He Was Her Man

by Sarah Shankman

  “And she’s certainly not doing that,” said Sam, stepping right in front of Lateesha. “But you see, we’re awfully concerned about the car because it belongs to Olive Adair, who seems to have disappeared.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Fontaine. “I hear you.”

  Oh, great. Now he was going to yes ma’am her from here to next Sunday, agreeing with everything she said while not telling her a damned thing.

  “And, you see, if we could put our hands on the car, then that might be helpful in finding Olive,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And also might be helpful in somebody getting their twenty thousand dollars,” said Lateesha.

  Sam could see that she might have to shake Lateesha to rid her of the notion that she was owed something for the car that she had nabbed.

  Fontaine stared at Lateesha, then turned back to Sam. “Yes, ma’am. I can see what the problem is, but I just don’t see as how I can help you.”

  “You could tell us where the car is, for starters,” said Sam.

  “Like I said, it’s gone.”

  Okay. She was just going to have to go find Early Trulove and get him to talk to Fontaine, and if that didn’t do any good, then she’d ask Jack Graham to talk with Early, since Jack certainly owed her something. But, by God, she’d gotten this close to that Sunliner, she was going to find it and find Olive, if it killed her.

  “Come on, Lateesha.” She grabbed the young girl’s hand.

  “I sure wish I could be more help,” said Fontaine.

  “Oh, you do not!” said Sam out the window of her BMW. She was just about to back up, when Early Trulove and his red Cadillac came cruising into her rearview mirror. There were two other people with him; now all of them were stepping out, Jesus, was that Bobby Adair in makeup and full drag?

  “Yes, it’s me,” said Bobby, shaking her hand. “Please, forgive the way I look. It’s a disguise.”

  Sam nodded, wondering what the hell he’d been up to.

  “Good to see you again, Sam. I was telling Cynthia and Early, may I present Cynthia Blackshears, Cynthia, Samantha Adams—whom I mentioned to you before—and Early Trulove, about your helping me look for Mamaw.”

  Sam eyed Early, and he eyed her. Did he remember her from the piano bar?

  “Miss Adams,” said Early. “Good to see you again.”

  “Oh, so you’ve met,” said Bobby, then pushed on. “Now, Early tells me that his friend Fontaine—” He turned and looked up at the man who towered over him. They shook hands. “That Fontaine has been taking care of my grandma Olive’s car, actually, it’s my Sunliner that Mamaw was keeping for me while I was away.”

  “Early.” Fontaine shifted his huge body from one foot to the other. “I need to talk with you a minute. If y’all could excuse us, please.”

  The two men stepped off, back up toward the little green building with the attached shed, and Sam wondered what kind of double-dealing they were up to, when she saw Early suddenly step back at something Fontaine had said. No! Early said, raising one hand to the heavens. My God! Dear God! And then he sat down atop the nearest tombstone and dropped his head in his hands. Whatever Fontaine had said, the man was obviously stunned—unless he was one hell of an actor. Sam had seen an awful lot of good actors in her time.

  “What?” said Lateesha, closing in on Early.

  “What?” said Bobby.

  “Folks,” said Fontaine, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”

  “No way!” said Lateesha.

  “Forget it!” said Bobby. “This has something to do with Mamaw, you’ll have to kill me first!”

  In the end, after a lot of screaming and harsh words, it was Lateesha and Cynthia who were sent on their way and Sam and Bobby and Early who stood and watched as Fontaine drove the backhoe over to a plot way in the back of the cemetery and dug up the Sunliner, which he’d buried whole, thinking, understandably, that what he’d found in the trunk was Early’s doings.

  Fontaine, who was a whiz with the backhoe, dug a long slow grade for the Sunliner, and then he hooked a couple of big chains to a tractor and pulled the car up the grade. When they opened the trunk, Bobby went crazy. He attacked the Sunliner with his fists and his feet and finally with his head—as if that old car that he’d so loved had been responsible for Olive’s death. Finally Fontaine and Early wrestled him to the ground, and Fontaine picked him up and threw him in the red Caddy, Early saying, Bobby, we’ve got to call the cops, and you don’t want to be in the neighborhood.

