by Wendy Byrne
Ramona snorted. "I once dated a guy by the name of Sammie. He loved to bowl. Even though he was cute as a button, it eventually led to our breakup. He didn't miss a beat and hooked up with Sissy McQueen. Of course that didn't mean he didn't come to my house now and again and visit." She shook her head and left the remainder of her thoughts unspoken even if the smirk on her face gave me an idea.
"Oh crap. There's Sally. I wonder if that's…her…husband." I stutter-stepped through the last words as a chill raced up and down my spine. Maybe it was because I knew about his criminal history, but everything about him—from the greasy black hair tied in a ponytail, to the scar running the length of his cheek, to the beady eyes and leering glances at women as they passed—screamed Robert De Niro in Cape Fear creepy. Visions of what he might do to me, to my father, to one of these ladies had me second-guessing every conviction I'd evoked over the last couple of hours about following this mystery to the end.
What had I been thinking? If this guy was an example of what I could be up against, I'd be toast in a heartbeat. With the urge to run away while screaming at the top of my lungs nearly overtaking my common sense, I forced myself to focus.
"That kid was bad news when I taught him in the third grade." Dolly tsked. "I didn't put the name together until I saw his face. He was suspended in first grade and twice in third before he moved into another school for behavior-disordered kids. He had a meanness in his eyes even back then that I don't mind saying scared the crap out of most of the teachers I knew—even the males. One time he was accused of killing a litter of kittens."
There was a collective groan, me included. It was difficult to fathom that kind of cruelty at any age, let alone that young.
Just as I was about to suggest we head back out the door, the man in question spotted me, gave me a sinister stare down, and strode in my direction. There wasn't a doubt he intended to give me a piece of his mind, or kill me right here and now, or maybe both simultaneously. I doubted anyone would be able to stop him.
I imagined he might even carry a shiv—having just gotten out of the big house—that he could stab me with before anyone even noticed. Where had I picked up that word? Maybe I watched Prison Break a few too many times. I backed up, running into Ramona. She squeaked, and I turned to apologize. When I turned back around to grab Viola in order to make a quick getaway, Phil's face was barely six inches from mine.
The smell of smoke around him overwhelmed me until I thought I might get asphyxiated from lack of oxygen. Allergies combined with nerves kicked in, causing me to sputter and cough.
"I heard you were saying some very unflattering things about me to my old lady," he growled as spittle flew from his lips.
I fought back the urge to cough by sipping a glass of water someone had handed to me. Technically I didn't say anything that bad about Phil, but I wasn't about to back down. "If speaking the truth is unflattering, then I'm guilty as charged." Probably a bad choice of words, but my mind was a little scrambled.
His gaze narrowed until his eyes looked like little black marbles inside the sockets. I held my breath waiting for that shiv to appear any second. I rehearsed those self-defense moves I'd learned years ago that I hadn't found necessary in New York. Instead, Iowa had become a hotbed of criminal activity—at least towards me.
"Back off, or you'll be sorry." Without another word he sauntered away. Did his voice sound like the guy on the trail? The guy in the black truck?
It was only then I realized that the man who pushed me down on the trail didn't smell like smoke. My first suspect had just gone like a puff of smoke—so to speak.
But that didn't mean he didn't get one of his former cellmates to act on his behalf.
CHAPTER NINE
Still suffering from a case of the heebie jeebies, I followed the ladies to a table near the lanes reserved for leagues. Somehow I knew it wouldn't be the last time I'd see Phil. Yoga breathing helped me quiet my jumpy pulse.
"I think Stan and Tony were part of the Cougars League for a while." Alice pointed toward the group of ladies wearing purple bowling shirts and setting up in lane sixteen.
"A women's team?" I spied the women as they took their bowling balls out of bags and racked them. The group looked to be anywhere between their forties to late fifties, so it sort of fit within my father's and his BFF's normal wheelhouse.
"They petitioned to be co-ed for a couple of years. That's when the guys joined. Rumor has it they did more flirting than bowling." Alice clucked.
