Goody Goody Gunshots

by Sammi Carter

  After a while, Kerry turned toward the truck as if the conversation was over, but Dwayne had other ideas. In a move swifter than I would have imagined for such a large man, he grabbed Kerry’s shoulder and jerked him back around so they were facing each other again. Dwayne leaned toward Kerry aggressively, his arms waving wildly in broad, agitated gestures.

  Kerry jerked away from him, shoving Dwayne in the chest with both hands. The shove caught Dwayne off guard, and his arms windmilled wildly as he tried to regain his balance. Kerry took advantage of the moment and jumped into the cab of his truck and, with one last parting shout out his open window, drove off.

  I stayed where I was until Dwayne calmed down and walked around to the front of the recreation center. When I was relatively certain that neither of them would see me, I pulled away from the curb and headed for home.

  I called Jawarski the minute I found a signal again, but the call went straight to his voice mail. I left a message and drove home, where I poured a Pepsi over ice and turned on the TV for the background noise. Within minutes I was caught up in a list of questions that seemed to be growing by the day.

  What had Kerry and Dwayne been arguing about? And who had been in the hall of the recreation center with Quentin? What did Lou Hobbs, Kerry Hendrix, Quentin Ingersol, and Dwayne Escott have in common? There must be something. What were Hobbs and Ingersol arguing about— excuse me, discussing—right before the murder? And what really happened the night I thought I’d seen Hobbs shot out at Hammond Junction?

  I spent the next morning taking a quick inventory of supplies, but by noon I’d decided that I had a batch of laundry upstairs that desperately needed to be put through the washer and dryer—and there was only one place with the equipment to do the job right.

  Old maps of Paradise divide the town into distinct sections, with Chinatown running along the creek bed and Swede Alley just above that. If you follow Swede Alley half a mile north, you’ll find yourself surrounded by modest single-family houses and apartment buildings, schools, and the less glamorous businesses no town can survive without.

  I pulled up in front of the Laundromat and climbed out into the brilliant autumn sunshine. Someone had propped open the Laundromat’s door with a plastic carton, and the clean scents of laundry soap and fabric softener drifted out into the morning. I could see a couple of people milling around inside the building, one heavily pregnant woman sitting with her feet up and flipping idly through a magazine, and a couple of dark-haired, dark-eyed kids darting amid the carts and chairs as they played.

  I rolled down the windows for Max, grabbed the laundry basket from my backseat, and carried the load into the building. It had been a while since I’d done my laundry in public, and all the reasons why I didn’t came rushing back the moment I stepped through the door. Personally, I think there is a hell—and it’s a Laundromat.

  I took a few seconds to get my bearings, then gritted my teeth and found an empty machine close to the “office”—a corner separated from the rest of the Laundromat by a long table—where a slight woman with white hair was folding towels. She wore a pair of knit blue pants and a turtleneck sweater with a snowflake design. Over it all, she wore a lime-green smock with huge pockets.

  After stuffing my clothes into the washer, I sprinkled soap powder over the mound and fed a handful of quarters into the machine. When the washer started filling, I wandered over to the office.

  The woman glanced up as I approached. Her small, wrinkled hands stilled in the act of smoothing the towel she’d just folded. “Yeah? Do you need something?” Her voice was a surprise. Rough—probably from years of smoking—and far deeper than I would’ve expected to hear coming out of a woman her size.

  I jerked a thumb toward the metal box on the wall. “I didn’t see any fabric softener. Do you have any I could buy?”

  She nodded toward a wall that housed a bank of dryers and cut partway through the large room. “Fabric softener’s in the vending machine on the other side of that wall.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I turned away, then glanced back. “Is your name Corelle Davies?”

  She glanced up, her eyes narrowed with wariness. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Abby Shaw. I own a business here in town—”

  Corelle began shaking her head before I’d finished talking. “Whatever it is you’re selling, we don’t want any.” She jerked her thumb toward a sign on the wall behind her. “No soliciting, or can’t you read?”

  “I’m not selling anything,” I assured her quickly. “I’m just trying to find someone who knew an acquaintance of mine. His name was Hobbs, and I heard that he might have rented a room from you.”

  Corelle squinted up at me. “Where did you hear that?”

  Jawarski might have been willing to talk about the case with me, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate my dropping his name, so I evaded the question. “I don’t know. Around. Would you mind if I ask you just a couple of questions? It won’t take long.”

  “I already answered all the questions I’m gonna. You want to know what I said to the police, you can ask them.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that. Did you know Hobbs before you rented the room to him?”

  Corelle grabbed another towel from the basket at her side. “Nope.”

  “So he just found you through a newspaper ad or something?”

  “Or something. How should I know?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  She snapped the towel in the air and folded it in half. “He didn’t tell, I didn’t ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”

  “Sure. Just one more thing before I go. Did he tell you anything about himself? Where he came from? What he was doing here in town? How long he planned to stay?”

  Corelle finished folding the towel and put it on top of the stack. “We didn’t talk much. He came and went. I rarely saw him.” She eyeballed me for a minute and asked, “You with the police or something?”

