“Maybe we should get you to the hospital,” he said.
“Go ahead and clean the arm,” I said. “I’ve been banged up worse than this before.”
“It’s your call. I’ll need a couple of clean towels.”
I directed him to the locker under the front berth and while he went for the towels I took a moment to wonder what the hell was going on. If Ben was right and my attacker was Fish Conners, then someone had told Fish about me. There were only two people who knew that I was considering helping out the family. Jessica and Rusty. And then there was the timing of Ben’s appearance. It was time for some answers.
“How did you happen to be here, Ben? I mean, eleven o’clock is kind of late for a casual visit.”
Ben laid a towel across my lap, opened the first aid kit, and took out a pair of tweezers. He took my wrist in his left hand and gently turned my shoulder toward the light, then he attacked my arm with the tweezers.
“Jessica asked me to stop by and talk to you,” he said.
I closed my eyes against the sharp biting pain and when I opened them he was holding a two inch sliver of wood up for my inspection.
“This is the biggest one.” He placed it on the open towel and met my gaze. “Why don’t you let me fix up this arm first, then I’ll answer any questions you have. I don’t think you want me talking and probing at the same time.”
I nodded and gritted my teeth as he went back to work. Fifteen minutes later he set the tweezers down next to the mounting pile of slivers and broken shells and reached for the bottle of peroxide.
I bit my lip and tasted blood when Ben poured the peroxide over my shoulder. Leaning back into the cushion I closed my eyes as he dabbed the shoulder dry. He finished up wrapping my arm in gauze, and then he sat on the settee across from me.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
I shook my head no and the movement made me feel like I was going to pass out again.
“Maybe I should leave and let you get some rest.” Ben stood. “I can come back tomorrow.”
“I want to know why you’re here,” I said.
“I was visiting with a sick parishioner. On the way home I decided to stop and see if you were still up.” Ben carried the bloodied towels over to the sink and began rinsing them. “Jessica thought you might have some questions about the family. She didn’t feel comfortable talking to you about the dynamics of our family.”
“Do I understand this right? You’re Jessica’s father? I thought priests couldn’t be married or have children.”
Ben wrung out the towels and set them alongside the sink. “I came to my vocation late in life. My wife died when Jessica was three. I began my studies after Jessica started college. I’ve only been a priest for a year now. But I didn’t really come here to talk about me.”
“So you came to convince me to help find the book?”
Ben moved back to the seat across from me. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward me. He caught my eyes with his and smiled a friendly smile. He looked just like I’d expect a priest to look, but the words that came out of his mouth were anything but priest-like.
“I don’t give a damn about that book. As far as I’m concerned, my father’s going to roast in hell for eternity whether the book’s returned to its rightful owner or not. Whoever stole that book stole it from a thief, who stole it from a thief.”
“Tough language for a priest.”
Ben’s smile turned to a sheepish grin. “Some habits die hard. I owned my own construction business for most of my life. The language goes with the business.”
“So if it’s not the book, why are you here?”
“Jessica never knew James. She thought I should be the one to talk to you.”
“So my father, you said his name was James, he’s what, dead?”
“We don’t know. Father threw James out of the house a week after he turned sixteen. Nobody’s heard from him since then. Your Uncle Roy hired a P.I. to search for him a couple of years ago. No luck.”
The information hit me like I’d been kicked in the gut by a mule. I felt queasy all over again and I had to take several deep breaths before I could speak.
“So why was he kicked out? Drugs?”
Ben leaned back into the settee, steepled his fingers, and rested his hands on his chest. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully.
“James smoked a little pot once in awhile, who didn’t back then. But the truth is our father was a grade ‘A’ prick.” There was another pause, a little more contemplation, and then he continued. “Father was a Baptist minister and James was a pugnacious kid. You know how teens are. They question everything. The two of them got into an argument. James challenged Father’s beliefs. Told him he didn’t believe there was a God. Father told him he could not believe someplace else.
“Mother was always kind to us, but she was submissive to her husband. She recently told me that not standing up for James was her biggest regret in life.”
“How did your father react to you becoming a priest?”
“About how you’d expect from a man like him. As far as he was concerned I didn’t exist any longer. He never spoke another word to me after I told him I was going to a Catholic seminary. It’s not surprising, really. He stopped speaking to Roy after he got out of the army. Roy dared to express his opinion that the government had made a mistake fighting the Viet Nam War. To Father it was always God and country first. Never family.”
“So why the urgent need to get back the book?”
“I told you. I don’t care about the book. This is Jessica’s project. She’s the only one Father cared about. She was his little angel. As far as she was concerned, he could do no harm. He said something to her about wanting to find the owner of the book and return it. That’s been her mission since he died.”
“And yet you went up against Fish Conners and took a beating trying to get it back.”
Ben looked confused. “Whatever gave you that idea? I’ve never met Fish Conners in my life. I’ve seen him around; he grew up not far from here. That’s why I couldn’t swear it was him that attacked you. It was dark and I didn’t get a good enough view of his face.”
