“Capes?” Red asked.
“Never mind.”
Red shrugged it off. “So, what's next?”
“I think we should head up to Marathon tomorrow morning,” Dan replied, “and have a little chat with Lyndon.”
“Ask him what he and Branson were arguing about,” Red added.
“Might want to speak to the little girl as well,” said Maxine.
“Don't need your help,” Dan grumbled.
Maxine put up her hands. “Sorry.”
Dan downed the rest of his tequila, Seven, and lime, and slid the glass across the bar to Red.
“You want another one?” Red asked. His eyes went to Maxine for approval.
“Why wouldn't I?” Dan asked. Dan caught Red and Maxine's eyes locking.
Maxine nodded her head.
“Just asking,” said Red.
“Really, Maxine?” Dan said.
“What?” Maxine asked.
“I saw that little head nod.”
“What head nod? Red, did you see a head nod?”
“I didn't see nothin'.”
“Whatever you say, Schultz.” Dan looked to Maxine. “I don't need your permission to have another drink.”
“Sounds like someone's a little paranoid,” said Maxine.
“Order up!” someone shouted from the kitchen.
“Who's cooking back there?” Dan asked.
“Derrick,” Red replied. “Phil and April are in Oklahoma for a couple of weeks. They shut down Island Adventures while they're gone. Derrick volunteered to come in and cook for a few days.”
“How did the interview go with Char's brother?”
“Really well. The kid's got a lot of experience.”
“Did ya hire him?”
“Um … I'm waiting till tomorrow.”
“Waiting for what?”
“I'll let him know tomorrow.”
“What are you waiting for? You said the interview went really good. You said he had a lot of experience. What's the prob—oh, I get it.”
“Get what?” Red asked. “You don't get anything.”
“You're waiting to talk to The Amazing Gary.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Talk to him about what?” Maxine asked.
“You're waiting for The Amazing Gary's approval,” said Dan.
“No I'm not.”
“You need The Amazing Gary's approval to hire a cook?” Maxine asked. “What am I missing?”
“Red's been seeing The Amazing Gary once a week.”
“Why?” asked Maxine.
“Evidently, because he has more money than brains.”
“Dan's just jealous because he's not the one telling me what to do,” Red said.
“Red,” said Maxine, “the guy's a fake. No one can predict the future. No one can read minds.”
“He's not predicting the future or reading my mind, Maxine,” Red argued. “He's just acting as kind of a life coach.”
“Red, I think a real life coach would tell you not to give your money to a phony psychic.”
“You sound like Dan,” Red replied.
“Wow,” said Maxine. “no one's ever told me that before.”
“Stick with me, kid,” Dan said, “you'll learn a lot.”
“Oh, brother,” Maxine responded.
“So, what time is your appointment with The Amazing Gary tomorrow?” Dan asked.
Red stared at his friend for a few seconds. He didn't want to answer … but finally did. “Three o'clock.”
“Good,” Dan said. “We should be done talking to Lyndon way before then. Maybe I'll go with you to The Amazing Gary's mystic mansion.”
“Actually,” Red responded, “that might not be a bad idea. Gary does couples counseling as well.”
“We're not a couple,” Dan shot back.
“We kinda are.”
“No we're not.”
“Well, we—”
“No! We're not.”
Maxine chuckled. “Maybe you and I should see The Amazing Gary,” she said. “Maybe he could help us out.”
“What the hell is wrong with us?”
“Well, nothing is wrong with me,” said Maxine.
“Ouch.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dan took a right off of US 1 onto 81st Street. Red read aloud the house numbers as they drove down the street.
“This must be it right up here on the left,” said Red.
Dan steered his Porsche to the curb and shut off the engine.
Lyndon's house was nothing fancy. It was a small, single-story, vinyl-sided house that sat on round cement pillars. A black 1983 Chevy Camaro sat parked under the house. An eighteen-foot aluminum skiff was parked in the driveway to the right of the house. It looked like it hadn't been off it's trailer in quite some time. A thin, leafy vine was growing up the trailer's wheel, over the starboard side of the boat, and around it's steering wheel.
Dan and Red climbed out of the car and looked over the place from across the street. Dan adjusted his Wayfarers, glanced up toward the morning sun, and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He dried his hand on the front of his shirt, and then tugged at the pits of his T-shirt.
“Hot,” Red commented.
“Damn right,” Dan agreed. “Ya know, when Retha said Lyndon got a big chunk of change and a house in the divorce, I pictured something a lot nicer.”
The two men walked across the street, up the stairs, and onto the deck. The deck looked like it had been staged for a spread in Redneck Porches Monthly. Lyndon's deck could probably even make the cover. To the right of the door was what appeared to be an old cotton candy machine. To the left of the door was a large chest freezer and an electric stove that hadn't been used in years. Across from the door, against the railing, was a picnic table with no benches. An umbrella pole was sticking through a hole in the middle of the table. The umbrella was long gone. Three plastic deck chairs sat next to the benchless picnic table. Green indoor/outdoor carpeting, threadbare, covered most of the deck's floor, and had been cut to fit around the stove and freezer out of laziness. Screwed to the railing, on opposite sides of the deck, were 2x4s nailed together in the shape of a T. A ratty cotton clothesline rope was strung back and forth from one T to the other. Two sleeveless T-shirts and a faded beach towel hung from the makeshift clothesline. Dan and Red ducked to walk under the ropes.
