by Teresa Trent
"Take it with you. I need to get back to looking for a new place for my column."
"I'll be sure to call the Houston Chronicle for ya."
"I only wish." After Dad left, I returned to my laptop. Before I really started my job quest, I checked my e-mail. The email to the Happy Hinter was still at the top of the list. I opened it expecting the blue screen of death informing me that I had just fallen prey to an infection from a computer virus of some sort. Instead, it was one simple sentence.
"Trust no one."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Betsy dear," My aunt said, her voice raspy. "I know you're busy and all, especially with this terrible tragedy with Rocky, but I was wondering if you had a little extra time today and could run down to the drugstore for me to pick up some of that medicine with the rainbow on the bottle."
"Oh no. You're throwing up?"
"Seems like I am. I'm awful sorry. I hate to impose, but I'm sick, and I think Danny's coming down with it too."
"Aunt Maggie I'll be there in half an hour. Is there anything else you need? How about some soup and crackers?"
"That might be a good idea. Danny likes those club crackers, you know, and maybe some chicken broth."
"Not a problem. I'll see you soon."
I grabbed my purse and drove back down to the store to pick up the supplies Aunt Maggie and Danny would need. My own stomach had settled down almost completely. I guess my ability to fight off the flu was a little better than Zach's. I found great comfort in that. I just had to hope that Leo wouldn't fall prey to it. As I loaded my bags into the car, I spotted Shorty Martin, the hunting columnist putting a case of beer into the back of his pickup truck. I wondered if he listed that on his taxes as a hunting supply? I was starting to get into my car when Shorty walked over.
"It's just awful ain't it?" Shorty said.
"Excuse me?"
"The fire. Ol' Rocky and all." He took off his weathered baseball cap and scratched at the tan line that revealed a very white bald head.
"Yes, yes it is. We can only hope that Rocky got out of there in time."
His eyes widened as his mouth took on a sideways smirk. "Hell, girl. Ol' Rocky was pretty wily, but I got no idea how he could get out of a fire like that."
I knew he was right on some level, still I just wasn't willing to agree.
"When was the last time you spoke with Rocky?"
"Uh, let me think now. I saw him on Saturday down at the VFW." He looked around and drew closer to speak into my ear. "You probably ain't privy to this, but Rocky and I used to tie one on every once in awhile. Seems like Rocky took the pledge for clean livin' in the last few years, and he wasn't any more fun than a church lady at a wrasslin' match."
"Did he mention anything to you?"
"Bout what?"
"I don't know. They think someone burned down the Gazette on purpose. Was there anyone that you know of who was particularly mad at him?"
"With Rocky there was always somebody puttin' him in their sites. Who the hell knows. To be perfectly honest, Rocky and I were at ... a rough patch …"
"Why?"
"Oh, he was pushing me on turnin' in my column. I kept telling him, I said, Rocky great art takes time."
I stifled a comment. I had read some of Shorty's work. It was neither great nor art.
"We'll all miss him and his paper. What am I going to line the chicken coop with now?"
*****
"Oh my, Betsy that Shorty Martin is as useless as a man can be around here." Aunt Maggie lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth.
"Is that the man who smells like old cigars?" Danny had his feet up on the other couch resting comfortably under his Spiderman blanket. He was now munching on the club crackers I had picked up from the store. His healthy appetite for the salty treats made me wonder if he was sick at all.
"That's the one," I said.
"He says bad words."
"Yes, he does."
"He gets real mad sometimes too. When I was sweeping up for Doctor Springer one day he wanted to light one of his cigars. He threw the match on the floor. It wasn't very nice."
"You're kidding."
"Then Dr. Springer came out and told him he wasn't allowed to smoke in the building. He called her a bad name and took his stinky dog with him."
I knew Shorty was a little rough around the edges, but I had never heard about him yelling at anybody.
"You know, I think Mr. Shorty Martin was pickled."
I looked at him in confusion.
"Pickled, as in too much to drink." Aunt Maggie said. "Shorty Martin has always been a mean drunk. No doubt about it. His wife, Dora, goes to stay with her mother when he gets that way. So sad, really." She slurped a little on her soup. "Has there been anything new on the investigation?"
"It's been ruled an arson. Dad was asking me about people that Rocky angered in the last few days. I guess we add Shorty to the list now."
"He might have been riled up, but I'd be surprised if he had the gumption to set the place on fire. Who else was feuding with him?"
I started my list of suspects. "First there was the tax guy."
"Was he pickled too?" Danny asked.
"No, but I do I think he might have been doing something against the law and Rocky was on to him."
"I don't know how that could be such a shocker. Some of those tax outfits are pretty shady." Aunt Maggie said.
"Then there was the head of the PTA at the boy's school, and then the pet rescue woman. I think that's all."
Danny slowed down chewing his club crackers. His face started to take on a green tinge that made me imagine what a Smurf would look like on the morgue table. "Danny? Are you going to throw up?" Aunt Maggie tried to get him to stand by pulling him up by the elbow. I rushed to the other side.
"Danny, what you say we walk on down to the bathroom?"
