Small Town Spin

by Walker, LynDee

  “Sorry.” I smiled. “Just a glass of iced tea, please.”

  “At least you’re easy,” she smiled, filling a tall glass with ice and grabbing a pitcher.

  “I know a couple guys who would disagree with that,” I said.

  She put the glass on the bar and I downed half of it in one gulp. Seriously. Like liquid crack. She refilled it. “It’s all about finding the one who’s worth it,” she said. “Not easy to do when you work in a place like this.”

  “This place is fairly tame when you think about what it could be,” I said.

  “Bobbi runs a tight ship, no joke.” She picked up an order chit and turned to grab a couple of bottles, pouring both liquors and some sour mix into a clean shaker. “But still. When this is what you see of men all day…”

  “I hear you,” I said over more hooting, thinking about the glassy look that had even come over Parker. I could imagine a girl would get jaded pretty quick. I scanned the crowd for our waitress, who was now across the fifty-yard line, but stopped at another table, and turned back to order Parker a Sam Adams.

  Glasses in hand, I stepped away from the bar, the mason jar bouncing around my thoughts. I stole a look at the cowboy and his friends. They were all drinking beer, except him.

  He tossed his glass back as he watched the show, setting it on the table empty.

  I stared, halfway wanting him to slump over and solve the case for me, then feeling like I was going straight to hell for having such a thought. He kept laughing and talking. I watched for so long one of his buddies noticed, and the guy turned and winked at me when his friend elbowed him and whispered something in his ear. I felt my cheeks heat and smiled, scurrying back to my table to gather Parker’s jaw from the floor.

  “What is it with y’all?” I asked as I sat down. “I know you’ve been to racier places than this, and you can look at a real live naked woman that you can touch anytime you damn well please.”

  He ran one hand through his perfectly-tousled blond hair. Every strand fell right back into place. “I think you need testosterone to understand, because I have no explanation for you.” He sipped his beer and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Our server is juggling seventy tables. I think Bobbi was understaffed for the crowd that turned out tonight.”

  “Your story was spot on.” He caught my gaze with his green eyes. “I know you wondered after the old bat made a scene this afternoon, but this place is cool, on many levels. You did a good thing here. Stop worrying.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Parker. You’re a pretty good friend, you know it?”

  “I’m good at everything. It’s the price of being me.”

  “Modest, too.”

  “Honesty is much more endearing than modesty.”

  “You are too much.” I drained my tea glass.

  “That’s what she said.”

  He caught me flat-footed with the last and I snorted iced tea when I laughed. Ouch. Tea trickled out my nose, my eyes watering because it burned. I ducked my head and groped for a napkin. “Jesus, Parker.”

  “I don’t think I’ve made a girl snort anything since the sixth grade.” He handed me a tissue. “I feel accomplished now.”

  “So glad I could be part of it.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else just as Bobbi fell into the booth beside me.

  “Damn, I’m going to need to hire more servers if this keeps up,” she huffed. “Running drinks is tiring.”

  “This is busier than you expected to be tonight, then?”

  “Ohmigod, yes,” she said. “We usually get about fifteen regulars in for dinner on Mondays, maybe two of whom could give a damn about the show. The girls have been after me to close on Monday nights for weeks, because they don’t make much in tips. I was thinking about it, too, but I don’t think I’ll get any complaints tonight.”

  “No complaints from this corner.” Parker smiled and offered a hand.

  “I’m sorry, y’all—Grant Parker, Bobbi Jo, Bobbi Jo, this is Parker. He’s a big fan of yours.”

  “Well, my grandaddy was a big fan of yours,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d sign something for me? A napkin, or a menu? Made out to the club. I’ll start a wall of fame.”

  “Anything you want.” He smiled.

  She trailed her eyes over him in a way that said Mel might not appreciate what she wanted, and I jumped back into the conversation.