  Sam was left alone to say a prayer for Olive, whom she’d only seen that once, late the previous afternoon—which now seemed, and in many ways was, some other lifetime.

  25

  THE CEMETERY WAS quiet except for the twittering of birds. Sam sat, keeping Olive company, a little distance away from the Sunliner, under an ancient oak tree. The tree shaded the grave of a child who’d died in 1908 at the age of six. Alice Ann Barnstable, she’d be over 90, if she’d lived. And if she had, Alice Ann would have seen the advent of rural electrification, indoor plumbing, automobiles, faxes, jet planes, satellite communication, mankind’s stepping on the very face of the man in the moon—and yet, not much people stuff had changed. Folks still went to bed hungry. Fathers got drunk and beat their womenfolk. Men killed one another, out of rage or greed, or because they were sick s.o.b.s.

  “Tell me his name, Olive,” Sam said aloud, her voice floating among the graves.

  She had no doubt the killer was a man. Women hardly ever strangled their victims, and when they did, it was not with their bare hands.

  The bruises on Olive’s neck were brutal, with clear impressions of fingernails. And Sam would bet anything, if she pulled back Olive’s eyelids she’d see tiny red dots, minute blood clots actually, in the lids’ lining, which were presumptive evidence of strangulation.

  Sam had witnessed more than her share of crime scenes in the years on the beat. You saw enough of them, you became an expert on things that you’d rather you never even heard of.

  She picked up a pebble and pitched it across three graves. Jesus, man was a miserable creature.

  Dogs were a hell of a lot better. Cats. Name any of God’s other creatures, they killed for food, not for whatever rotten excuse the miserable bastard who’d done this to Olive had given himself.

  Olive, funny fat Olive, was never going to get to go to Morocco with Loydell. And Sam was going to have to find Loydell and tell her that. Hell.

  Well, better her than the cops, and at least Loydell had AA, she could find some strength in that. Not that Sam herself had been to any meetings lately. Wasn’t she going to do that, call up and find a meeting the first thing when she hit town? Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been busy. She looked at her watch. From the time she’d met Olive yesterday, till now, was just about 24 hours.

  Then she heard gravel spinning, and she stood. Over a little green rise flew a chrome angel. It was perched on the hood of that brown Rolls. Behind the angel, she saw the big silver head of Jack Graham. He was wearing a Band-Aid on his nose.

  Early jumped out from the passenger side, and he was saying something about putting Bobby in a safe place and how Jack had helped them figure out a story so they didn’t all go to jail over the Sunliner. Fontaine was unfolding himself slowly from the backseat. But Jack was already walking toward her with his arms wide.

  She didn’t think. She didn’t say to herself, This is a very shady character, Mr. You Know Who, the same man who grabbed you, tied you up, made you go two rounds. She needed a big hug, and he had one.

  *

  “So, what you’re saying,” said Archie Blackshears, who along with his partner had answered Fontaine’s call, “is that you were poking around back here a little while ago, and you saw that a big grave had been dug, and you didn’t do the digging.”

  “That’s right,” said Fontaine.

  “And so you decided to dig it up and see what was in the grave.”

  �
��That’s right.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police right then?”

  “There wuddn’t any reason then that I could see to do that.”

  Archie rolled his eyes at his partner. “So you took it upon yourself to dig up this big old plot, and you found this car.”

  “That’s right, I found this here Ford, but I’d have to differ with you about the taking it upon myself part. It’s been my job for the past fifteen years to make sure that everything in Greenwood Cemetery is on the up and up. This fell into that category.”

  “But it wuddn’t so suspicious that you called us.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t figure it was against any law, burying a car. Especially since this space don’t belong to anybody in particular anyway. Folks don’t buy plots at the back of the cemetery while there’s room up front. Most folks want some company underground just like they do on top. Though,” Fontaine pushed back his khaki cap, “it was inconvenient for me, of course. Big job, digging up a car. Even with a backhoe.”

  “And then you opened the trunk of the car?” said Archie.