“Jessica told me the reason she needed my help getting the book back was that Fish beat you up when you went to see Sam Quinlin about the manuscript.”
Another blank look. “Who’s Sam Quinlin?”
“The lawyer the family hired to find the rightful owner of the book,” I said.
Ben shook his head. “I’m lost here, Wes. My mother mentioned she was hiring a lawyer, but she never told me who it was. And what does all of this have to do with Fish Conners?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
I thought about what Ben had said and wondered who was lying to me, Ben or Jessica. Being a priest didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t lie to me. I was not a happy camper. Pushing myself up from the settee I groaned as the pain washed over me. I must have looked bad because Ben jumped up and reached out to support me.
“I still think you should let me drive you to the hospital,” he said.
I shook his arm off. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take some aspirin and get to bed as soon as you leave.”
Ben took the hint and headed for the steps. I had one last question for him before he left.
“If it was Fish who attacked me, who do you think told him I was interested in the book? The only two people who knew that were Jessica and Rusty Dawson.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Rusty’s an old friend of Mother’s. How do you know him?”
“He keeps a boat here at the marina. Seems to hang around a lot, drinking and telling stories.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. Rusty’s had some bad breaks. His wife died of cancer not long ago. And if I remember right, a couple of years ago his son was arrested for selling drugs. He might still be in prison.”
“Rusty said he knew Fish,” I said.
“Then he probably told Fish about you. Like you said, he likes to
drink and tell stories. Hell, when I was a kid he’d come to visit and tell us kids about his life as a spy.”
“He doesn’t strike me as a spy type.”
Ben shrugged. “He’s an old man now. Drinks too much. Back then he had an aura about him. Maybe I just wanted to believe I knew a spy.”
I hesitated to suggest what was on my mind, but the question had to be asked. “Do you think Jessica might have told Fish I was looking for the book?”
“Why would she do that?” he asked.
“Maybe she figured that if Fish came after me I’d be more likely to help her.”
Ben seemed to mull the idea over for a few moments. “Jessica’s always been a determined girl—actually I guess she’s a woman now. I’d hate to think she set you up for a beating, but....”
I interrupted him. “But she might.”
“I hope not.” He turned and started up the steps. When he reached the cockpit he looked back at me. “Don’t be too hard on her. She’s just trying to do what your grandfather asked of her.”
Chapter 4
It was noon by the time I crawled out of bed. My shoulder felt as if an army of fire ants had built a nest under the skin and my head throbbed to a funky beat that threatened to drive me insane.
To make matters worse, as I stepped buck-naked into the main cabin I found my cousin peeking down at me through the clear plastic door that separated the cockpit from the interior of the boat. With a startled curse I did a backward jig and slid into the head.
Retrieving the still damp shorts I’d worn the night before when I went for my unexpected swim, I pulled them on and stomped back out into the cabin.
“I live alone on a boat because I like my privacy.” I joined her in the cockpit, shivering as the cool air washed over me. It smelled of saw-grass and muck and diesel fuel.
Jessica jumped to her feet and reached out and took my hand. She held it, twisting it gently as she moved in close to me and examined my arm. “Daddy said you got hurt.”
Her fingers lingered and I felt my knees weaken as she looked anxiously up into my face.
“You can’t just walk onto someone’s boat without being invited.” I tried to sound stern, but I felt my anger dissipating.
“You didn’t call.” She was pouting now and she pushed my hand away. “And I needed to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine.” I pointed off toward the marina store and tried to keep my voice gruff. “You can go down and have a seat at the table under the restaurant while I change into something a little warmer.”
“Why don’t I just wait here for you? There’s nothing I haven’t already seen, Darling.”
I blushed at the thought of having been caught with my pants down, and at the double entendre I detected in her voice when Jessica used my last name. “I said I’ll meet you down by the restaurant.”
I expected an argument, but Jessica just shrugged and climbed off the boat. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, okay Cuz?” she said, as she walked away.
Despite Jessica’s request not to keep her waiting, I took my time changing and stopped at the marina store on my way to meet her. I picked up two cups of coffee and the last three donuts they had. I considered my options as I waited for Jean, the girl who ran the store, to ring me up.
My first inclination was to tell Jessica to get lost, but if it was Fish Conners who attacked me, it looked like I was going to be dragged into this affair whether I liked it or not.
Then there was my cousin. The girl set my blood to boiling and left me slightly confused when she was around. As a first cousin she was forbidden fruit, although I found her to be sexy as hell and flirtatious to boot.
“I was just getting ready to leave,” Jessica said.
I set down the coffee and offered her a donut. She grabbed the chocolate covered cruller and left me with the two cinnamon donuts. One more reason to tell her I wasn’t going to help.
“You’re the one who’s asking for help,” I pointed out.
“About that.” She took a bite out of the donut that left a smear of chocolate above her lip. Using the back of her hand she wiped it away and took another bite. “I thought we could drive out and see Sam Quinlin about the book.”