"I can do it myself." He clipped. He was proud of his independence and hated it when people offered to help him with any simple task. He rose from the couch and started walking towards the bathroom. After about three steps, his walk turned into a jog and then the jog into a run. I heard him hit the door and throw up into the toilet. He made it just in time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As I drove down Main Street to return home, the burned out structure of what once was the Pecan Bayou Gazette loomed in front of me. All that had been there, day after day, week after week, year after year had perished. The street didn't look right anymore, and I suddenly felt lost in a familiar place. It looked as sad and charred as I felt inside. I pulled into an empty park in front of the building as there were tears now blurring my vision. Grabbing for a tissue out of my purse I noticed a van pulling in across the street. A man in his twenties got out and fiddled with his keys for a moment. He stood back and looked at an empty storefront. It was as if he was imagining the possibilities the empty commercial space would hold for him. Then, he reached into the van for a cardboard file box. That storefront had been empty for over a year. The last tenant had opened a scuba diving shop, something that was almost to fail in central Texas, still the dive shop stayed open for six months before it went out. Retail space in this town could stay empty for a decade.
The man turned towards the street as he lifted the carton, and I could see his face. He had dark brown wavy hair and a good build, like he'd spent some time working out more than his beer arm. He put a key in the door and went inside behind the yellowed newspapers that were serving as window coverings. I glanced at the van to see if there was any kind of insignia or logo on it. A stranger in town opening a store was big news, so I left my own car and stepped a little closer to the van craning my neck to see inside. A box with folded newspapers was sitting in the passenger seat. The top one had the masthead: Pecan Bayou Courier. I couldn't recall ever hearing of another newspaper in town. Before I could step back from snooping in the window, the man came back out onto the street.
"Can I help you?" Awkward doesn't even begin to touch how I was feeling at that mom
ent. I bit my bottom lip and cleared my throat, "Sorry, but I couldn't help noticing the newspapers in the front seat of your car. I've never heard of the Courier."
"I'm sure you haven't." He reached into his van and took out the box of papers. He slammed the passenger side door shut.
"You're going to start a newspaper in Pecan Bayou?"
"Yes I am," he said with a frustrated sigh. He obviously had a lot more to do than standing around talking to a nosy woman on the sidewalk. A silence fell between us.
"Is that all?"
"I'm sorry." I extended my hand. "I'm Betsy Fitzpatrick. I work for the Gazette." The man's eyebrows raised.
"Do you? Or a do you mean you did? Are you a reporter?"
"Oh no, not really. I write the Happy Hinter column for Rocky. "My voice caught on his name.
"I see." He started to turn towards the building, box in hand.
I called after him. "It's just that..." He turned back around now with the look of impatience on his face.
"It's just that the Gazette burned down a few days ago, and here you are setting up a newspaper. It seems awfully sudden. I mean, Rocky might just be out of town or something. We're not sure of anything yet."
"I am sure of one thing, Mrs. Livingston. I'm sure that this town is in need of a newspaper, and I am the man to produce it. And one more thing, my newspaper will not be including ... bloggers." He went into the building.
I headed back across the street. I was supposed to be on my way home, but found myself stopping in front of the Gazette. The sadness had returned, but now it was accompanied by a burning inside that had to be anger. I wondered if my dad knew anything about this guy? Surely he had to register for some sort of business permit or something that would take him into the city offices. As I walked back towards my car, I saw a shadow pass in the small alley next to the hardware store.
Just as I started to turn, a voice called to me from across the street. Ruby Green stood in the doorway of The Best Little Hairhouse in Texas. If anybody knew anything about this new guy, she would. When I entered, Ruby went behind her reception counter and was putting bottles of conditioner into the glass case. Her hair was newly dyed a rich chestnut brown, and she had large glittery turkey feather earrings swinging from her ears.
"Thanks for stopping in, Betsy. I just wanted to express my condolences about the paper and losin' Rocky and all. I know your heart must be breaking into little pieces."
"Thank you, I guess, but really I'm not ready to accept the fact that Rocky is gone."
Caroline Ogilvy pulled her head out from under a dryer with her hair set in metal curlers with pink and blue spikes coming out of them. "Betsy, I heard they found a body in the building. Who else could that be?"
"Oh, Miss Caroline. I didn't know you were here. We meet again..."
"Yes we do. I know it's a hard thing to accept Betsy, but sometimes you just can't get away from fate." She reached up to check her hair. "I think I'm done Ruby."
"Until I hear from the coroner that it's really Rocky, Miss Caroline, I'm holding on to what I feel. I know that probably sounds stupid."
"Not at all. I firmly believe in following your gut instinct as they say."
"Now don't you discount Miss Caroline, Betsy. She's a sharp as a tack this one and not much gets by her. Some of us think she has a sort of sixth sense."
Miss. Caroline turned her head slightly to the side as one of her curlers dangled off of her temple. "It's true. I can tell a lot about people just by looking into their faces, and how are you feeling now? I know you looked a little pale in the grocery store."
Before I could answer, Ruby added. "So many people are getting the flu. Half my appointments have either canceled or just not shown up. Let's see, Libby Loper, Eula Jean, Maggie,...oh it just goes on and on. You take care of yourself, honey."