I contemplated my next move. This could either go very bad or be the breakthrough I needed. "I'm going to go strike up a conversation with the ladies and see what I find out."
"Want me to come with?" Viola asked. In terms of wing-woman, she was the best. But some things I needed to do on my own.
I pushed back my chair. "Nope, I've got this." I sauntered over toward the women's bowling team.
"Good afternoon, ladies. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your league?"
A woman wearing way too much makeup assessed me before giving me a half smile. "Sure, hon, what can I help you with?" She chomped on her gum as she spoke, and I felt transported into a version of Grease.
"I'm new to the area and was wondering how I can get on a team." Since I was making this up on the fly, I could only hope my frayed nerves combined with my frayed brain would cooperate.
Her gaze narrowed. "You don't look like the bowling type. What's your story?"
I decided at that moment that instead of weaving a tale, I should be factual—or at least semi-factual. "I went through a nasty divorce. Since we'd lived in New York, I settled on Iowa since it seemed to be the polar opposite. If Iowa doesn't work out for me, I'll move on." Not bad.
She shifted her head toward Viola and the group. "Why you hanging out with a bunch of old ladies then? Oh wait…" Her finger pointed at me before I could respond. "That's Viola Carnes, isn't it? She's got a very hot grandson as I recall. Too bad he doesn't go for the cougar thing, or I'd jump on that in a hot minute—well, if I wasn't married, that is."
I ignored her description of Gabe because…yeah…I didn't want to go there. "I'm staying at her rooming house for the time being."
She tilted back her head and laughed. "I get your angle. You're trying to get in tight with his grandmother. Not a bad idea. I wish I would have thought of that when I was single."
This was not where I wanted the conversation to go and needed to right the metaphorical ship pronto. "About the bowling, do you have any ideas?" Maybe I needed to work on my game plan since I'd gone off stride with this little detour.
"I didn't know people bowled in New York."
"I'm from the suburbs." I had no personal knowledge of this, never having frequented the 'burbs, but I had heard about it being popular for bored housewives.
"The teams already have full rosters, even the co-ed ones." She eyed the table where Viola and the others were seated before returning her gaze to me. "You sure you don't have a connection to Inez?"
I couldn't help but wonder if the resemblance to my father might be the source of her skepticism. "Like I said, I'm staying temporarily, but there's not much to do."
"Except for doing Gabe Carnes." She laughed as my face flushed. "Geez, lighten up a little, girlie. We had a couple of guys join the league a while back, but it was nothing but trouble."
"How so?"
"They flirted with everyone in a skirt. Caused all kinds of trouble with women fighting over them. It got real ugly around here for a time."
My pulse ticked up. "How so?" I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice.
"You know how it gets sometimes when sex enters the picture. Stan and Tony—sorry, that's their names—were players. A cat fight ensued between a couple of the women that got real ugly for a while until I told them to direct their anger at the guilty party—namely the two men—not each other."
I gulped. Could I really be onto something? Was my father hiding from a couple of vengeful women? Did one
of them kill Stan? And had set their sights on Tony after that?
"How did it all turn out?"
When she shook her head, her hair didn't move. Hazardous amounts of hairspray on the premises explained why they didn't allow smoking in here. "We went back to an all-female team. Much less drama that way. Rumor has it Stan was killed. Sheriff Crowder was here the other day asking questions. Don't know the specifics, but somebody said he was poisoned. Not sure if that's true."
I drew in a breath and adopted what I'd hoped resembled a shocked expression. "Wow." I shook my head. "Did he talk to you?"
She shook her head. "Nope. I'm a happily married woman. He concentrated on Amy and Vicki and Tracey. They all dated one or both of the men at one time or another."
I brought my voice to a whisper. "I know they're your friends, but do you think any of them might have been responsible?"
She shrugged. "Those two tomcats slept with practically every woman under fifty in this place. Vicki has a crazy temper and is mad jealous. But murder?" She shook her head. "I don't think so."