I looked at my watch and shook my head. “I need to change the oil on Rough Draft this afternoon, and I’ve got plans this evening.” When I saw the look of disappointment flash across her face I added, “I’ll go with you tomorrow if you’d like.”
“You’ve only been here two days, Wes. Don’t tell me you have a date.”
When I nodded she threw the last bite of the donut down next to her untouched coffee cup. “Around here, family comes before everything else.”
I broke one of the donuts in two and dunked the smallest piece in my coffee cup. “Two weeks ago I didn’t even know you existed.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re still family.”
“Which is why I agreed to go with you tomorrow. Against my better judgment I might add.”
Jessica pushed her chair away from the table and jumped to her feet. “Don’t bother.” She turned away before I could say anything else and ran toward the parking lot.
If I didn’t know better I’d say she was jealous. Then again, maybe I just pissed her off as much as she pissed me off.
***
I was waiting in front of the parking lot and did a double take when Cathy drove up in her Miata. It was covered in black spots and obviously designed to look like a Holstein cow. The Wisconsin license plate read, “MOOOOO.”
I opened the door and climbed in. “When you said you would drive I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.”
“It’s my statement of absolute cow nonsense,” Cathy said.
“But why?” I asked.
She popped the clutch and my sore shoulder slammed against the door as she raced across the parking lot. A bolt of pain ran up and down my arm and I felt light-headed.
With the pain came the realization that I probably should have stayed home and spent the night recuperating, but I was intrigued by Cathy. Her eccentricity, or maybe it was just plain weirdness, reminded me of the people I’d most enjoyed interacting with in Key West.
“I used to collect cow things. You know, ice cream scoops that mooed, trinkets of all kinds. I never had to buy any; once friends found out I collected cow stuff it was like open season. The things just kept flowing in. When I decided to get out of Wisconsin I opted for a new car. This was it. My ex hasn’t seen it yet, but I’m sure he’ll hate it.”
“I’m surprised you were able to find someone to paint the damn thing,” I said.
She grinned. “Actually, I tried three different auto paint shops and when they found out what I wanted to do they acted like I was crazy and turned me away. Finally someone suggested I get some of the 3M sticky vinyl stuff and do it myself, so I did. I used black trash bags to cut my patterns.”
We left the marina, drove down a gravel road, past a junk yard, and turned onto a four lane highway labeled Dauphin Island Parkway, referred to as D.I.P. by the locals. I soon discovered the true meaning of driving a car that looks like a cow. The top was down and when we stopped at the first light I heard a distinct “Moo” from the car to my right. I looked over and got a thumbs-up from the teenager driving the car. In the back seat another youth stuck his head out of the window and again let loose with a loud “Moo.”
At the next light, it was an older couple who couldn’t resist the spectacle of a cow car. The man driving shook his head and said something to his passenger. Her door shot open and she ran to the front of their car. Pointing a camera at us she snapped our picture, and skipped back to her door with a wave.
“This happen often?” I asked.
“Constantly,” Cathy said. “It’s what makes the car so much fun. Does it bother you?”
“It’s a bit disconcerting,” I admitted.
We turned onto Interstate 10, and by the time we reached Highway 65, three cars and a truck had honked at u
s. I found myself slouching a little in my seat, which aggravated the cuts on my shoulder.
The Blues Cafe was a rundown concrete box that didn’t quite fit in among the retail stores and car dealerships. It was six-thirty and the parking lot was just beginning to fill. Cathy pulled in between a new Harley and a Dodge Ram pickup, turned off the car, and faced me.
“Just so you know, Wes, this is who I am. I like the attention this car brings me. I like you, I think we can have some fun together, but what you see is what you get.”
“I can handle it.”
“You sure? I saw you scooting down when those cars were honking at us.”
My insecurities were battling my hormones at the moment. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So maybe it will take a little while to get used to riding around in a cow car.”
Cathy nodded and swung open her door. She looked up at the sky and climbed out of the car. “I think I’ll leave the top down. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain tonight.”
Inside, the cafe was dark and smoky, the tables clustered close together. A small dance floor and band stage cluttered the front of the room. Behind the dance floor another room opened up where two pool tables sat, and a third room led off to the right. We chose a table next to the bar, ordered a couple of beers, and asked when the mudbugs would be served.
“It’s self-serve, honey.” The waitress who set our beers in front of us looked like she wasn’t old enough to be out alone at night. She wore low-rider jeans, a cutoff t-shirt, and sported a jeweled belly ring. “When you see ‘em starting to line up over to the right there, y’all know they’re fixing to eat. Follow the crowd and you can’t go wrong.”
Like an angry genie trapped in a bottle, Clarence “Frogman” Henry wailed out from the jukebox. Cathy leaned close to me, touched my hand, and whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many middle-aged men with ponytails walking around in one place. And every woman seems to come equipped with a pack of cigarettes and a long neck bottle of beer.”
I nodded. “Bikers and rednecks. This was your pick, remember. I assumed you’d been here before.”
2 Dog River Blues Page 3
