Steely looked around. “Shh…no.”
“You’re the type that gives people no warning.”
“Miss Bea, please be civilized.” She pushed on to the next aisle, swooping up a small jar. She dropped it in the basket and darted toward the checkout line.
Bea grabbed the basket, causing everything in it to fling forward. “Are you trying to poison me?”
Steely scrunched her face. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”
“How would I know? I haven’t had peanut butter since I was five. I hated it then. I hate it now.”
“Miss Bea, I’m trying to stretch our funds. Let’s be flexible. OK?”
“If you get your peanut butter,” Bea said sternly, “then I’m getting my pressed ham.”
“Ham squashed up in a can?”
“I’ve been eating that ham since I was born. My momma said it was my first baby food.”
“How much per ounce?”
“Not as much as peanut butter.”
“Then get it and meet me in the checkout line.”
Bea left grumbling. “All this shopping makes me nervous.”
Steely rolled the cart in line with the others. She gazed at a rack of magazines.
Bea came back with two cans and dropped them into the cart. “There. Come on. I have to go.”
Steely was disengaged, staring at a cantina pictured on the front of a periodical. The bartender donned an apron standing behind a long bar. Steely had never seen where her dad died.
Bea nudged her. “You going to start drinking?”
Steely shook her head. “I need to run an errand tonight.”
The cashier called out, “Next, please.”
Chapter thirty
She made her way through dozens of pickups. Hers was the only sedan in the parking lot. Last time she’d called Sergeant Donovan was two years ago. Her dad’s case was ice cold. Whoever killed her father was most still likely out there, living an unrestricted life.
The sign on the door was still there: NO ADMITTANCE UNDER 21. She was now old enough to push open the door without being stopped. She was of age.
The inside was identical to the pictures she’d memorized. Beat-up and dingy. Packed with more men than women. She surveyed the room from the mental image that never left her mind. The wall in question was to her right. A lady, with a grease-stained apron, greeted her. “Can I get you something?”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Ten years. Too long, in my opinion.”
Steely thought about the best way to bring up the incident. She had played it out in her mind hundreds of times.
The woman folded her notepad and stuck it in a pocket on her apron. “Can I help you with something?”
“Were you here when a man died, nine years ago?”
The lady’s face broadened. “Your pop?”
Steely preferred to be anonymous. “How’d you know?”
“You don’t look like anyone else in here. And who else your age would be asking about the man who passed nine years ago?”
Steely slowly circled the area to get a general look. Then she squeezed her view back toward the lady. “What happened?”
“Your pop came in by himself.” She pointed out a table against a wall. It was the same one Steely would have picked. “He had a large envelope in his lap. Sure didn’t want to be here, kept looking at his watch. Sat there a good ten minutes waiting before a bushy-haired man and a rail of a woman came in and sat at the table next to him. He didn’t seem to know them. It was real strange. The man tried to give your dad something, but he threw it back at him. I went to the other side of the room to take orders since they didn’t want anything. The next thing I heard was screams. Then fists flying, tables turned upside down, and chairs tossed in the air. When things settled, your pop wasn’t the only one on the floor. He was just the only one who didn’t get up. I called nine one one. The man and woman vanished.”
“Is there anything about them that stood out?”
“Yeah, they looked as much out of place as your pop. The man had an accent, like German or maybe Russian. I don’t know for sure.”
“Anything else? Even if it seems insignificant.”
“She called him Steve, or something. I couldn’t hear too well. I don’t know for sure.”
Steely’s face reddened.
“You all right?” The waitress passed her a rough napkin.
Steely squeezed it. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, and another thing. Some guy came in an hour before, plopped down a grand, and covered all bar tabs. People got drunker than usual. Then, the fight. Some guys are mean drunks. HPD left a number for me to call if the two ever showed back up. They’re not showing back up here. Curley would give them what they got coming if they did.”
Steely cleared her throat. “Did you see where he hit the wall?”
“Right there.” The lady pointed to a nail hole.
Steely stood adjacent to the wall. Her father was six inches taller than she was. The wall proved he was standing and shoved on purpose, just as Donovan said.
“HPD took the nail. Not another one like it on the entire wall. Who would put a double-pointed nail in a bar?”
She tilted her head. “Double…pointed?”
“Yeah, you know—pointed on both ends.”
“I’ve seen enough. Thanks for your time.” Steely was leaving with a graphic visual she would rather not have. The envelope Fred brought with him had disappeared before HPD showed up. She knew what was in it. Bank statements can easily be reproduced. They don’t disappear forever. Banks keep them for years.
As long as you know they exist, you can get them.
The late-night trip to Curley’s confirmed what she knew at fourteen. Her dad wasn’t murdered over another woman. The woman was a coconspirator.
It was late when she arrived home. But she couldn’t go to bed until she combed the attic one more time. Obsessively, she yanked up the insulation, taking a flashlight to it. There was nothing that surprised her, only the exoskeletal remains of a few roaches. She gave up, shut the garage, and crashed on the sofa. Thirty minutes later, Bea ran from her bedroom screaming.
