by Terry Shames
I also have a decent collection of ties and shirts because at Christmas my nephew Tom and his wife Vicki supply me with those basics. So when I show up at Jenny’s door at five-thirty, she says, “I didn’t need to worry. You clean up pretty good.”
Jenny usually wears boxy pants suits and doesn’t bother with much makeup. Tonight she has gone all out. She has on a green dress in soft material that looks good on her and she’s wearing strappy little shoes that don’t look like something you’d want to wear if you have any hiking to do.
“I know it,” she says when I tell her that. “But I don’t get to dress up very often, so here I am.” She’s blushing. We long ago established that she isn’t on the lookout for a man, but I can imagine some younger man in her office being surprised tonight at this pretty woman who has been right under his nose.
The retirement party is held at a newly renovated hotel. It’s a lavish affair with an abundant buffet and a full bar. I stop to talk to a couple of people I know from Bobtail, and Jenny goes off to mingle. I’m surprised to see Alan and Clara Dellmore here, with Gary not even buried yet. When I go over to greet them, I can see that they’re here in body only.
“Samuel, I’m glad to see a friendly face. Do you know the judge?” Alan says.
“Only by reputation. I’m here with my next-door neighbor, Jenny Sandstone. It’s good that you came out.”
Clara manages a smile. “We’ve known Judge Crocker since he was fresh out of law school and we felt like we had to come.”
I have questions I want to ask them, but this is neither the time nor the place, so we discuss the judge and his career. For Clara, it’s tough holding up her side of the conversation, but Alan seems like his usual self. He goes off to get another cocktail, and no sooner am I alone with Clara when she says, “Samuel, do you mind talking shop for a minute?”
“We can discuss anything you want. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s a little delicate, but I’m tired of being coddled and I need to know the answer.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Gary’s wife—you know Barbara?”
I nod.
“She said that Gary had had several affairs. Do you know whether that’s true? I know he had flirtations, but I guess I thought it was harmless. I’m sorry to pin you down, but every time I ask anyone else, they say something vague and put me off.”
“Clara, will it do you any good to know the answer?”
She blinks a few times as if she hadn’t thought about why she was asking the question. “I guess I want the answer to be no.”
“The fact is, it seems like Gary had an eye for women, but I don’t know why that should matter to you now. Do you?”
“Not really. Barbara and Annalise got into an argument when Barbara was at the house last Wednesday, and she told Annalise that Gary had had several affairs. She said that’s probably what got him killed.” Her voices rises as if she’s going to start crying.
“Sometimes people say things in the heat of an argument that they don’t really mean. You’d be better off putting the whole thing out of your mind. No good will come from dwelling on it.”
She nods and keeps her eyes on her glass. Whatever is in it, she hasn’t touched it.
Alan comes back with the judge in tow and introduces me. The judge is amused that Jarrett Creek is having to rely on volunteer efforts to keep services going because we’re out of money. I don’t see the humor in it, but I go along. At least it’s something to keep Alan and Clara’s mind off their son’s death for a while.
When Jenny joins us, Judge Crocker greets her warmly. He has a reputation for being a tough judge, and I expect there are some people who will be glad to see the last of him, but he seems popular with the attorneys who have come to send him off. As soon as the Dellmores walk away, Crocker turns to me, his expression suddenly grim. “That’s a bad business about the Dellmore boy. I heard you were in charge now, with that drunk Rodell Skinner out of the picture.”
“I am in charge for the time being, while money’s tight.” I feel uncomfortable with the judge’s potshot at Rodell.
“How is the investigation going?” he says.
“I can’t tell you I’m going to be able to solve this thing, but I’m going to give it my best shot.”
He gives me a close look. “I remember you had a fine reputation when you were chief before, and I believe you’re up to the job—a lot more than Rodell Skinner is.”
“Rodell has offered me some help, and I think he can put his mind to it now that he’s not drinking.”
Jenny gives me a sidelong look of disbelief. I don’t know why I feel obliged to defend Rodell, but what goes on in our small town is our problem and I don’t need somebody from Bobtail gossiping about our incorrigible lawman, even if the one doing the gossiping is a judge.
Jenny goes off to get another glass of wine for both of us and Jack Daniels for Crocker. When she walks away he says, “I don’t want to press you, but what line of thinking are you pursuing in the case?”
I put him off with some vague idea about somebody being upset by a financial deal and then tell him we found Gary Dellmore’s car.”
“Where was it?”
I tell him about Caton “borrowing” the car after he found it abandoned out on the dam road. “I don’t have a clue why the car was out there, when Gary was shot at the American Legion Hall.”
“Well, it’s early times. How’s Barbara holding up?”
“She’s doing okay. The funeral is Monday. It’s always good for the family to get that over with.”
The judge gets a frisky look in his eye. “I remember her when she was a youngster. Good-looking. And a fine figure.”
“How did you know her?”
“I was a friend of her daddy’s. I had my law practice here in Bryan before they tapped me to be a county judge.”
“I never knew Barbara’s daddy.”
