Risky Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  “When do you expect him?”

  “After his third cup of coffee and second plate of waffles. He ran up to the Cardinal Café. But he’d better be back soon with my egg sandwich.” The scowl on her face told me she wasn’t kidding.

  Joan was probably in her early fifties. She had worked for Archie’s father and Archie had given her a hefty raise when his father passed away. He understood Joan knew the business and the clients better than he did.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll try to catch him there.”

  “If you catch him, for God’s sake don’t hold him too long. I’m hungry.”

  The Cardinal Café was around the corner on Main Street. I was afraid Archie would be camped out at a table with his cronies, and I didn’t have the time to wait till he was alone.

  The café owner, Helen Todd, stood behind the cash register replacing a spool of receipt paper. “Hi, Barry, the rush is over. Sit wherever you want.”

  “I’m looking for Archie.”

  She tossed her head toward the rear of the restaurant. “Back booth. But don’t delay him. He’s taking an egg sandwich to Joan.”

  Clearly Joan had put out the word that Archie was on a mission.

  “Is it ready?” I asked.

  “No. The order goes in when Archie gets his third refill of coffee.”

  “Give me five minutes and if need be, I’ll take it to her myself.”

  “OK. You’ve got five minutes with Archie. God help you.”

  He sat in the booth, his back to the main dining area, staring at the untouched waffle on the plate in front of him. If this was his second serving, I saw no sign there had been a first.

  Archie had taken two butter patties, placed them as eyes, and then squirted a broad U of syrup beneath them to create a smiley face. He was focused on the waffle like he expected it to speak to him.

  “Archie?” I whispered.

  No response. I slid onto the booth bench opposite him. “Archie,” I said louder.

  He looked up and seemed momentarily bewildered to find himself sitting in a café. “Barry?”

  “Archie, are you all right?”

  He slid the plate aside. “I keep seeing that body on the grave. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  I looked at the smiley-faced waffle, Archie’s bizarre attempt to purge the image of Jimmy Panther’s bloody head.

  “And to think Luther could have done such a thing,” he said.

  “We don’t know that. Our investigation is just starting.”

  “You talked to Luther?”

  I decided I needed to share something with Archie if I was going to ask for his help. “Luther says he was home Sunday night. He appeared genuinely shocked that Panther had been killed.”

  Archie shook his head. “Of course he’d say that. That’s why I haven’t called him. I can’t bear to make him lie to me.”

  Archie’s quick conviction of Luther surprised me. Yes, Luther’s attack on Panther had been vicious, but it was prompted by his rage in the moment. Maybe it was a side of Luther Archie had never seen. He couldn’t separate that sight from the executed body on Eurleen’s grave. I should have known Archie’s mind would fixate on the most melodramatic possibility.

  “We’re pursuing other leads,” I said. “There’s a chance Panther was abducted from the reservation.”

  “So what? Luther knows how to drive.” He thought a second. “What if people think I’m an accomplice?”

  “I’m sure you have an alibi.”

  “But I don’t. Gloria and the girls are still in Weaverville. I was home alone.”

  “You’re not a suspect, and you shouldn’t worry about what other people think.” I lowered my voice. “In fact, you might be able to help us with the investigation.”

  His eyes grew larger than the butter patties on the waffle. “Really? Like police work?”

  I nodded solemnly. “You remember Kevin Malone, don’t you?”

  “That detective from Boston?”

  “Yeah. He’s trailing a man suspected of some killings in the Boston area. This guy came to Cherokee a few days before Panther died.”

  “A Boston hit man? In Gainesboro?” Instead of looking frightened, Archie seemed excited. Like the President had announced a campaign stop in our town.

  “It’s a real long shot that he’s involved with anything local,” I said. “He likes to play poker and there’s a tournament at the casino this week. Odds are that’s all there is to it.”

  Archie eyed me skeptically. “Poker? What’s that have to do with a dead Cherokee? More importantly, what’s that have to do with me?”

  “Kevin wants to see if his suspect makes contact with anyone. You know, at the gaming table.”

  “This guy have a name?”

  “Francis Tyrell. Kevin says Tyrell would recognize him so he’s hoping you can get in the game and watch Tyrell. He asked me, but I told Kevin you’re the best card player I know.”

  “What are the stakes in this game?”

  “I don’t know. Kevin’s going to back you.”

  “Can I keep the winnings?”

  “Come on, Archie, it’s police money. And I’m sure he has a limit so don’t lose it.”

  Archie grinned, his despondent mood cast aside. “Sure. I’ll be glad to help. Certainly can’t have you sitting in that game. You’d lose calling heads if you tossed a two-headed coin.”

  I left Archie devouring his waffle and I delivered Joan’s egg sandwich on my walk back to the department.

  My next priority was to find out why Darren Cransford had lied to his father about his employment. Since the PR firm was a dead end, I needed his home or cell number. Luther should have it, but he would wonder why I didn’t reach his son at the office. I decided to approach Darren’s sister Sandra.

  Wakefield gave me her work number and I debated whether to announce myself as a deputy or the family’s funeral director. I decided calling as Barry Clayton, town undertaker, would be less likely to stir up office gossip.

