it.

  “Are there others who would help?”

  “As you’d expect, they are a great many who would hope, who would cheer from the sidelines, but, as always, only a few who would act. We’d need to leverage an insider to tell us how certain things happen.”

  “That’s dicey,” she said. He nodded with his eyebrows raised.

  “How do we get started?”

  “First, we need to get something straight between us.” As he said it he moved his hand back and forth between them.

  “Oh? I thought we already got something relatively straight between us.” Dix shook his head and smiled. Then Linda added, “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

  “It was great for me as well,” Dix said, his eyes closed, “worthy of a repeat performance. Still, some things between us need further discussion.”

  “Such as?”

  “For starters, why are you dealing yourself into this game? You got to town a couple days ago, saw a murder, got fascinated and stuck around out of, what you’ve described as, curiosity. Is this just a flirtatious adventure for you, or do you have some stake in this you haven’t told me?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Before we can go further I need you to fully explain that.”

  “And then you’ll need to fully explain what has really kept you in this town. Agreed?”

  “Okay,” he said. “First, we need to agree that whether or not we move against Billy Cranston, nothing we disclose about ourselves, and nothing we discuss about this matter will be repeated to anyone, including Vera Cunningham, without the other’s approval.”