by Jude Pittman
“Maybe she was having money problems and getting riled was an excuse to turn you down. Had she been acting like she was short of cash lately?”
“Hell, no. She hadn’t been any different from normal ’til yesterday. Like I said, when I first asked her about the money, it didn’t faze her a bit. All she said was that she’d think about it and get back to me.”
“What happened after I left her with Bubba and Leroy?”
“Nothing at first. She ignored me. Then she started a ruckus with them. It got pretty loud and the next thing I knew, she grabbed her bag and kicked over the chair. I figured ‘good, she’s outta here’, but I spoke too soon. She got as far as the front door. Then she stopped, blew up her cheeks and at the top of her lungs told the whole damn bar she was calling my note and taking over this place.”
Kelly frowned. “That was probably the booze talking,” he said. “You know Anna. She never meant half of what she said when she’d taken on a full load.”
“Not this time,” Cam said. “You shoulda seen the look on her face. Anyway, I wasn’t about to let it slide. I grabbed my coat, tossed the till key at Darlene and took off after Anna.”
“Was she going to her cabin?”
“Nope. She went straight down the hill toward the flea market. I tried to get her to stop but she was raving. The wind was blowing a gale and it was raining so hard I couldn’t see two feet ahead. Anna fell down a couple of times and I tried to help her up but she shook me off and told me to keep my filthy hands to myself.”
Kelly’s eyebrows went up. “That must’ve been some sight.”
Cam nodded. “I finally caught up with her on the bridge, then I had to wrestle her against a railing to get her stopped.”
Kelly shook his head.
“I know. It looks bad and that’s not the worst of it. She kept kicking and fighting. Then she bit my hand and I guess something snapped. I pinned her up against the railing and told her I’d wring her scrawny neck if she didn’t shut her mouth.”
“Not the best choice of words,” Kelly said. “But since that scene was just between you and Anna, you’d probably be better off to forget it happened.”
“I wish I could but Frank was down at the foot of the bridge putting up his boat. I know damn well he saw me shove Anna up against the railing and he probably heard what I said. My voice was pretty loud.
“I didn’t spot Frank until after Anna took off. He was up against the piling, close enough to hear loud voices and you can bet your ass he was listening as hard as he could. There’s not one chance in a million he’ll keep his mouth shut either. You know Frank.”
Kelly nodded agreement. “What was Frank doing down there at that time of night?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He’d probably been out night fishing. He’s out there every time the game warden’s back is turned. The storm must’ve forced him off the lake.”
“Well, it’s too bad in one way but at least he’ll be able to vouch for the fact you left Anna on the bridge and went back to the bar?”
Cam flinched. “That’s part of the problem. After Anna took off for the flea market, I walked across the bridge and down to the pilings. I figured I’d wait out the storm and maybe have a few words with Frank. But when I got there, he’d disappeared. I hung around for about thirty minutes but there wasn’t any sign of him. It must have been after one when I started back up the hill.”
“That’s not so good.”
“No and what’s worse, I didn’t go right back to the bar.”
“Why not?”
“I was still too shook up. I figured I needed some cooling off time so I went to the house. I didn’t get back to the bar until closing time.”
Kelly fastened his gaze on the fireplace and collected his thoughts.
“I won’t kid you.” He brought his eyes back to Cam. “Once the cops find out about that struggle on the bridge, they’ll settle on you like ticks on a hound dog.”
“Don’t I know it.” Cam drained off his beer and nursed the empty mug. “I swear to God, Kelly, I didn’t have anything to do with Anna’s murder. She was alive when I left her and I don’t have a clue how she ended up dead inside the flea market.”
“It’s too bad you took so long getting back to the bar. That doesn’t look good.”
“I know what it looks like.”
Kelly doubted Cam realized just how bad things were but he’d better get him as prepared as he could. “You were sure as hell in the wrong place at the wrong time last night,” he said? “I know how Gus thinks and he’ll look at the facts and you’ve just admitted opportunity, the whole bar heard Anna’s threat about your note, so that takes care of the motive and since she was strangled with a silk scarf that you could’ve picked up anywhere that takes care of means. Frankly, I’d be surprised if they didn’t arrest you on the spot.”
Cam groaned and gripped his head. “Maybe I ought to pack up and get the hell out of here for a while.”
“That’s the worst thing you could do.” Kelly fixed Cam with a hard stare. “Do you want every cop in the state on your tail?”
Cam shook his head. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you ought to call Bill Shipton and tell him the whole story. You’re in deep shit no matter what but if you and Bill go see Gus and tell him exactly what happened last night, at least he’ll know you’re not trying to hide anything.”
Cam stared at his glass. “If I do that, will you investigate Anna’s death for me? Once I’m arrested, the cops won’t look too hard for the real killer and I’m scared shitless I’m going to go down on a murder rap.”
Kelly sighed. He’d been expecting this and deep down, he knew he wanted to get involved. “I’m willing to see what I can do but first I’ll have to talk it over with Gus,” he said. “It’s his case and I can’t go mucking around in a murder investigation without his okay. That’s the best I can do for you.”