  In a soft, southern accent, a woman answered, “G.A. Bridges.” I asked to speak to Sandra Cransford and was immediately transferred to her assistant. I was surprised by an authoritative baritone voice announcing, “Sandra Cransford’s office. How may I help you?”

  “This is Barry Clayton of Clayton and Clayton Funeral Directors in Gainesboro, North Carolina. We served Ms. Cransford’s family this past weekend and I have a few things I need to discuss with her.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to speak with you, Mr. Clayton. Let me check her schedule.” He paused a moment, and then said, “She has a fifteen-minute window from four forty-five to five o’clock this afternoon. Will that work?”

  “I’m sorry but it won’t. This is an urgent personal matter that I’m sure she’ll want to handle immediately. If she prefers to delay our conversation after I’ve informed her of the situation, then that’s fine. However, I neither want to be responsible for keeping her in the dark nor do I want you to be in that same position.”

  I knew the man must have been a very efficient gatekeeper, but no one wants to make a solitary decision when it involves a death in the family of the boss.

  “Hold, please,” he said, and my ear was filled with elevator music.

  After an orchestral version of “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?” Sandra came on the line.

  “Barry, what is it? Has something happened to my father?”

  “Have you spoken with him since you returned to Atlanta?”

  “Sunday night. To let him know I made it home safely. I should have called yesterday, but the day got away from me.”

  Her assistant probably couldn’t work in a fifteen-minute window, I thought. “Jimmy Panther was killed Sunday night. His body was found on your mother’s grave.”

  I heard her sharp intake of breath. I wait
ed for her to speak.

  “Nine thirty. That’s when I spoke with Daddy. He said he was going to bed.”

  Sandra was jumping to the conclusion that her father was a suspect and she was trying to alibi him.

  “On his cell?”

  “The home phone. Surely you don’t think he’s responsible.”

  “No. But your father was pretty shaken when I told him. I wanted you to know.”

  “Thank you. I’ll check in right away.”

  “And you’re sure about the time on Sunday?”

  “Yes. I’d just come in. I knew if I didn’t call immediately I’d get bogged down preparing for a Monday morning breakfast meeting.”

  I jotted a note referencing Sandra’s location during the estimated time of the murder, and that her call didn’t alibi Luther. “One other thing. I tried to reach your brother, but his office said he no longer works there.”

  “He and the PR firm had a parting of the ways. Darren’s working on his own now.”

  “Any reason your father didn’t know?”

  “Darren wanted to wait until he was more established. He didn’t want Daddy to worry.”

  “This parting of the ways. Did it have anything to do with the Catawbas?”

  Sandra was silent a moment. When she finally spoke, her tone was cold and guarded. “Barry, are you investigating my brother?”

  I ignored her question. “Mack Collins said Darren was working for the Catawba tribe. There seems to be a lot of contention swirling around their casino proposal and I’m just trying to understand all the pieces.”

  “Then you’ll have to talk to Darren or Senator Collins, but I don’t see how any of this ties into the shooting of that Cherokee.”

  “At this point neither do I.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you stop investigating, does it?”

  “No.”

  She laughed, and the earlier tension in her voice disappeared. “Well, I’ll help any way I can. Let me get you Darren’s cell number. I have to read it off my own phone. With speed-dial, no one memorizes numbers anymore.”

  She gave me a Washington DC area code, and I wrote it down along with a few more notes on our conversation.

  “Thank you for calling in person,” she said. “I’m afraid Daddy’s going to be a lost soul without Mom. I’ll be coming to town more often. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee.”

  “I’m a regular at the Cardinal Café.”

  “Then it’s a deal. Thanks, Barry.” She hung up.

  I added one more item to my to-do list: Check the time of Sandra’s call to Luther on Sunday night.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Darren didn’t answer, so I left him a voicemail. If he hasn’t called by mid-afternoon, I’ll try again.” I flipped my notepad closed and waited for Tommy Lee’s reaction to my report.

  We sat in a small conference room in the department where Tommy Lee could escape from his phone. He’d listened without interrupting while I summarized my conversation with Sandra Cransford.

  “OK,” he said. “I think I should run out to see Luther while you’re in Cherokee.”

  “I can delay going to the reservation if we’re ready to confront him.”

  “No. Let’s stay with the plan. I’m Luther’s generation. He might open up more to me one-on-one, especially if I tell him his car was reported returning well after midnight on Monday morning. He won’t have to face you with his lie.”

  “Are you going to say anything about Darren?”

  Tommy Lee shook his head. “We need more information. Did Sandra say how the PR firm learned Darren was moonlighting for the Catawbas?”

  “I didn’t think to ask. Should I call her?”

  “No. It’s probably better to get that information straight from Darren. Let him know you learned about it from Sandra but you haven’t told his father.”

  “Are you trying to create friction between brother and sister?”

  “I’m looking for a wedge between father and son. If Luther and Darren are involved together, we need something to pry apart their story. I’m going to get authorization to obtain their phone records. We’ll see if they match what Luther tells me.”