“The rats! The rats!” Bea flipped on the lights and circled the living room. “The rats are after us!” Bea darted to the front windows and beat on the wooden blinds. “The rats are killing us!”
Steely jumped up, trying to get hold of her. “Miss Bea, there are no rats.” Steely couldn’t restrain her arms, flailing aimlessly in the air. The blinds were crumbled. She tried escaping through a window that was never going to open. But even if she managed to break the glass, she couldn’t hike herself up enough to get out of it. The living-room door, a couple of feet away, was an easy escape, needing only a flip of a lock.
“Miss Bea, wake up!” Steely said, finally pinning Bea against the wall. “You’re having a nightmare again.”
Bea looked frightened and confused at the mangled blinds. Then she viewed the room around her and calmed. “The rats want us dead.”
“Let’s have a seat, and we can talk about those bad rats.” Steely helped her to the chair and then lay back on the sofa and pulled a blanket up to her neck.
“The rats aren’t real rats,” Bea began.
“That’s reassuring.”
“They’re people.”
Steely lifted her head. “Real people?”
“It’s a man, a woman, and a girl who looks pretty and ugly at the same time.”
“Maybe this is just a bad dream because you’re afraid of rats.”
“No, it’s more than that. The man’s face is shadowed. He’s a gorilla. It’s not Harry Keaton. I’d like to slap that girl. She took control of everyone, including the wicked woman.” Bea stopped and looked around the room. “What did you do with my things?” she asked, irritated.
“They’re stacked in the dining area. Some on the floor of the garage, where you can easily reach them.”
“I hope you didn’t throw anything awa
y.”
“Only the trash. Miss Bea, please try not to holler anymore. I was up late—”
“My voice naturally projects. When I sang opera, they could hear me without a microphone.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
Bea sniffed. She squeezed the arms of the recliner and leaned back. “This chair smells strange. You didn’t mess with it, did you?”
“I dug enough food out of it to fill a grocery sack. Some looked petrified. I sprayed it with disinfectant.”
Bea lifted her arm to check the seat below. “How’d food get in there?”
“It jumped off your plate.” Steely shut her eyes, tucked her head under the blanket, blocking out the bright light. “I’m going to sleep a little bit longer.”
Bea grunted, “You need to sleep in your bed. That’s what beds are for—sleeping.”
“Do you see that key on the coffee table? It fell out of one of the boxes.”
Bea sprang forward and grabbed it. “It’s for a safety deposit box. We had a box. Then they demolished the bank, right before we left town. I don’t think there was much in it.” Bea rotated the key between two fingers. “I have no idea where Jack got another box. There’s a hundred banks in town.”
“You might want to start looking. Just in case.”
“Huh,” Bea grunted. “I’ll tell you what’s in it. The cob. The big fat cob!”
Steely sat up and folded her blanket, placing it neatly on the end of the sofa. “I guess it’s time to get dressed and find a job since nobody’s sleeping here.”
“Don’t be snippy, Miss Priss. I told you to sleep in the bed.”
“It was just an observation. I meant no disrespect.”
Bea squeezed the key in her hand. “I hate having nightmares about rats. This isn’t my first, you know.”
“At least you got some exercise.”
“Did you really make something positive out of a nightmare that almost gave me a heart attack? I wake up in a frenzy ’cause someone is trying to kill us, and you make something good out of it? I can’t take it anymore! You’re driving me nuts. My nerves are shot.” Bea rubbed her neck. “When I get tension in the morning, it lasts all day.”
“Screaming probably gives your nerves a shock. I’m sure Mrs. Yost heard you. She’s probably setting out rat bait as we speak.”
“That nosy old woman,” Bea said in a loud voice. “She lurks outside the windows!”
“It’s her duty as the neighborhood watch captain to keep an eye on things.”
“Huh. Neighborhood busybody. Sticks a five-dollar flashing light on her car and snoops in everybody’s business. What’s a hundred-year-old going to do when there’s real trouble?”
“Call HPD. Fastest dialer in town. Plays the piano. That lady can hit those keys when she needs to. I think she got a medal in college. Was going pro—”
“Do you like to hear yourself talk?”
“Sometimes I find myself entertaining.” Steely hopped over the back of the sofa. “I’m getting excited about looking for a job.”
“Excited?” Bea adjusted a pillow behind her and then rested up against it. “Why?”
“I like working. Everybody works at something—the difference is whether you get rewarded monetarily. Sometimes you do something for someone just because they need help. And you’re the only one who can help them.”
“Caca.”
“You mean that in a nice way?”
“Jack always helped the strays. And they bit him. If he hadn’t helped Harry, he couldn’t have taken advantage of him. Then he and David wouldn’t have been out there mowing grass. And they wouldn’t have had that accident.” Bea folded her arms tightly.
“Miss Bea, I can’t explain why bad things happen. But I do know we must still keep doing the right thing.”
Bea paused for a few seconds. She grunted, unfolded her arms and hit the remote control to flip on the news. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Steely went around the sofa. She knelt by Bea. “Miss Bea, we have to continue living. It’s been over a year.”
Bea muted the TV. Her eyes teared. “You don’t need to remind me how long it’s been. Part of me went off that cliff too. I almost lost my mind. Who dreams about gangster rats? I think I’ve lost my mind.”