Cam nodded and attempted a smile. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Kelly stood up and extended his hand. “Keep your chin up,” he said. “Get hold of Bill and do what he says. If anybody can talk you out of jail, Bill’s the man to do it. Matter of fact, Gus is liable to leave you loose just to shut him up.”
Kelly chuckled then choked it off. Cam’s face had gone dead white at the mention of jail.
Chapter Four
Jack Boscon unfolded the morning edition of the Fort Worth Star Telegram and frowned at the headline.
“Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth?” he growled and continued to read the story about a woman who’d been strangled at the Indian Creek flea market.
A security guard had discovered her body when he made late rounds. The victim’s name was being withheld pending notification of next of kin and the police were asking the public’s help in locating a young woman who had reportedly been involved in a dispute with the victim earlier in the day.
The paper gave a description of the young woman and Jack had a sinking feeling he knew who she was.
A couple of weeks before, a young woman named Krystal Davis had hired him to find her mother. According to her story, her father had shot himself seventeen years earlier and her mother had disappeared that same night. Krystal had spent her childhood with her grandmother and an uncle and neither of them would talk about her mother.
Jack had gotten the idea from the flat, emotionless tone she’d used when she talked about her family, that they hadn’t lost much love on Krystal.
Krystal had explained that she’d inherited her father’s controlling interest in Davis Oil and in three months, on her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d gain control of the trust that held the company’s assets. In other words, she was fixing to become a very wealthy woman and she was determined to know the truth about her mother. She wanted her mother found and she also wanted a sketch of her mother’s lifestyle.
Jack had warned Krystal that if her mother wanted to stay lost, she’d be covered deep and the investigation would likely
be expensive. She’d shrugged off the expense and asked him to start immediately.
Jack had done some surveillance work for Krystal’s uncle Andrew Davis a few years back, so he was familiar with the family but he’d never handled any of their personal business and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to be on the good side of the young heiress.
He’d started Krystal’s job the next morning. Not expecting much on the first run-through, he’d plugged Anna Davis’ name into the computer and was surprised to come up with six possible matches. Within hours he’d finished the cross-matching and had a make. Anna hadn’t even tried to hide. She had a flea market license from Tarrant County that gave her place of residence as Indian Creek—a small community on the outskirts of Fort Worth.
The next morning Jack had cruised out to Indian Creek where a young fellow at the gas station asked if he was a fisherman. Jack nodded and said he’d heard that Indian Creek was a good spot for fishing. The kid assured him it was hot. Jack thanked the gas jockey and posing as a writer for Field and Stream, he hung a camera around his neck and went in search of the locals.
His first stop was the flea market, where he snapped a few random pictures and asked a talkative old geezer where he might find Anna Davis. With directions to her stall, Jack did some reconnoitering and managed to snap a couple of pictures while Anna waited on customers.
Finished at the flea market, he went in search of gossip. He’d spotted the Hideaway on his way in and figuring that as the likeliest spot for gossip, he made that his next stop.
Inside, a group of old timers were gathered around a potbellied stove. Jack sat for a while at the bar, then ordered a round and introduced himself. It hadn’t taken Jack long to spot Frank Perkins as the blabbermouth of the bunch and with a little manipulating, he’d managed to hire Frank and his boat for a tour around the lake.
The investment had been more than profitable. Jack had gleaned a wealth of information from the old man—who seemed to know everything about everyone. When Jack casually brought Anna Davis’ name into the conversation as a woman he’d met at the flea market and tried to interview, Frank let out a snort.
“I’m surprised she didn’t take a shotgun to you. She probably hadn’t hit the whiskey yet.”
“Likes the sauce does she? Drowning old sorrows or what?”
Frank’s shrug had been noncommittal. “Hell, nobody knows about her. She’s been around this Creek for more’n fifteen years but she hasn’t ever had a visitor I know of. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman when she first showed up here but she turned herself into a hag in a hell of a hurry. Most of us figure she was married to some rich dude and when she started hitting the bottle, he paid her to get the hell out of his life.”
“Could be an interesting story but I don’t think I’d like to get myself shot trying to dig into it.”
“I’d forget her if I was you. I doubt if there’s much to it other than what I said. One thing though—she’s got a pile of dough hid somewhere around the Creek.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, I can’t rightly say how I know.” Frank had smirked, looking pleased with himself. “You can take my word for it though. She’s stashed a pile somewhere. I know that for a fact.”
Jack recognized cagey when he heard it but he hadn’t been hired to dig into Anna’s finances, so he’d shrugged it off. Krystal’s instructions called for him to find her mother and get a rundown on her lifestyle. With more than enough to wrap up the job, Jack had left Indian Creek that night.
The next day he’d left a message on Krystal’s answering machine.
She’d appeared in his office a couple of hours later, breathless and trembling. “I want to hear it in person.”
Jack had chuckled and motioned her to a seat. “I’m glad I’ve got something to report.” He’d smiled and tapped a manila folder.
“Do you mean you’ve found her already?”
“Yep, sure have. Sometimes I just get lucky and this was one of those times.” Handing her the folder, he’d expected her to open it immediately but she’d just sat there clutching it to her chest.