  “That’s right.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  “Because it smelled pretty ripe. I thought I ought to see what was causing that.”

  “And you didn’t think you ought to call the police first?”

  “I had the keys. The keys were right there in the ignition. I didn’t need to bother y’all then. Could have been a load of fish in the car. Bunch of potatoes. Like that.”

  Archie hitched up his pants. “But when you saw what it was, then you decided to bother us?”

  “Right. ’Cause then I figured y’all’d want to be bothered. Dead white lady in the trunk. Starting to bloat.”

  “Do you know this lady, Fontaine?”

  “Well, she looks an awful lot like Miss Olive Adair runs that Gas ’N Grub out on the edge of town.”

  “Do you know Miss Adair?”

  “Not personally, no. But I’ve stopped in her store.”

  “And you have no idea how she came to be in the trunk of this car in your cemetery?”

  “I’d say somebody put her in it and buried her here. That’s what I’d say. That’s right. You ask me, that’s what I’d say.”

  *

  Early was navigating the Rolls up the curving mountain road toward the house where Lateesha had found the Sunliner.

  “I hated leaving Fontaine with all that in his lap,” said Sam. She and Jack were sharing the backseat.

  “I know,” said Jack. “But I couldn’t see any other way to do it.”

  He reached over and patted her hand. He was agreeing with her, comforting her, and making her uncomfortable, too. She didn’t know this man, and what she did know of him was not exactly the stuff you’d put on a résumé. He was a very clever, very attractive big-time crook with whom she suddenly found herself in cahoots.

  “But look at it,” said Early from the front seat, not turning around on this snaky road. “Fontaine volunteered, didn’t he, once he heard the story? Did we twist the man’s arm, or did he step up of his own free will and say, Seems to me we do this any other way it’s gonna be hard explaining away Bobby Adair, who ain’t supposed to be in town in the first place, then Lateesha and your’s—you know, my’s—stealing the car? Keeping you out of it, too, Sam. ’Cause how come you didn’t call somebody about Bobby breaking his parole? ’Cause he said he was Miss Olive’s grandson, right, but what you should have done was sicced the police on his butt.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Sam said. How had she gotten herself in this mess in the first place? “You think Fontaine’s going to be okay?”

  “He’ll be fine,” said Early. “The big man knows how to handle himself. Besides, what they gonna say—he killed Miss Olive and stole her car and buried ’em both in his cemetery, and then decided to dig ’em up and call the police? Man did that, he’d get off on insanity, ’cause he’d be crazy, once he was home free, go and unearth ’em.

  “He’s got a point,” said Jack.

  “Right there,” said Early pointing, “is where Lateesha and I found the car.”

  “Then Pearl was right,” said Sam, peering down off the road through the brush. “This looks like the place she led Bobby and me, the same place we ran into Mickey Steele early this morning. Or, rather, she ran into us.”

  “And according to what Lateesha said, yep, there it is,” said Early, slowing to a crawl, but not stopping as they passed the gates of the big stone house set back from the road.

  “It’s the same house?” asked Jack.

  “Sure is,” said Early.

  “Do I have to fill in the story for myself?” Sam asked Jack. She knew only what Jack had told her after she’d popped him one good—that he was anxious to talk with Mickey because she was partners with some people he thought were out to do him harm. Serious harm.

  “Okay,” Sam continued, since nobody else spoke up. “Lateesha stole the Sunliner from this house, ergo, from Mickey and this Doc Miller who you say is her partner. So does that mean you think they killed Olive?”

  “I don’t know about Mickey,” said Jack, “but it certainly wouldn’t surprise me about Doc.”

  “Is he a con artist, like she is?”

  “Of the first water.”

  “Somehow I don’t think of con men as being killers.”

  Jack shrugged, but he didn’t say anything. Okay, so this Doc was a con man and a killer.

  “So, how about the other partner?”

  Jack gave her a look.

  “You said you wanted to talk with Mickey because you thought she could tell you something about her partners who are after you—you did say partners, plural, didn’t you?”