  “I’m glad the story helped,” I said, trying to figure out how to ask about the moonshine without being too obvious and coming up with nothing. I took a deep breath and hoped my brownie points for pulling in so much business would stretch that far. “Hey, Bobbi, when you said the other day about buying local stuff,” I toyed with the salt shaker, “does that extend to the liquor y’all serve?”

  She stared for a minute. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  “I think you do,” I said. “I think I saw a mason jar pop out from under the bar when I went to get my tea.”

  She sighed. “There are things that are different out here than they are in Richmond.”

  “And there are companies that produce moonshine that is regulated by the ABC,” I said. “I have a hunch that’s not the kind you’re serving. I also have a suspicion that some backwoods shine might have been involved in the deaths of a couple of kids out here.”

  “TJ Okerson and his little girlfriend? Everyone says it was suicide,” she said, her eyes widening.

  “Listen, I don’t want it getting around town that anyone thinks it might not be, and the sheriff decidedly disagrees with me,” I said. “Until the tox screens come back, no one knows anything for sure, but there was moonshine—the local, unregulated kind—at both of the scenes, and I’m wondering if there was something wrong with it. A bad batch, maybe. Or a couple of spiked jars.”

  “Well, if the batch was bad, why isn’t anyone else sick?” Bobbi asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, my eyes flitting to the big guy in the red shirt, who was still fine. “Maybe someone put something in it. But to find that out, I have to find out where it came from. I hear there are three stills that run on the island these days. Do you buy from all of them?”

  “Just one. I’ve known the family forever. Went to school with the guys. They look a little scary, maybe, but they wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Do you mind if I have a look at the jar you have?”

  “If I lose my ABC license, I’ll have to close down,” she said.

  “I’m not looking to print where I got this particular information,” I said. “I just want to see if it’s the same kind.”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  The waitress set food in front of us just as Bobbi stood up.

  “You two enjoy your dinner,” Bobbi said. “I’ve got work to do, anyway. Just come over to the bar when you’re through.”

  She excused herself. Parker bit into a rib and chewed thoughtfully, smiling at me as he swallowed.

  “This is good barbecue. Hey, don’t take this wrong, but are you sure the moonshine thing isn’t just an interesting side story? I’ve met you. Poking into criminal crap that people don’t want you nosing around in is kind of your schtick.”

  “I’m not sure about anything,” I said. “The more I think about this, the more convoluted it gets. All the what ifs and possibilities are enough to give me a headache. I mean, start with the most obvious one: what if the sheriff is right?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you’re too close to the story to see that clearly.”

  “Are you? You told me you thought something was off from the get-go.”

  I chewed a mouthful of beans while I considered that.

  “I did. I do.” I sighed. “But, I have my own baggage with this story, Parker.”

  “I caught that when we talked to Bob this morning. You feel like sharing?”

  I shook my head. “Way too long a story for a place this loud and crowded. But I’ve been playing devil’s advocate with my
self, trying to figure out if I’m projecting into this case, and I really don’t think so. Trouble is, the puzzle is entirely too blurry for me to see what’s going on if we’re right and the sheriff’s wrong. Some days, I miss good old-fashioned homicides. Smoking guns and open and shut cases are way less stressful.”

  He finished the ribs and moved on to his chicken. “Seriously, what is in this sauce?”

  “Crack?” I grinned. “I think it’s in the tea, too.”

  “Maybe. Anyway. I don’t know how you do your job and stay off antidepressants. And I know you’ve caught shit from Bob before about some of your detective stories. But I’m with you on this one. Something’s not right, and we seem to be the only people who give a damn about that. I’m really glad I have you in my corner.”

  “I’m not sure how much good I’m doing you. I can’t figure which end is up, but something’s definitely weird.”

  I wolfed down the rest of my food and another glass of tea and stood. “I’m going to go check out the local firewater. Be right back.”

  “Don’t drink it,” he called as I turned.

