Deadly Secrets

by Jude Pittman

  “I was home in bed. I felt like a fool for losing control of myself at the flea market. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not even Penny. I took a couple of sleeping pills and they knocked me out.”

  “Will Penny vouch for that?”

  “Of course she will. Her bedroom’s right next to mine. She knows I didn’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Now why don’t you go down to the kitchen and make us some sandwiches while I call Tom and get that over with.”

  When the door closed behind Krystal Andrew reached for the telephone. “This is a hell of a mess,” he muttered, dialing his lawyer’s private number. “Hi Tom. Andrew Davis here,” he said when Tom answered the phone. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s so urgent it can’t wait until Monday?” Tom sounded like he’d been awakened from a nap.

  “Anna’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

  “The hell you say! When did this happen?”

  “Last night. Krystal says she was strangled.”

  “Krystal? She’s not mixed up in this, is she?”

  “She says not but the cops are looking for her.”

  “What for? Where is she?”

  “Here with me. She says she didn’t do anything.”

  “There must be some reason they’re looking for her.”

  “She went out to Anna’s flea market on Saturday afternoon and made a scene.”

  “What kind of a scene?”

  “I don’t know. She came in here with some wild story about falling and knocking Anna off her chair.”

  “Are you saying she was there when Anna was murdered?”

  “No. That happened sometime in the middle of the night. Krystal left after the fracas with Anna. She claims she was home all night and her roommate will back her up.”

  “Good. That makes it easier. I’ll call Fort Worth and find out who’s on the case. Krystal will have to give them a statement but they won’t be too hard on her. Now what about you? Are you clean?”

  Andrew hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “That’s the hitch. I took a run down there Saturday night. I wasn’t all that sure Anna would keep her mouth shut and I wanted to have a talk with her.”

  “I told you on Friday that you should stay away from Anna!”

  “Sure Tom, that’s easy for you to say but you know what my position is. All I wanted to do was find out where Anna stood. Frankly, if it seemed like she needed any encouragement, I was prepared to offer an increase in her annual income.”

  “That wasn’t very smart. You should have left it in my hands,” Tom snapped.

  “It’s too late to worry about that now,” Andrew said. “What’s important is what to do about Krystal.”

  “Of course, you’re right.” Tom sighed. “You caught me at a bad moment. Let’s take care of first things first. I assume you didn’t kill her.”

  “Of course I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even see her. It was late when I got there—after ten—and the place was dark. Krystal’s detective Boscon had told me where Anna’s cabin was but she wasn’t home. I decided to hang around and wait. I pulled into a little day park they’ve got for the fishermen, where I could watch her front door. I waited ’til midnight but she never showed. I finally gave up and headed back home. I drove damn near all night and I’d just as soon not admit I’d been anywhere near there.”

  “Did anybody see you?”

  “I don’t think so. Like I said, it was dark and I was pretty well hidden. There was some old guy wandering around down at the boat house but I don’t think he spotted me.”

  “You’re sure that’s everything?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

  “Because if you know anything that might give the police a lead to Anna’s murderer you need to talk to them.”

  “Well, I don’t. Krystal said she was killed in the flea market and I never went near the place. Listen, Tom, what I’ve told you is privileged information—for your ears only. I don’t want anything to do with this mess and I have no intention of admitting I was at Indian Creek.”

  “Okay. Just keep in mind it’s not impossible for the cops to learn you were out there. Now about Krystal… I’ll call the county and make arrangements for them to take her statement. If, as you say, she was home in bed, they’ll keep it pretty informal,” the lawyer said. “I suggest you send her back to Fort Worth. I’ll make arrangements for the detective in charge of the case to stop by and see her tomorrow.”

  “Maybe you ought to be there when they talk to her.”

  “Not if it’s as cut-and-dried as you say. Have another talk with her. If what you’ve told me is the whole story, it’ll be better if she gives them an informal statement. Cops get suspicious when you call a lawyer in just to answer a few simple questions. There’s no use riling them if it isn’t necessary.