Without another word, she went back toward her friends. Based on the way they all glanced in my direction, I'm guessing she was filling them in on our conversation. With multiple revelations rattling around my head, I solemnly walked backed to the table.
The ladies had ordered lunch in the interim munching on salads and drinking some tea. "I hope you're okay with soup and salad for lunch. We ordered you a chef salad and chicken noodle soup."
"That's fine." I nodded as I tried to digest the bomb that had been laid at my feet. The countless women my father had hooked up with increased my suspect pool. Apparently there could be a busload of vengeful woman after one or both men.
Dolly nodded and munched on the saltines in a basket at the table. "The waitress told us that Bud, the owner, had a run-in with both Tony and Stan over some sort of investment deal just like we overheard at Stan's funeral. We still don't know the specifics, but she said he's still fuming about the whole thing. She said he'd probably have time to see you in his office for a few minutes."
"I got this." I threw back my shoulders and set off for the back room, spotted the door labeled Boss, and knocked.
"Hi. I'm looking for Bud. Would that be you?" I put on my flirty smile and doubled down with flirty eye contact.
"Yep," he mumbled, annoyance clouding his expression.
Since I refused to believe it was directed toward me, I continued. "I'm doing an investigation piece about shady land deals and oil wells for the Gazette and heard you might have some experiences you'd like to share." Rather than a notepad, I pulled up my iPhone to take notes.
He eyed me for so long I wondered whether or not he'd cooperate. But finally he blew out a long coffee-laced breath and motioned for me to sit down.
"What paper did you say you were from?"
"The Gazette in Iowa City." I could only hope a newspaper with that name existed or, if it didn't, the concept sounded plausible enough for him to spill information. Since I didn't want him to think overly long on the name of my fictitious paper, I started my questions. "Do you have any information about any of those things?"
"Nearly twenty grand down the drain." He shook his head. "Guy spotted me from a mile away, no doubt. He appealed to my need for some quick cash and right away had me hooked with his promise of a 25 percent return in less than six months."
The old adage of too good to be true rang in my brain, but I didn't want to make myself seem unsympathetic. "I could see where you'd be tempted with that kind of promise."
He swore and pushed back from the table. "I need to get to work."
I nodded sympathetically. "It's tough getting scammed. You wouldn't believe the stories I've heard." For making this up on the fly, I thought I was doing a pretty darn good job. "Most of the perpetrators of the scam reeled in their victims then left town. How about the person who scammed you?"
He sneered. "Last I heard, he went missing and his friend is dead. As far as I'm concerned, they both got what they deserved." He put his arms on the desk and pushed his considerable girth to a standing position. "Send me a copy of that story when you're finished with it."
"Do you know anyone by the name of M.C.?" It was a stab in the dark, but thought if he'd been scammed he'd know others who'd been scammed as well.
"You mean Mayor Charlie of Jonesboro? Yep, he got scammed by the dynamic duo as well."
The question was, could we fit in one more stop on our trip?
Of course we could. Have Qs, will travel.
I filled them in on the way to Jonesboro. I had a slight worry he might remember me from our chance meeting in the parking lot after Stan's funeral but wasn't going to let it stop me. Instead, I grabbed my Nike hat from the back of my car, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and hoped my pseudo disguise would keep him from connecting the dots.
"That's the local hangout. If he's not there, somebody will know where to find him," Dolly said as she pointed to a lopsided sign with the words Suzy's Diner.
I walked inside with the ladies and found the place identical to the others we'd visited. The plastic covering on the booths might be a different color, but they all had the same delicious calorie-laden aroma swirling around the room.
A waitress with hair too dark to be real and penciled-in eyebrows gave us a weary smile as she came to the table. "Can I get you ladies some coffee?"
Viola folded her hands on the tabletop. "We'd love some." As soon as the waitress spirited away, we began to strategize.
"I say we straight up ask her," Ramona volunteered. "I think it's my turn anyway." She practically cackled at the idea.
"You can do the honors. Just don't scare her away," Dolly cautioned.