“Aren’t you going to look?”
She’d been biting her lip but finally she’d nodded, opened the cover and spread it out on the desk. Clipped to the inside was a photograph of a haggard and emaciated woman. Wisps of gray hair clung to her head and her deep brown eyes had a haunted expression.
“Oh!” Krystal had gasped. “She looks so old.”
Jack had leaned back and closed his eyes. Poor kid. If she thought the picture was bad, wait ’til she read the report. When he opened his eyes again she was staring at the photograph.
“You still want to meet her?”
She’d blinked a couple of times then nodded her head.
“Okay. It’s your call but if I can make a suggestion, why don’t you go down to that flea market on Saturday when she’s working her stall. As you’ll see from the report, she drinks a bit and she’s more likely to be sober then. I think that might be better, don’t you?”
Krystal had looked like she was fighting back tears and Jack had patted her hand. She’d blinked a couple of times and finally answered. “Yes. Thanks. I don’t know what I’m going to say but I’ve got to see her.”
That had been three days ago. Now this. He glared at the newspaper and felt a little sick to his stomach. It wouldn’t do business any good if it got out that he’d set the girl up to murder her mother.
Sighing, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Frank Perkins was sure to know what was going on out there and Jack wanted confirmation the body was Anna’s before he took any steps.
When he passed the Hideaway, Jack noted that the lot was already full of vehicles. No doubt murder was the main attraction but he kept on down the hill toward Frank’s cabin. He’d just as soon keep this visit as quiet as possible.
Frank wasn’t home but Jack walked down to the creek and spotted him at the dock.
“Hi.” He strolled up to Frank and lifted a hand. “You remember me?”
Frank, who’d been bending over the boat, stood up and squinted. “Sure,” he said. “I remember. You get the assignment for that boating story?”
“I’m still waiting to hear from the editor. I see you’ve had a bit of excitement. Surprised the hell out of me when I read the paper. They didn’t give the name of the woman who was murdered though. Anybody I know?”
“It was Anna Davis that got it. You remember me telling you there was some fishy stuff going on with her? Well, she sure as hell got on the wrong side of somebody.”
“You called that one all right, Frank.” Jack smiled and put plenty of syrup in his voice. “Do the cops have a line on the killer?”
“Well, there’s some speculation about that.” Frank puffed out his chest. “’Fraid I can’t go into detail,” he said. “They’ve asked me to give them a hand, you know.”
Frank reminded Jack of a bantam rooster. “It’s a bit of luck for them—you being on the spot.” Jack said, being careful to keep a straight face. “I hope you’ll keep me in mind, if anything breaks down here.”
“You thinking about doing a story?” Frank’s eyes lit up, no doubt contemplating his part in a local whodunnit.
“I’m considering it,” Jack said. “Of course, I’d need a fresh approach. That’s where I thought you might help. What about the money angle? Didn’t you mention something about buried treasure?”
“Aw, there’s nothing in that.” Frank lowered his head and scuffed the dirt with his boot. “You know how guys get together and bullshit. Don’t mean nothin’.”
“I see,” Jack said.
Frank turned his head and nodded toward the bait house. “There’s a couple of fishermen waiting for me,” he said. “I gotta get goin’.”
Jack, who’d already gotten what he needed, accepted the dismissal. “Nice seein’ you again, Frank,” he said. “I’d appreciate a call if you come across anything I can use.”
On the way back to Fo
rt Worth, he mulled over their conversation. Frank had done some fancy backpedaling on that story he’d told about Anna having money hidden away. The little weasel was probably hoping to find her stash and keep it for himself.
Sighing, Jack pushed Frank to the back of his mind. He’d best swing by Krystal’s apartment. At least he could give her a warning before he went to the cops.
Krystal was a graduate student at Texas Christian University and lived in one of the off-campus apartments on Camp Bowie Boulevard. It was only a short run across town.
The Mexican-style complex was attractive, neat, well landscaped and carefully tended. Jack knocked on the door of 103, waited then rapped again, harder. Finally, the handle turned and the door opened the length of a chain. An Asian girl peered through the crack.
“Yes?” She aimed her eyes at his feet.
“I’d like to see Krystal Davis.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of important. If you’ll tell her it’s Jack Boscon, I think she’ll want to see me.”
“Mr. Boscon. Krissie’s detective?” She released the chain and opened the door.
Jack suppressed a grin. During his stint in Vietnam, he’d learned enough about Asian custom to know eye contact was considered rude. She still hadn’t looked at his face. He stepped inside and followed her into a tiny kitchenette. A round glass table, set with a tea pot and cups, faced the window. A cereal bowl filled with a milky rice mixture showed he’d caught her in the midst of breakfast.
“You like tea? Krissie having a shower. You wait?”
“Thanks.” Jack pulled out a chair. “I’m not much of a tea drinker.”
She darted a glance at his chin and nodded. “Krissie laughs at tea. No drink.”
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” he said. “I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Kwon. Ah…Penny Kwon.”
She was obviously still struggling with English. In Chinese, the surname came first. “Nice to meet you, Penny. You’re not from around these parts?”