  “Not exactly. So Hobbs didn’t tell you why he was here?” Corelle picked up the stack of towels and carried them to the other side of the office area. “You tell me why you’re asking first.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Yeah? Well, so are my answers.” She fished a pack of cigarettes from a pocket of her smock and turned toward the open door. I guess she thought the conversation was over.

  Not being one to let a little thing like that stop me, I followed her outside. “So he didn’t tell you why he was here?”

  She lit a cigarette and inhaled until her cheeks caved in. “If you leave now, I won’t call the cops on you.”

  “If I leave now, I won’t find out what I want to know. Come on, Corelle. What’s the harm in answering a few questions—unless you have something to hide?”

  She glared at me, her eyes hard and pebbly. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Who did you say you were again?”

  “My name’s Abby Shaw. I own a candy shop downtown.”

  “Yeah? I knew a lady owned a candy shop once. Name of Grace Something.”

  “Grace was my great-aunt.” I’m not above name dropping when it might do me some good.

  Corelle looked interested. “No kidding? You Tuck and Elaine’s girl?” I nodded, and she exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “Well, I’ll be. Why didn’t you just say so? What do you want to know?”

  Who could have guessed it would be so simple? “Did Lou Hobbs tell you why he was in Paradise?”

  “He told me he was here on business, but I don’t think he was telling the truth.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because he mentioned a couple of places that haven’t been around here in a while, like the roller rink over on Fairmont and Ray’s Drive-In. If you want my opinion, he’s been here before, but not for ten, fifteen years.”

  That set me back a couple of paces. The places she’d mentioned had been popular teen hangouts for years, but they’d both gone out of business while I w
as living in California. Did that mean that Hobbs was from Paradise? That might explain his connections to Ingersol and Hendrix, but if he’d lived here, why hadn’t anyone else come forward to say that they recognized him?

  “Did he tell you what kind of business he had here in town?”

  Corelle watched the smoke drifting up from the end of her cigarette. “If he did, I’ve forgotten. He was a quiet one, I can tell you that. Didn’t talk much at all. I tried making friendly conversation when he first moved in, but I guess he wasn’t interested in talking to an old lady.”

  “What about visitors? Did he ever have any?”

  “None that I ever saw, except the first day he came to look at the place. Had a friend with him that day.”

  Interesting. I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned that to the police. “Do you know who it was?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him around. Big fella, kind of balding. Blond hair.”

  Quentin Ingersol? He was tall and blond, and looking more suspicious by the minute. Or—Marshall? The thought made me almost sick. Or could it have been Dwayne? “And Hobbs? Did you run a background check on him before you rented the room to him?”

  Corelle gave a sharp laugh. “Now, how would I go about doing that? I don’t have that kind of money. Most of the time, I barely get from one end of the month to the other.” She took her last drag and crushed out the cigarette beneath her foot. “Besides, he seemed all right.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I asked for a deposit, but he said he didn’t have enough money. He’d been down on his luck, and he was here to get back on his feet. That’s when his friend popped up and guaranteed that the rent would be paid.”

  “The blond man.”

  Corelle nodded.

  “And you believed him.”

  “I didn’t have any reason not to.”

  I could think of a few, but I kept them to myself. “Did you happen to notice what kind of car they were in that day?”

  “Sure. I may not know the driver, but I’d know that car anywhere.” Corelle turned toward the door and grinned at me over her shoulder. “They were driving Marion Escott’s Cadillac.”

  Chapter 31

  “Abby! You remembered!” Beaming with delight, Marion Escott pushed open her screen door and ushered me into the cool, dark interior of her house. I held out the box of caramels I’d gone back to the shop to pick up, and glanced around to see if Dwayne was lurking nearby. I couldn’t see him, but I hadn’t noticed him immediately last time I was here either.

  “I put in all your favorites, plus a couple of new varieties,” I told Marion as I sat on the sofa. “I hope you like them.”

  “I know I will.” Marion set the box aside and looked at me expectantly. “You look worried, dear. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, trying to ease into the conversation. “Is Dwayne around today?”

  “Dwayne?” Marion scowled in confusion. “Do you need to talk to him?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said again. The fact that she hadn’t actually answered my question wasn’t lost on me, but Marion has always been notoriously protective of her babies. “Maybe I misunderstood what he said last time I was here, but I thought he told me he hadn’t seen a man with a limp around town.”

  Marion’s spine straightened almost imperceptibly, but I knew she sensed a threat. “If you’re talking about the man who was murdered in town, I’m sure that’s what he said. Dwayne wouldn’t know anyone like that.”

  Yeah. He was obviously too classy to know any murdered people. “Has he been driving your car while he’s here?”

  “Sometimes, why?”

  “I’m afraid somebody saw him in town with Lou Hobbs, the murder victim, a couple of weeks before the murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Whoever told you that is lying.”

  I didn’t want to put Corelle in the hot seat, so I left her name out of it. “The person I talked to said that Dwayne was driving your car.”