  “And what Darren tells me,” I added. “Can you get the tracking of the cell towers to recreate his location Sunday and yesterday?”

  “Good point,” Tommy Lee said. “That will take longer but will verify their truthfulness. Check with me as soon as you talk to Darren.”

  With our immediate plans confirmed, we set out on our separate assignments. I reached Detective Sergeant Romero who informed me Eddie Wolfe would meet us at the Cherokee police station at two. Susan dropped Democrat off with Mom and we headed for the reservation.

  ***

  “My God. This room is the size of a football field.” Susan stepped onto the ground floor of Harrah’s where rows and rows of video gaming machines filled the space.

  The sheer scale overwhelmed us. I stood with an overnight bag in each hand and my mouth agape. Susan walked ahead, and then turned around. “Come on, Barry. You look like a rube who just jumped off a truckload of cabbages.”

  Trying to project the nonchalant air of a seasoned gambler, I followed her into the cavernous realm of lights and luck. There were no “one-armed bandits” like I’d envisioned the slot machines would be. Instead, people pushed buttons and their winnings and losses were adjusted against their running balance with each play. The screens contained colorful icons, combinations of playing cards, and other moving graphics that gave me no clue either as to what was the game or how to win it. Maybe I should climb back up on a truckload of cabbages and stick with Friday night poker at the mayor’s house.

  Then the sea of machines transitioned into live gaming tables. At least now I recognized roulette and blackjack. A number of players gathered at tables identified as three-card poker. I’d never heard of the game, but figured the fewer the cards, the fewer the ways I could lose.

  We found our way to the hotel registration desk and realized we’d taken the long route through the casino when we could have simply pulled up to the hotel entrance. The woman at the front desk was Asian. I took a quick look at our surroundings and noticed very few of the staff were Cherokee.

  She asked if we were first-time guests, and when we answered we were, she suggested we acquire Total Rewards cards that would activate the gaming machines and create an account. We also qualified for a five-dollar credit so we could play with house money. In my case, the house money would never leave the house.

  Although it was only one o’clock, we were able to check in early. Our room was on the fourth floor. Kevin Malone was on the sixth. I wondered if either room had been booked in close proximity to Francis Tyrell’s. That would have required the assistance of the hotel management, and I didn’t know if Kevin had announced his presence as an officer of the law. If I had to make that wager, I’d say no. And I doubted he’d checked in with the Cherokee police.

  Susan slid the electronic keycard into the slot and opened the door. “Nice,” she said. “Spacious too, but not so alluring that a serious visitor would forego the action in the casino.”

  The room was big enough that the king-size bed left space for a conversation area including a small leather sofa and two chairs. A wide window overlooked a view of the forest where leaves displayed a rich palette of reds and yellows.

  “Do you want to hang out here while I see Romero?”

  Susan set her valise at the foot of the bed. “No. I want to explore. Why don’t I drop you at the police station and you can call me when you’re finished?”

  “OK.” I started unbuttoning my shirt.

  Susan looked at the suitcase by my feet. “Are you changing into your uniform? What if Tyrell sees you and remembers you?”

  “Who says I’m getting dressed? Since we’ve got forty minutes and we’re
at a casino, I thought maybe I’d get lucky.”

  ***

  Susan leaned across the jeep’s console and kissed me. “I could grow to like this casino life,” she said. “So, don’t spend all your energy investigating.”

  I returned the kiss. “Then don’t wander out of cell coverage or your sugar daddy won’t be able to call you.”

  I climbed out of the passenger’s seat and watched Susan drive down the hill toward the village. If Eddie Wolfe’s interview was short, we could be back at the hotel with plenty of time before our six o’clock meeting with Kevin. Nurturing that hope, I buzzed the door of the police station.

  The receptionist behind the sign-in window recognized me. “Detective Romero asked for you to wait.” She punched an intercom button and spoke too softly for me to hear. Then she motioned me to take one of the steel chairs. “He’ll be right out.”

  I opted to stand and in less than thirty seconds, Hector Romero’s bulky frame squeezed through the door. His leather jacket was the first thing I noticed after his smile. Evidently we were going somewhere.

  “You undercover?” he asked, noting I wasn’t in uniform.

  “I figure you’re intimidating enough for both of us.”

  Romero laughed a deep rumble that sounded more like a landslide. He pumped my hand. “I can see you hold your own against Rooster Cogburn.”

  “Tommy Lee sends his regards and asks that you keep me out of trouble.”

  “Now where’s the fun in that?” His face turned serious in answer to his own question. “I’ve taken the liberty of changing our schedule. We’ve got a missing thirteen-year-old boy who lives close to Eddie Wolfe. I’ve got to interview the parents and thought we would save time if we bundled the two together. I hope you don’t mind.”

  My vision of Susan and the king-size bed vanished. “No. I just need to call my wife. She dropped me off and was going to pick me up. We’re having dinner at Harrah’s.”

  “No problem. I can bring you to the casino when we finish.”

  Being seen getting out of a patrol car wasn’t an ideal way to stay undercover, but the odds were probably good Tyrell wouldn’t spot me.