  “Early, would you pull over here, please,” said Jack, pointing to a sign at the edge of the deep blue lake that read SCENIC OVERLOOK. “Come on,” he said to Sam. “We’ll just take a little stretch, and I’ll explain it to you.”

  The path down to the lake was edged with wildflowers. Jack stooped and picked a few as they walked. Finally he said, “Yes, partners plural. You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “As a reporter, I got paid to listen up. So, tell me, who else?”

  “Mickey and Doc are up to something with a man named Speed McKay.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” she breathed. She stared out at the deep still lake. What a can of worms. Then she looked Jack in the eye, watching for his response. “Did you know Speed was kidnapped from his engagement party last night?”

  The man had a great double take. “You’re kidding.”

  “Why would I joke about a thing like that? Actually, I was thinking maybe you were responsible. Seems like your kind of thing.”

  Jack shook his head. “Give me a break.”

  “Simply judging on past behavior.”

  “Point taken. Now, you want to tell me about this kidnapping?” He said the last word in quotation marks.

  Sam kicked a rock down into the lake. “In the middle of the party, Speed went up to his suite, the one he was sharing with his fiancée, Jinx Watson.”

  Jack nodded.

  “You know Jinx?”

  “I know who she is. Go on.”

  “Well, I know her better than I want to, believe me, but anyway, I left the party downstairs and went up to the lobby, which is where you and Early saw me—”

  “Yes.” He smiled. What was that smile?

  “And I went back down to the party and heard that Speed had been kidnapped. It seems that Jinx’s mother Loydell Watson—”

  “I know Loydell. In fact, she and her friend—Jesus, that’s right, Olive’s the one who’s Loydell’s friend, the two old ladies used to come into Bubbles every once in a while for dinner, play a little poker. Loydell likes the slots. What? What are you staring at?” He looked down at his front. “Do I have soup on my shirt?”

  “There’s a casino in Bubbles? In the Quapaw—along with the gym?”

  “Yes, Sam. Starting at the top, it g
oes gym, Bubbles, casino in the basement. Have I somehow misrepresented myself? Did you think I was a Sunday school teacher, or what?”

  “No. I’m fully aware that you’re a crook who tortures women. I just wasn’t sure—”

  “Sammy, Sammy. I’ve apologized.” She stepped back. Sammy was what Harry called her. “What I’m trying to do is show you I’m actually a good guy. I may not pay all my taxes, but other than that—I’m on the side of the angels. And I’m on your side. Now, you know my thinking you were Mickey was an honest mistake. I would never have grabbed you otherwise.”

  “Oh, no?”

  He grinned. “No way. Not like that.” Then he handed her the little bouquet of wildflowers he’d gathered. “So, go on. What were you saying about Loydell?”

  Why was she was beginning to think that Jack was way ahead of her, that he was only waiting for her to drop the other shoe to confirm what he suspected? She watched a hawk swoop down, dive for a fish, and miss. He rose again into the open sky. “Loydell came down from Jinx and Speed’s suite, where Jinx had asked her to go look for Speed. Speed was upstairs to take an allergy pill or something, and Loydell didn’t find him, but she found a ransom note.”

  “How much?”

  “A million. Which Jinx should have had, because she won that much—”

  “In the Texas lottery.”

  “You knew that, huh? Listen—” She turned with her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you just tell me the rest of the story?” She stepped back, and he grabbed her as she began to tumble off the path backwards. It was a long fall down to the water. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m okay.” But she was shaky. Heights were not her favorite thing, and this was turning out to be the longest day of her life, and hardly entirely pleasant.…

  Jack tucked her arm firmly under his and said, “Let’s head for that flat spot and sit for a minute.” There, he spread his handkerchief on a big rock. “What else, Sammy?”

  “The only other thing I know, which I had just found out at lunch right before we ran into each other in the parking lot—”

  Jack smiled at her circumlocution.

  “Is that Jinx doesn’t have any dough. She’s spent it all, a lot of it up front on this wedding—that isn’t coming off, by the way, even if the kidnappers let Speed go. It turns out Speed didn’t have a dime. Jinx checked his financials out with a banker friend this morning, and Mr. McKay was a fraud.”