  Marion shook her head firmly. “Impossible. Dwayne told you he didn’t know that man. If he says he didn’t, then he didn’t.”

  I wondered what kind of mother and grandmother I would have made. Would I have been able to look at my offspring honestly, or would I have put blinders on and refused to see them as they really were? “Has he ever mentioned the name Lou Hobbs to you before?”

  “Was that the murdered man? Of course not.”

  “What about Kerry Hendrix or Quentin Ingersol? Are either of them friends of his?”

  Clearly angry, Marion got to her feet and shoved the box of caramels at me. “I don’t know why you’re asking all of these ridiculous questions, Abby, but I don’t like it. Dwayne is a good boy. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he doesn’t know the man who was murdered. Now, I’ll thank you to leave.”

  Disappointed but not surprised, I stood. I couldn’t think of any argument for staying, so I let her usher me outside again. The door slammed behind me, and I stood on the porch trying to decide what to do next. I was halfway down the driveway when I heard a loud bang coming from the garage and realized that Dwayne must be hard at work out there.

  Without giving myself a chance to think twice, I hurried down the driveway. The rolling door on the garage was closed, but the side door stood partway open, and another loud bang told me I’d been right. Dwayne was inside.

  I knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside the garage at the same time. Large pieces of furniture lined the walls, blocked the windows, and threw the whole garage into shadow. I could see a single bare bulb hanging from the rafters at the back of the garage, but the place was so crammed full of furniture I wasn’t sure how to get back there. “Dwayne? Are you in here?”

  Something metal clanged loudly, and an instant later Dwayne materialized out of the clutter. He held something in his hand, but I couldn’t get a good look at it. I was too busy looking at the unwelcome scowl on his face. “What in the hell do you want?”

  That was a good question. I wanted answers, but it seemed like a good idea to be cautious about how I went after them. I decided to act as if our encounter at the bank had never happened. “I was just talking to your grandmother. She said you were out here, and I thought I’d come out and see what it is you do.”

  He darted a rapid glance at something behind him. “This isn’t a good time. Come back later.”

  That glance made my internal radar go off, and I’d have bet the farm he was hiding something back there. In fact, the whole setup felt funny to me. A row of carefully cut wooden decorations stretched away on the floor in front of me. They were beautifully crafted and intricate, but they were obviously new. In that instant, I understood that this wasn’t an ordinary workshop, and Dwayne wasn’t restoring old tables and chairs.

  “Sure. That’s cool,” I said, trying to look as if I meant it. “I don’t want to intrude. I’m just curious, that’s all. Your grandmother can’t say enough about the work you’re doing.”

  “Yeah? Well. Whatever.” Dwayne shifted his weight, and the part of him that had still been in shadow moved into the light. He was holding a massive wrench in both hands, and the sight of it made my stomach turn over. “What did you need to talk to Grandma about?”

  I wasn’t planning on provoking him, but I calculated my chances of outrunning him just in case. Considering his bulk and the way his pants hung low on his hips, I figured the odds were slightly in my favor. “I didn’t need to talk to her about anything. I brought her that box of caramels I’ve been promising her.”

  “That so?” He cocked a look at the box in my hands. “Then why do you still have it?”

  That was another good question. I held out the box impulsively. “I brought this one for you.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he took the box from me, and I considered that a step in the right direction. He put the wrench down on an unfinished two-drawer dresser with a deep scar running up the side and pawed through th
e first layer of caramels. I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t in imminent danger of having my head broken. If he’d been on the verge of attacking, he’d still be holding the wrench.

  The candy didn’t relax him, though. He was definitely worried about me seeing something. Every glance into a corner, every shift of his beady little eyes, only convinced me more.

  “I think I may have misunderstood something you told me the other day,” I said as he shoved a piece of candy into his mouth. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t seen the guy with the limp?”

  Dwayne’s eyes flicked away from the candy and landed on my face. “That’s right.”

  “Was that before or after you guaranteed to pay the rent on his apartment if he couldn’t?”

  “Who said I did that?”

  “I happened to run into his landlady today. She mentioned that you were with him when he rented the room from her.”

  Dwayne swallowed the caramel and growled, “Bitch.”

  “Are you saying you weren’t with him?”

  He glowered at me from beneath a thick line of sandy-colored eyebrow and shoved the box of candy at me. “I’m not saying nothin’. Why don’t you take your candy and get out?”

  After he’d had his dirty fingers all over the box? Was he nuts? I shook my head and pressed the box back at him. “Keep it. Throw it away. Whatever. Why did you lie about knowing Lou Hobbs?”

  Dwayne jammed the lid on the box and tossed it onto a table. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  I kept one eye on the wrench, just in case. “No, but you will have to talk to the police when they get here.”

  “You gonna rat me out?”

  “They’re going to find out you knew Hobbs sooner or later,” I said with a shrug. “If you didn’t kill him, why don’t you just admit it?”

  He snatched the wrench again and whipped around to glare at me. “Don’t you dare try to pin that on me. I didn’t touch that sonofabitch.”