When she came back a few moments later to fill the cups, Ramona stopped her with a hand on her arm and a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know M.C.? We wanted to ask him some questions." It sounded like she'd watched way too many old spy movies featuring bad CIA operatives engaged in espionage.
"Sure. Everybody knows Mayor Charlie. He sits in that corner booth. He usually comes in some time around noon or so for lunch. If you want to talk to him—" she glanced directly at me— "I'd advise you to keep at a safe distance. The man tends to be a little handsy—if you know what I mean."
The waitress continued. "Been Mayor forever, I think. To tell you the truth, nobody else wants the job, so he'll keep getting re-elected. The only way to get him out of office is probably in a casket."
While part of me appreciated when the ladies took the lead, I needed to do my part in this twisted investigation and brace for the real possibility I should be conducting this on my own without the gray-haired ladies' support. Nate was right about that.
We passed the time in our usual manner—indulging in way too much food, coffee, and gossip waiting for M.C. to arrive. Every time the door opened, my anxiety increased exponentially. Finally, the man strolled inside like he owned the place and sat in his usual booth. I waited until he was served his first round of coffee.
"Game on." With renewed confidence, I left the ladies no option but to acquiesce as I walked the ten or so steps to the table where Charlie sat. He glanced up and smiled at me as he broke off a piece of bread from the basket set in front of him.
"Hey, pretty lady." He gave me a politician's smile as he gestured for me to sit. "What can I do for you?" He patted my hand before trailing his fingers up my forearm. Despite my revulsion, I managed to extricate my arm and place it safely on my lap without having to resort to a pot-of-hot-coffee-to-the-lap maneuver.
"I'm new to the area and trying to find a perfect place to settle down. I've heard Iowa's going to be a boomtown, and being the mayor I was wondering if you're privy to any investment opportunities available." Since he made no mention of our parking lot encounter, I went with my original plan and began a variation of the spiel I'd used with Bud. "I'm thinking of investing some money with Tony Gallione, and I heard you've done so in the past."
His face went
from pale white to beet red in the space of a heartbeat. "I don't know what you're talking about." His posture changed from relaxed, with his arm resting on the back of the bench, to tense and fidgety as he sat up straight in the booth. "Where did you hear that from? The last I heard Tony was missing and presumed dead."
I tried to fake deep concentration. "I can't remember exactly. I've talked to a lot of people over the last couple of days."
"About investing?" He regained a little of his composure and offered me a forced smile.
"Among other things." I tried to relax into the plastic coated booth. "I'm new to the area and am looking for investments after a windfall from a recent divorce. I heard Iowa is where the new boom is going to be, so thought I'd investigate." Should I become worried that I'd gotten so good at lying?
He nodded. "I've heard the same thing. It started with the casinos opening years ago." He glanced at the table I'd come from. "Where are you staying?"
"Inez." I tried to think of a good reason why I ended up there. "I happened upon the quaint town and fell in love. It's my temporary residence for the time being. Not sure how long I'll be staying before moving on." I needed to convey a sense of urgency. "I'm disappointed with running into a dead end about Tony Gallione. I was hoping he might have some advice for me."
He hunkered down and crooked a finger at me. "Just between us, Tony might not be the best person to go to for investment advice. If—and it's a big if—he's not in jail or dead, I've heard he's sucked people into some scheme about oil wells that turned up dry as a bone. Not that I'd get hoodwinked by such a thing, but other folks—mostly women I might add—have fallen for his sweet-talking ways. Before you know it, they're down a couple grand."
I put my hand to my chest and sucked in a breath. I probably was overacting, but he didn't seem to notice. "I had no idea."
"Consider yourself warned." He took a sip of coffee. "Now if you'd like to invest in my little town here, I've got plenty of opportunities. Heard they're thinking about building a Wal-Mart not even twenty minutes away. And I'm trying to get some people together to invest in a bed and breakfast. You and I could have a dinner meeting to discuss the details. There's nothing I like better than sharing a bottle of wine or two with a pretty lady."