I ran my fingers through my hair and smiled. "I'm fine. Really I am."
Ruby stepped from behind the counter and gently took my hand in hers. As she came closer to me the scent of hairspray drifted into my nose making it tickle. "Sometimes it's hard to face reality. Rocky might be dead. You can't get away from it no matter how hard you try," she said.
"I know. I just have a hard time thinking Rocky would let himself get caught in that fire. Any man that can take as many sneaky pictures as he did has to be pretty fast on his feet."
Ruby clucked her tongue and shook her head in disbelief at my naïveté. "You bet, darlin. He was a speedy son of a gun."
"I was wondering. Do you know anything about the man moving into the old scuba store down the street?" Ruby walked over to her door and took a look out at her neighboring businesses.
"Somebody new is moving in?"
"Yes. I just met him. He's going to start a newspaper called the Pecan Bayou Courier."
Ruby gasped and brought her tawny-brown lacquered fingernails to her mouth. "My heavens, you have to be kidding me. I have no idea who the man is, but give me until the end of the day." She focused in on the newspaper covered windows, and her eyes narrowed as the young man I had just spoken to carried a box into the store.
Miss Caroline giggled. "Oh my. This day just gets better and better."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Later that evening as Zach put the finishing touches on his report, and Tyler watched football on the television, I cleaned up the kitchen.
As I was wiping down the counters, Leo came in the door.
"You're home early."
"Shhh. Don't tell anybody. I'm exhausted."
"Your secret's safe with me. We might have some dinner left over."
"Too tired. I think when I fall asleep I might just drift away on a cumulus cloud."
I dried off my hands, and then kissed him gently on the cheek, my lips lingering for just a minute. "Go on up to bed, then."
"There's room for two, you know."
"I thought you were tired."
"Never that tired."
"Go on." I told him.
As I finished the dishes I smiled as I thought about Leo and his cumulus cloud. That was when it hit me. A cloud. Rocky kept his files backed up on an online cloud storage system.
He had been pretty good about keeping up with technology. I had seen him logging onto an online cloud from the newspaper office many times. It never seemed important to me before.
I ran upstairs to my computer and pulled up the cloud website and tried "PBGazette" with the password 1-2-3-4. The log in box kept the user name but not the password. I leaned back in my chair and thought. His password would probably be more than just a series of numbers. It would have been something that was a reflection of his life. I typed in "reporter", and the screen returned "Password Fail". I spelled out "Rocky". The same. After that, I tried every combination I could think of that had anything to do with Rocky and his life. I even tried Lone Star, his favorite brand of beer. Nothing seemed to work.
I called my dad to see if maybe he would possibly know what Rocky's password might be.
"Hey darlin', glad you called, but I was hopin' you were Art. Seems like he's slowing down these days, and I sure would like to know if that was Rocky we found in there."
"It's not Rocky. It can't be. If it was him, then something must have been holding him there. Did it look like whoever you found had been tied up?"
"Hard to tell. I didn't see any rope. If Art isn't off celebrating deer season with Shorty Martin, he's supposed to be testing the bones. With those two imbibing in the deer stands, we'll have plentiful deer and an abundance of trees with bullet wounds. We took some hair from Rocky's hairbrush and sent it along to the lab in Houston to compare the DNA between that and the body we found. We ought to begin to get some answers soon."
"You mean you're going to have to send it all the way to Houston to find out? That could take forever."
"Yes it could, but I don't see how we have many other options at this point, and until Rocky shows up, this is what we have to go on."
"I guess you're right. I need to be patient. I
was trying to get into Rocky's files."
"Weren't they burned up in the fire?"
"The paper files were, but the digital ones he kept stored in his internet storage system should still be there."
"Damn, Betsy. Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"
"I just thought of it, Dad. I know his log in name, but what I don't know is his password. Would you have any idea what that might be?"
The line on the other end grew silent. I began to wonder if we had been cut off.
"Man, I don't know ... Rocky and I were close, but not enough to share each other's passwords. I would have to ponder a while on that one."
"I've tried everything I can think of. Do you remember the name of his first wife?"
"Oh, that would be Letty ... Betty ... Something. I can't remember that woman's name. He was only married to wife number one for six months. Then, you've got um...Clarissa, and then there was Fran ...If you count in all the ladies in town, the possibilities are endless."
"If I can just get into that computer file I could get a little more information on what Rocky had on the tax guy and whoever else he was annoying at the time."
"It was a regular revolving door on Rocky's hate list. As for Edgar West, we had him in for questioning, and I've never seen a human being with so little information. I would probably put money on the fact Mr. West is hiding something."
"Do you know anybody who has used him for their taxes? Maybe if somebody was cheated by him they might have something to say to us." I said.
"That's our next step. We could try to subpoena his customer list. I don't think there's any kind of client privilege thing going on with that. I'll have to check."
"You do that, and I'll ask down at the Hair House and the Diner. Maybe they know somebody. I won't need a court order for that."
I looked up to see Zach and Tyler standing in the door. They both had on their pajamas and were waiting not too patiently for me to hang up the phone.