“Mike Johnson was a good man.” He lowers his voice and leans in closer. “It was a damn shame what Gary Dellmore did to him.”
“What did he do?”
“When Gary married Barbara, Mike hired him to be his financial man. Gary made some bad business decisions, and the next thing you know Mike was bankrupt. I think that’s what killed him. And his wife died not six months later.”
Jenny shows up with our drinks, which cheers up the judge considerably. He may have a low opinion of Rodell Skinner for his drinking, but Crocker is putting away a fair amount himself.
“Who was this fellow you said showed up driving Dellmore’s car?” the judge asks. “Has he got a record?”
“No, he doesn’t. I think he’s just a kid who’s drifting around.”
Crocker narrows his eyes. “Too much of that element around here these days for my taste. You get some drifter like that coming in, and next thing you know you’ve got breaking and entering, and then somebody gets killed.”
Jenny says, “Samuel, on the way over here you told me that you had a couple of places broken into this week. Could it be this drifter who did it?”
I describe the two break-ins. “Nothing was missing. One of them was Slate McClusky’s place. He’s got a houseful of goods. If whoever broke in had been somebody like this kid, he probably would have taken something—money or something he could hock.”
“You say this was at Slate McClusky’s place?” Crocker asks.
“You know him?”
He nods, knitting his brow. “I’m not sure what I heard recently, but it was something to do with Slate having some financial troubles.” He shakes a finger to indicate that he’s thinking it through. “I know what it was. I know this old boy that used to go out to hunt at that resort and he said the past couple of years it’s been closed. He said somebody told him McClusky was trying to sell it. Apparently he lost some money and needs cash.”
“Maybe he got tired of taking care of all those animals and then having them get shot,” Jenny says.
The judge laughs. “Jenny,
I’m going to miss you. You’re never afraid to let people know where you stand.”
“I don’t see the point of raising those beautiful animals inside a fenced area and having people come out there and shoot them. That’s not hunting. There’s no sport to it. If you’re going to hunt, go out and hunt in the free range.”
Somebody comes up and pulls Crocker away from us, and shortly afterward Jenny tells me she can’t take one more second of standing in her shoes, and we make a break for it.
The weather has eased up some, and although it’s still cold, the night is clear and fine. We’re halfway home when I tell Jenny that I’m puzzling over why Gary Dellmore wanted the loan he was putting together for the water park kept secret, as if he was doing something underhanded. “I’m going to talk to Cookie Travers at the bank first thing Monday, but I wondered if you had any ideas.”
“First thing that comes to mind is maybe he got a kickback from the company for arranging the loan with his bank. If the company didn’t have good credit and couldn’t get a loan anywhere else, they might have paid him off.”
“You’re talking about a finder’s fee. That’s illegal?”
“You’re damn right it is. The banker making the loan gets a commission, but he can’t take money on both ends. It gets complicated, and there are some exceptions, but that’s the bottom line. I dealt with a case like that a few years back and the banker didn’t go to jail, but he got probation and had to pay a big fine.”
“I wonder if that’s what he was up to. And how that water park group decided to go to him for the loan.”
“Like I said, maybe they couldn’t get one anywhere else. You think this has to do with why he was murdered?”
“I’m not far enough along to say one way or the other, but anytime you get people sliding around the law with money, there’s likely to be trouble.”
“Especially since Jarrett Creek lost out on the deal. You’d think Dellmore would have studied the water park deal to find out if it was too risky for the town to take on.”
Loretta drops by after church the next morning and demands a detailed description of the party. I tell her all the details I can remember and make up a few, like what the women were wearing. I don’t mention how pretty Jenny looked.
When Loretta leaves, I call Marietta Bryant at home. Her husband says she’s gone to the office and is showing property this afternoon. At Grange Realty Dale Waller answers the phone and says Marietta should be in soon. I ask him to keep her there until I’ve had a chance to talk to her.
Giving her time to get to the office, I make one more call. I’m not a bit surprised when the Holiday Inn in Marble Falls tells me they have no record of Angel Bright or Slate McClusky staying there last week. There’s definitely something odd going on with those two, but their lies are transparent, as if they aren’t used to having to cover up their activities.
I get down to the real estate office right after Marietta arrives. “I’m trying to find out more about the people who were involved in that water park deal. You said you handled the deal and I’d like to find out who actually bought the property.”
“Hold on, let me pull the file.” She goes to a file cabinet at the back of the room and brings back a fat folder, which she lays on her desk and leafs through. “Here’s the contract. There were two men, Pete Fontaine and Larry Kestler. They work for ‘Liberty Water Unlimited’ out of Houston. It’s a big outfit that owns several water parks, not just in Texas. They’ve got them in Louisiana and Arkansas, too.”
The front door opens and Bill Odum walks in with his young wife, Sissy. “Hey there, Samuel,” Odum says. “What are you doing here?”
“Since you didn’t get a chance to talk to Marietta, I thought I’d follow through on that. You two fixin’ to buy a house?”
“We can’t afford anything just yet, but we wanted to start getting some idea of what’s available.”