  “But you tell Krystal that if she gets the least bit uncomfortable with their questions, she’s to clam up and call me. I’ll make sure I’m available and if there’s a need, I’ll catch a plane.”

  “Okay. Now—what about Anna’s body? Something will have to be done there and I want it kept as quiet as possible.”

  “I’ll take care of that too. I assume you want her cremated. For Krystal’s sake, you might want to put her ashes in the plot with Clayton. I’ll let you talk to her about that. For now, let’s get it over with and hope the newspaper boys don’t make the connection.”

  After he hung up the phone Andrew sank back in his chair and stared at the wall. He hadn’t lied to Tom. He just hadn’t told him about the traffic ticket he’d gotten out on Boat Club Road.

  “Damn!” Andrew stood up and crossed to the window. Maybe he should have come clean with Tom. He didn’t like the possibility of that ticket popping up and biting him in the ass. Still, the connection wasn’t likely. Better to keep his mouth shut and hope for the best.

  “Here’s your sandwich.” Krystal pushed open the door and approached his desk with a tray.

  “Thanks.” He took a plate and settled back in his chair. “I’ve got everything set in Fort Worth. Tom’s going to call the detective on the case and explain your connection with Anna. They’ll want to talk to you but it’ll just be a formality.”

  “Thank you.” Krystal gave him a shy smile. “I’m sorry for what I said. I guess I was still a bit crazy after hearing about my mother.”

  “That’s understandable.” Andrew returned her smile and his voice was surprisingly gentle. “You look worn out,” he said. “Why don’t you take yourself off to bed for a while.”

  “Thanks. I am a bit tired.” Krystal stopped at his desk. “I’d still like to have that talk though,” she said. “After all this is over.”

  Chapter Six

  Kelly strode down the hill toward the bait house. The parking lot was jammed bumper-to-bumper with cars, trucks and motorcycles. Loud country music rocked out the open front door and a haze of smoke drifted toward the creek.

  The ramshackle old store front where Bubba sold fish bait, tackle and cold drinks—especially beer—was lit up like a Texas chicken ranch. It puzzled Kelly why the old dump was so popular. There wasn’t a damn thing attractive about it. The decor was barn-board, trimmed with tarpaper. Worm boxes and minnow tanks cluttered the cement floor and the place reeked to high heaven.

  Nevertheless, Bubba’s mismatched stools and chairs were always occupied. Fishermen came in, ordered a bucket of bait, parked themselves at the slab of plywood perched on two oil barrels that served as a table and passed the time swapping yarns and slurping brews from the well-stocked cooler.

  It was after seven when Kelly stepped inside. The smell of bait, fish, shrimp and beer clogged his nostrils and he had to squint to see through the smoke.

  “Hey, here’s Kelly!” Doug Phillips hollered from the plywood table where eight or nine old timers clustered around a keg of beer. “He’s the one found Anna’s body.”

  Kelly strode over to the group, nodded and pulled out a chair
.

  “You got any ideas about what happened down there?” Brian Sanders asked, as he filled a mug and handed it over to Kelly.

  “Thanks.” Kelly accepted the foaming mug. “I don’t know what happened, Brian. It looks like someone snuck up behind Anna, knocked her down, then wrapped a scarf around her neck and choked her.”

  “Poor Anna.” Brian reached for another mug. “She had a sharp tongue but she didn’t deserve that.”

  “A few of the boys have been talking about last night,” Doug broke in. “It seems Anna and Cam got into a shouting match along about midnight and Cam threw her outta the bar.”

  Kelly tilted back in his chair and studied the faces at the table. “So…what’s the point?” he asked.

  “No point.” Doug avoided Kelly’s eye. “We was just jawin’. ‘Course, you know Cam followed her outta the bar.”

  Kelly shrugged and fixed Doug with a hard eye. “Cam told me they’d had a few words,” he said. “But right after that, Anna said she was going down to the flea market and get her money box. He doesn’t know what happened after she left him on the bridge.”