  Check. I’d never tried anything stronger than a whiskey shot at a frat party once, and that made me sick.

  I spotted Bobbi behind the bar, trying to help keep up with drink orders, and waited at one end until it looked like she had room to breathe.

  I waved, and she crooked one finger and raised the walk-through on the far end.

  “I can trust you, right? You didn’t make us look like smut peddlers in the paper, despite what Dorothy told you.” She offered an uncertain smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “This place is everything to me.”

  “I get it. I really do.” I squeezed her hand. “These children were everything to their parents, too.”

  She nodded, pulling the jar from its hidey-hole and handing it over. “I’ve never heard of it making anyone sick,” she said. “I mean, other than normal, hungover sick.”

  I turned the jar over in my hands. It didn’t have a label.

  “The one I saw at the bridge had a label on it,” I said. “Does this ever have one?”

  “The Sidell boys say that’s stupid, because it makes it traceable,” she said, shaking her head. “But I know some of them do. I’ve seen more moonshine than you can shake a tree limb at.”

  I looked sideways at her. “You grew up here,” I said. “The sheriff said the kids have parties on the beach and at the bridge all the time.”

  Bobbi Jo laughed. “What else are they going to do?”

  “Are there always a lot of kids?” I leveled a serious gaze at her. “Could you kill someone without being noticed?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve never had occasion to wonder about that. I suppose it depends on how you went about it. Is it loud enough to mask gunfire? No. Someone would call the sheriff. But could you drown someone, or strangle them, maybe? If you were strong enough and got them away from everyone, sure.”

  I unscrewed the cap and smelled the contents, totally clearing what was still blocked of my sinuses. I shoved the jar and lid back toward Bobbi, my eyes watering again. “People drink this?”

  “Never understood it myself, but it’s a time-honored tradition. That’s why I keep it. A lot of the guys who come in won’t drink anything else.”

  “Maybe it burned off all their taste buds years ago.” I swiped at my nose.

  She laughed. “Could be. My granddaddy ran moonshine back in the day. Had the fastest car in ten counties. You know that’s how NASCAR got started, right? Moonshine runners souping up their cars to outrun the law?” She screwed the lid back on the jar and stashed it.

  “I heard that. This place is full of interesting history.” I smiled. I liked Bobbi, but more than that, I respected what she was trying to do for her hometown, and the creativity with which she’d gone about it.

  “My grandaddy used to tell a story about John Lennon coming into town once,” she said. “He and Yoko wanted a retreat where no one would bother them, and they bought a place on the bay. A historical landmark with a mill that dates back to the revolution and was used to grind grain for Washington’s troops.”

  “You’re kidding. John Lennon lived in Mathews?”

  “Well, no. He was killed before they got the house renovated. It sat empty for years. The story goes that Yoko gave it to charity. The charity sold it to the current owners. But it’s a fun bit of trivia.”

  I nodded, filing that away. I might be able to fit it into a story in passing, or maybe look it up and do a sidebar if I ever figured this mess out.

  Bobbi stared at me for a long second. “Do you really think someone murdered those kids? I can’t remember the last time there was a murder in Mathews.”

  “That’s because it was before you were born,” I said. “I checked. I know it doesn’t happen out here very often. And I’m not really sure what I think. All I know is my gut says there’s something funky, and I seem to be the only one who thinks so. Funny, I usually hope I’m wrong when I’m doing stuff like this, but here, I’m not sure what to hope. The whole situation is just sad.”

  “That it is. TJ was a good kid.”

  “You knew him?” The way most folks seemed to feel about newcomers, I was a little surprised by that.

  “My boyfriend is an assistant football coach at the high school. I wish I could’ve gone to the service today. I was going to, but then things went bonkers here and I couldn’t get away.”

  I nodded. Everyone really did know everyone else. I kind of thought that was better in theory than in practice.

  “Thanks for your help, Bobbi.”

  “It didn’t look like it was much help,” she laughed.