Sissy, a pale, blue-eyed girl with hair the color of maize, beams at her husband and I feel a twinge of nostalgia, thinking how nice it is for a young couple to be setting out on the road to building their lives. Jeanne and I walked into this very office years ago, when we decided to settle down in Jarrett Creek. I still remember the sense of the future sprawling out in front of us.
Marietta walks out the door with the Odums. Dale Waller says he’s on his way, too. “I’ll set the lock so all you have to do is close the door behind you when you leave.”
Suddenly Marietta comes back inside. “I wanted to tell you something. It’s in the strictest confidence, but I thought you ought to know that Slate McClusky called me yesterday and he wants to put his house on the market.”
“He say where they’re going?”
“No.” She pauses. “And he’s selling it rock bottom.” She smiles. “You have any interest in buying? It’s got all the modern conveniences.”
“I’m sure it does, but I expect the backyard wouldn’t suit my cows all that well.”
Left alone I look through the file Marietta left for me and find a plat map of the property the water park was supposed to be built on. I manage to figure out their copy machine and make a copy of the map and the contract with the buyers’ names on it.
I head out to the lake with a copy of the plat map and a drawing I copied from Marietta’s file to help me locate the lot where the water park was supposed to be. It’s a big piece of land north of one of the marinas. There’s a road that leads to the marina, but I have to leave my truck there and walk a ways until I get to the wooden stakes bearing faded blue plastic flags that marked the boundaries of the property.
I didn’t pay much attention to the water park at the time it was proposed. I thought it sounded like a perfectly good idea, but I was still in deep mourning for my wife and had no interest in the details.
I walk around the lot to give myself a sense of the area they had in mind. Even after all these months, you can still see that some preliminary work was done—the land was bulldozed and a couple of trees felled. The land is raw and choppy-looking. The grass has grown back sparsely, but most of it is bare clay.
It would have been a fine thing for the economy around here if the plan had worked, but I have questions that I wonder if Coldwater and the city council took into account when they were considering it. I’ve seen pictures of water parks, and they look like elaborate contraptions with a lot of water involved. Where was the water going to come from? This is a fair-sized lake, but in Texas we’re always subject to drought. If the water to run the park rides was to come from here, what would they have done when we had water rationing, as has happened a few times since the lake was built?
It seems to me the liability would be high, too, with the danger of kids drowning or being hurt on the slides. So between insurance, water, and the need for lots of alert employees to make sure no one got into trouble in the water, they’d have a pretty high overhead. That means they’d have to charge high prices for tickets.
The question is, why would the state okay a permit, given those constraints? People around here come to the lake because they can have a cheap vacation. The state has kept it that way. There are nice little state-maintained areas at various places around the lake where people can camp out in tents or hook up their RVs. I wonder if those people would be willing, or even able, to pay the price to bring their kids to a fancy water park.
If an unsophisticated bystander like me can figure out the limitations, how come those who were supposed to study the pros and cons didn’t figure it out? There must have been some heavy persuading going on. I wonder if that’s where Gary Dellmore’s participation came in. I hate to bother Rusty Reinhardt again, but I need to find out what kind of state involvement there was in the deal and who their liaison was.
I walk down to the water’s edge and I’m looking out over the lake when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Yo, Chief, what are you doing out here?”
I turn and say, “How are you doing, Louis? You fixing to do a little fishing?”
; “Yeah. Gotta eat.” He scratches his head. It looks like Louis Caton is wearing the same clothes he was wearing when he was sitting in jail, and that he hasn’t had an opportunity to clean them up. He’s carrying a fishing rod and a tackle box that looks like they might be somebody’s cast-offs. But he looks as cheerful as he did before. I guess there’s something to be said for being young and not beholden to anybody, even if it means you sometimes don’t have enough to eat.
He’s shifting from one foot to another, like he’s got something on his mind. “I wanted to thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For not arresting me when I was driving a stolen car.”
I smile. “Louis, I’d say you should count your blessings that you happened to commit a crime in a town that can’t afford to put you up in jail. But if you want me to arrest you so you can get a square meal, just say so.”
He grins. “No, sir, if it gets that bad, I’ll go on home. My mamma would be glad to see me anyway.”
I laugh. “What possessed you to take the car in the first place? You don’t have any criminal record and you don’t seem like much of a criminal, otherwise you would have taken off for parts unknown with that car and we never would have seen it again.”
He turns on that lazy grin again. “I’d had a few beers and I was tired of walking. When I saw that it was still there when I was walking home, I thought, ‘Hell, if somebody is going to just leave it there unattended, I might as well use it.’”
I laugh and he continues to talk, telling me that it was nice to have a car for a few days. “Mine is down at the cabin I’m staying in. It needs a battery and I can’t afford to buy one.”
I’m only half-listening. Something Caton said earlier tickles my thoughts. I hold up my hand. “Wait a minute. You said the car was still there. What do you mean ‘still there’?”
“I mean it was parked there when I was walking to my friend’s place earlier in the evening, and it was still in the same place when I came back by.” A little worry line appears between his eyes. “I thought I told you that.”