  “So he says.” Doug’s face registered disbelief. “Kind of funny him not getting back to the bar until closing time.”

  “Seems to me you’ve had your own troubles with Anna, haven’t you, Doug?”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean nothin’. None of us figgers Cam snuffed her. We was just curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Kelly growled.

  Doug dropped his eyes.

  “What I’d appreciate,” Kelly said and looked at the others at the table, “is having all of you think back and try to remember if you saw any strangers hanging around here yesterday.”

  “I did.” Marty Jenkins, who’d been sticking close to the beer keg, walked over and joined the group. “I don’t know if it means anything but did you see the blonde that drove up in the Mercedes convertible yesterday afternoon?”

  “I’ve already mentioned her to the police,” Kelly said, “but she left long before the market closed. Why? You got any idea who she was?”

  “Nope.” Marty pulled out a chair and joined the table. “That car she was drivin’ was sure a honey, though. It was one of them silver-gray convertibles. Brand new, I’d say.”

  “Did you happen to get the license number?”

  “Never thought to look.” Marty shook his head and fixed Kelly with a questioning gaze. “You ain’t gonna go shootin’ off your mouth that I said anythin’, are you? I never paid no attention to that gal. It was the car what caught my eye. Isn’t no way I want nuthin’ to do with the cops. First thing you know they’ll be figgering I’m the one that murdered Anna.”

  Kelly returned Marty’s look, then shrugged. “They might consider that withholding information.”

  Marty set his lips and shook his head again. “It ain’t up to me to talk to the damn cops just ’cause I happened to admire a good-lookin’ car.”

  A commotion broke out across the room and Kelly stood up and peered through the smoke to see what was going on. A circle of men had formed around Bubba, who was standing nose-to-nose with Frank Perkins and shaking with anger.

  “What’s up?” Kelly walked over and stepped inside the circle.

  “Aw, Bubba’s just touchy.” Frank sidled over to Kelly’s side. “I didn’t mean no harm. I was just askin’ him about his fish camp. He’s been braggin’ for months that he and Anna were goin’ down to Florida to buy one.

  “Just yesterday I heard Anna tell him he could shove that fish camp up his ass, then she goes and gets herself murdered. It kinda got me to wonderin’.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Bubba growled. “She was just lettin’ off steam ’cause she was pissed about something. Everybody around here’s got your number, Frank. You’re just tryin’ to start some shit. You’d gut your own mother given half a chance.”

  “Don’t mind him.” Kelly took Bubba’s arm and eased him away from the circle. “You know Frank,” he said. “His own life’s such a pile of crap that stirring up other folks is all that keeps him going.”

  “Yeah, I know but Anna and me was gonna buy us a fish camp.” Bubba turned his head and glared back at the group of men clustered around Frank. “She was just blowin’ smoke when she told me to shove it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. “You don’t owe anybody an explanation.”

  “I keep thinkin’ I oughta have paid more attention to what was rilin’ Anna. Something was sure enough stuck in her craw last night and if I’d asked, she mighta told me. Now it’s too late. On top of everything, I don’t need that asshole reminding me that I’ll probably never get my fish camp now.”

  “There’s no use kicking yourself over what you might’ve done,” Kelly said. “Don’t let Frank get you down. We all know what he’s like.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I’ll be all right.” Bubba attempted a smile. “I think I’ll grab a beer and cool off for a bit.”

  As soon as Bubba left, Frank, his fat face glistening with sweat, moved over to stand beside Kelly. “I heard some stuff up on the bridge last night,” he said.

  “And just what did you hear, Frank?” Kelly fought the tension that edged his voice.

  “‘Fraid I can’t say. I had to tell the cops, though and they told me to keep it under my hat. I know you used to be a cop but you isn’t on the force now, are you?”

  Frank reminded Kelly of Humpty Dumpty with his short fat body and dainty little hands that looked like they belonged in white gloves. Now, waiting for Kelly’s response, his black eyes glittered. Kelly itched to slap his face but that was stupid. The jerk was trying to goad him. Letting out a breath, Kelly shrugged his shoulders.