  “Do you know who else makes moonshine? The jar I saw had three x’s across the middle of it.”

  “That came from the Parsons place,” she said. “They’re on the island itself, and very—you ever see Deliverance?”

  “I have.” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not sure I want to meet the living version.”

  “Probably best to stay clear unless you’re packing,” she advised. Fabulous.

  I dodged pinching fingers that had been through another round of drinks and found Parker downing the last of his beer, all the food baskets empty.

  “You find what you were looking for?” he asked.

  “Of course not. It couldn’t be that easy. There’s moonshine, but it’s not the same kind Syd had. Moreover, Bobbi says the dudes who make the one Sydney drank are bad news.”

  “The kind of bad news that means you might get hurt messing with them?”

  “But also the kind that means there might have been something wrong with the damned alcohol. So I really want to check that out. But I like breathing.”

  “What about your friend—the federal agent guy? Can he help?”

  “I don’t know. I’m working on that.”

  Kyle would be a good person to have along. Except, of course, that he would never agree to let me tag along to a call like that. And what if he got shot chasing a lead I took him? I’d never get over that.

  “You ready to get out of here?” I asked.

  “Anytime you are,” he said. “We’re not telling Mel where we had dinner, right?”

  “Mel will not give a rat’s ass about you watching girls dance around in bikinis. But whatever you say.”

  He dug a few bills out of his pocket and dropped them in the pickle jar on the way out. “Just the same,” he said.

  My Blackberry binged as we stepped outside and I pulled it out. I had seventeen texts from Bob.

  “WHERE ARE YOU?” The most recent one read, all caps.

  “Shit. That’s never good.” I flipped my scanner on when I got in the car, but it didn’t pick up Richmond feed out there.

  I dialed Bob’s cell.

  “What’s wrong?” Parker started the engine.

  “Don’t know.” I held up one finger.

  “What the hell have you done?” Bob demanded when he picked up.

 
; “I was covering the Okerson funeral all afternoon, just like you told me to,” I said. “Didn’t you get my email?”

  “Of course I got your email,” he barked. “And I don’t appreciate you playing coy with me. Nichelle, this was supposed to be an exclusive. And you always play your investigative stuff close to the vest. So why the hell did the Post just tweet a teaser for a story questioning the suicide claim?”

  I caught a breath and held it. “I have no idea.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?” he asked. “How could they have gotten it? You, me, and Parker are the only people who know about it.”

  And Bobbi Jo. And the Okersons. And Sydney’s mother. And Joey. And Kyle. But I didn’t think it pertinent to mention that.

  “The sheriff?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine why he’d tell another reporter something he’d been vehemently denying to me all week.

  I heard a female voice in the background. A distinctly whiny, high-pitched voice that hit my ears like railroad ties on a chalkboard. Shelby. I couldn’t understand what she said, but Bob’s voice tightened more, if that were even possible.

  “They’re running it tomorrow morning. I want something from you by nine. And I need the funeral write-up, too.”

  Crap. Since that was an exclusive, I’d planned to send it in after I got home. I checked the clock. “Bob, it’s seven-fifteen.”

  “And I am holding the front for copy I expect to have in my email by nine. Nichelle, I—” He stopped. “I don’t want to believe you leaked this to the Post to try to impress them. I think I know you better than that. But you better hope you have more than they do, and that they have some other source. Because Andrews has gotten an earful of your D.C. ambitions this afternoon, and he’s not happy.”

  Dammit. The publisher on my case was not what I needed.

  “Bob, I would never—”

  “I told him that. Do not let me down,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I hung up, my mind frantically spinning through what I might be able to do with what I had in an hour. And what I should give up and what I should keep quiet.

  “What gives?” Parker asked when I slung the phone into the dash.

  “The Post has a story on possible foul play in TJ’s death,” I sighed, digging for my notebook. I paused. “Tony played in D.C. Do you think he might have talked to someone?”