Steely gently answered, “I can’t imagine how you feel. But I know what it’s like to be alone and not have anybody…to lose everyone you love most in this world. To have no one to list on your college emergency card. To not know where you’re going to sleep at night. I know what that’s like. And I know you must move forward.”
“I think I’d feel better in the old folks’ home with the depressed people.”
“The residents at Star of Light aren’t depressed.”
“They’re more depressed than you. You’re just too peppy for me. Bubbly all the time. I heard you last week when you stepped in dog poop.” Bea pointed outside. “Right there, in the yard. ‘Oh, good thing I didn’t have on new shoes.’ I’ve never heard anyone in my life say something positive about dog poop!”
“Miss Bea, what do you think Jack and David would want you to do?”
Bea hushed.
“You’ll never forget your son or your husband. Ever. You may even think of them every day for the rest of your life. I do. I think of my parents too. Every day.”
Bea turned her head toward her. “You do?”
“Yes, every day.”
“I would’ve never known. You seem so insensitive.”
“You know, God has something He wants you to do, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Now you’re bringing God into this?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Bea reached over the side of the chair, flipped up the footrest, and reclined. “When I die, you’ll probably put a jar of peanut butter on my headstone. The cheap one with the coupon.” She peacefully closed her eyes. A few seconds later, her phone rang. “I can’t move. You better get that. It’s on my nightstand.”
Steely thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but the caller would get a message saying, “This mailbox has not been set up.” Steely hurried to the bedroom and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Hunter, this is Sheriff Tucker.”
She cringed.
“Hello?” Tucker said.
Steely whispered, “Sheriff, this is Steely Hunter.” She took a deep breath and went to the far corner of the bedroom.
“Did you leave town?”
“Yes. We left last week.”
“I see. Well, I have some bad news. Someone broke into the farmhouse.”
“They did?” Steely slid down in the corner, behind the drapes.
“Yeah, real strange. Somebody tried to get in there last year, on the day of the service. This time they tore open the drawers and closets. You have any idea what they were looking for?”
“No. Everything we left is old and doesn’t really have any value.”
“Maybe it was some kids acting up. Also, we finally managed to get the vehicle out of the canyon. I’m sorry it took so long, but we tried to minimize the risk to my deputies.”
“I understand, Sheriff. We didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, either.”
“We’re going to check out each piece then—”
“Check for what?” she said, interrupting him.
“The base was lodged into the rocks so deeply it couldn’t be examined in the initial investigation. It’s standard procedure that we check out every part of a vehicle in an accident like this. I’ll contact you when we finish.”
“I see. Thank you, Sheriff.” Steely placed the cell beside the bed and headed back to the living room.
Bea was up staring out the living-room window. “Now we’ll finally know what really happened!”
Steely looked back at the bedroom and then the living room. “Miss Bea, could you hear that?”
“What does he think I am? Some kind of fool?” Bea said, irritated.
“Fool
?” Steely looked puzzled.
“Well, I’m no fool!”
“He’s routinely checking out the vehicle.”
“Routine? Is your life routine?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“He’s suspicious of something,” she said, pacing.
“He said the accident was caused by poor weather conditions.”
“Why didn’t I see it? Something’s not right.”
“With the truck?”
Breathing rapidly, Bea moved abruptly around the room. “Someone caused Jack to veer off that cliff. I’m telling you, it was no accident, and it wasn’t Jack’s fault.”
“Why don’t you have seat?” Steely said gently. “And I’ll get you some iced tea.”
Bea calmed enough to sit. Her hands nervously shook as Fur Ball curled up in her lap. “As kids, Jack and I rode horses down that road. He knew that curve well. He was always so careful.” Bea nodded.
Steely wrapped a napkin around a glass of tea and handed it to Bea.
Bea sipped. “I guess I’ve been too upset to think straight. Jack didn’t miss the curve. Somebody killed my husband and my son. You think I’m nuts?”
“No, Miss Bea. I don’t. Please try to sit back.” Steely had heard Bea say some wild things. She had been insulted and almost run off. She chalked it up to Bea having a bad day more often than not. Today was not one of those days.
Beatrice Hunter wasn’t always wrong.
Chapter thirty-one
Nick Dichiara bypassed parking by hiking the eight blocks from the JHI Tower to Harris County District. Attorney Macini’s office. He bypassed the waiting too, since Louie Macini was his first cousin, once removed. Being a cousin was both good and bad for Nick. The good part meant Macini would see Nick with no notice at all. The bad was that Macini was fifteen years older than Nick, and he still viewed Nick as his baby cousin who ate dirt.
The office was tired, like almost everyone there. Macini had his head stuck in his computer monitor, viewing the contents of the flash drive. He clicked and scrolled down the page. The computer was slow. Working with an eight-year-old program was a century old in software life.
Nick pointed at the screen. “Keaton drained the company. Can’t you see it?”
“Sure, I see it. I would assume he’s funding the affiliates and then wiring the funds back as profits come in. JHI makes some kind of cheese. Nobody would really care about this except the IRS. Are they OK with it?”
No Offense Page 16