  “As you say, better keep your mouth shut. I reckon that’ll be a bit of a challenge for you.”

  Frank blinked and deflated. He’d expected Kelly to fish for information.

  Disgusted, Kelly walked away. He’d had all he could take for one day. It was time to pack it in for the night. Ignoring Frank, he called goodnight to Bubba, waved to the group at the table and headed out the door.

  The short walk in the cold night air cleared some of the smoke out of Kelly’s lungs. It had been one hell of a long day and night and he was bone tired. When he reached the cabin and opened the door, Jake, who’d been stretched out on the rug, stood up and wagged a welcome.

  “It looks like things have quieted down around here,” Kelly slipped off his jacket and bent down to give the dog a body rub.

  Finishing the rubdown, Kelly opened the door to let Jake outside, then glanced across the room and spotted the red light blinking on his answering machine. He walked over, punched the playback button and listened to the tape.

  “Got your message, Kelly,” Gus’ voice boomed in his ear. “Angelo’s sounds like a winner. I’ve got a bit of news to pass along but it’ll keep ’til then. I should make it by six but if you get there first, grab a table and order me the large mixed rack. See you then.”

  Kelly let Jake back in and the two of them headed toward the bedroom while Kelly mulled over his conversation with Gus. “I wonder if he’s found out who the woman is? Wouldn’t surprise me, knowing Gus.”

  Jake flopped down on the rug beside the bed and settled his nose between his paws.

  “You’re right, boy,” Kelly said and chuckled at the dog. “It’s time to hit the hay. I’m right behind you.”

  When Kelly opened his eyes the next morning, sunlight streamed through the window. He checked his bedside clock. It was eight—two hours past his usual hour for rising—but the flea market was closed, so other than a quick pass of the outbuildings, his time was his own. Stretching, he kicked back the covers and sat on the side of the bed.

  “Bit of a nip in the air,” he said to Jake, who had risen from the rug and was giving himself a shake.

  Kelly took a shower and made a pot of coffee, then grabbed a notebook and settled down at the kitchen table. Years ago his crimin
ology professor had stressed the importance of getting your facts in order before starting an investigation. Right now, Kelly knew he needed some organization.

  He started a timetable, jotting down the names of everybody who’d been in the vicinity of the flea market between midnight and two a.m. Then he tried thinking of a motive for everybody on his list. He started with Cam who owed her money. Frank’s name was next and after staring at the paper for a bit, he settled for cussedness.

  By the time Kelly got to Leroy and Marty’s names, he’d already decided the list was a dumb idea but he was determined to finish. After several minutes of gnawing the end of his pencil, he finally skipped their names and moved on to Bubba. The bait-man could have had a couple of motives. Kelly wrote them down. Fish-camp, lover’s quarrel. Then he stopped, read back over what he’d written and shook his head. This wasn’t getting him anywhere.

  Dropping his pencil on the table, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Take care of the place,” he called to Jake. “I’m going to have another talk with Bubba.”

  There was always a possibility Bubba had seen something he hadn’t thought to mention. Of course, he’d been drinking whiskey, so he probably wouldn’t remember a Mack truck roaring through the bar. Still, it was worth a try. If nothing else, Kelly could find out what time Bubba and Leroy left the bar.

  Bubba was running around filling bait cans and handing out tackle to a group of fishermen. Kelly caught his attention, nodded toward the picnic table indicating he wanted a chat, then grabbed a cola from the machine and settled down to wait.

  September was winding down and an early frost had dappled the creek with signs of fall. The leaves on the poplar trees were tinged yellow and the marsh grasses were more gold than green. There was a nip in the air, even with the sun shining and Kelly had his windbreaker zipped.

  Sitting there, watching ripples lap against the creek bank, Kelly’s thoughts drifted back on his time at Indian Creek. Five years ago when he’d come here he’d been seeking a place to hide and heal his wounds. He hadn’t planned to stay more than a year or two but time had passed and now he couldn’t imagine any other way of life.