“How we gonna do this?” Red asked.
“Like two bumbling idiots,” Dan replied jokingly.
“So, business as usual.”
They both chuckled.
Dan knocked on the door.
A painfully thin teen with long red hair pulled open the door. A galaxy of freckles covered the girl's face and arms. “Yes?” asked the girl. “Can I help you?”
“Shelby?” Dan asked. He thought the girl resembled a Carrie-era Sissy Spacek.
“Yes,” she replied. “Is my mom okay?”
“She's fine,” said Red. “Is your father here?”
“I'm Dan Coast, and this is my associate, Red Baxter,” Dan informed her. “We just need to speak to your father. It's about your step-father.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “So it's nothing important then,” she commented.
Dan smiled. “Is your father around?”
Shelby pointed to the back of the house, toward the canal. “He's fishing out back.”
“Thanks,” Dan said. He and Red turned back toward the stairs.
As they walked down the stairs, Dan looked back over his shoulder. Shelby had closed the door all but a crack, and was still watching them. Dan smiled at her, and Shelby shut the door. At the bottom of the stairs, the duo took a right and walked under the house.
“What's Lyndon's last name?” Red whispered.
Dan shrugged. “I never asked.”
“Maybe Maxine should have written down some questions for you to ask.”
“Shut up.”
It was about eight feet from the back of the house to the seawall. Lyndon st
ood with a fishing pole in his hand, his back to Dan and Red. Lyndon was shirtless and shoeless, and wearing an old pair of dingy, white cotton capris. His shoulder-length sat-and-pepper hair was thinning on top. He stood about five-eight. He was thin, but muscular, with almost no detectable body fat.
“Lyndon?” Dan asked. “How they bitin'?”
Lyndon was startled. He spun around to face the men. He held his fishing rod like a foil. “What do you want?” he asked. He winced in pain when he put his right foot down.
Dan put up his hands. “I'm Dan Coast, and this is Red Baxter,” he explained. “We just want to talk.”
“Who sent you?” Lyndon shot back. “That little pipsqueak?”
“Pipsqueak?” Dan asked. “Are you talking about Branson?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” Lyndon was still girding for a fight.
“We're friends of Lola's,” Dan said.
“My Lola?” Lyndon asked.
“Your ex-Lola,” Red replied.
“That's what I meant.”
“We just have a few questions for you,” said Dan.
“Let me guess,” said Lyndon. “That little dipshit told her I yelled at him the other day. Ran right to mommy, didn't he? What a little bitch.”
“Mommy?” Red asked.
“That's how she treats him, for chrissakes. They don't even sleep in the same bed together.” Lyndon grabbed his crotch with his left hand. “When she was married to me she got what she needed, that's for sure. If ya know what I mean.” He put weight on his right foot again, and winced.
“I think we know what you mean,” Dan assured him.
Lyndon looked up at the house to make sure Shelby wasn't lurking somewhere above, listening to their conversation. “Anyway,” he said a little quieter, “I guess that was part of the problem. She never really liked the sex. She said I was too big. She said—”
“And that's a little more than I needed to know,” Red said. He turned around, saw a couple eight-inch cinder blocks standing on end, and slid one over closer to him. He took a seat on it.
“That's not why we're here,” said Dan. “Branson didn't tell her about your argument—at least, not as far as we know. She didn't mention anything to us about it.”
“Then why are ya here?”
“Someone else did see and hear the argument—Retha Davis.”
“That nosy bitch,” Lyndon commented. He began reeling in his fishing line. “Why would she tell you about that? What's it got to do with her? Nosy bitch.”
“When was the last time you saw Branson?”
“The day we argued. Why? What does it matter?”
“He disappeared the morning after the two of you fought.”
“Disappeared? What are you talking about? It wasn't really a fight. He shoved me. I shoved him. No big deal.”
“You mean you didn't know Branson had disappeared?” asked Red.
“How would I know that?”
“I figured Lola would have called you … or at least called Shelby,” Dan said.
“If Lola spoke with Shelby about it, Shelby never said anything to me.” He looked toward the house and hollered, “Shelby, come out here!”
“Retha Davis said you threatened Branson,” Dan said. “She said you told him you knew what he was doing. She said you told him to get out of town.”
“And now he's disappeared,” Red added.
“Well, maybe he took my advice, and got out of town.” He yelled at the house again. “Shelby! Nose probably stuck in her phone.”
“What did you find out Branson was doing?” Dan asked.
The front door swung open and Shelby stepped onto the porch. She walked to the railing and leaned over.
“Hold on,” Lyndon said to Dan and Red.
“Were you calling me?” Shelby asked.
“Yes.”
“What's up?”
“Have you spoken with your mother since you got to my house on Wednesday?”
“No. Why?”
“These guys said Branson has gone missin'.”
Shelby chuckled. “Branson always goes missing,” she said. “He goes missing about four or five times a year. He says he's traveling for work.” She made finger quotes around the word 'work'.
“Did Branson ever tell you what he does for a living?” Dan asked.
“No. Just that he travels a lot. I figured he's a salesman, or something. I didn't really care. If my mom's happy, I'm happy.”
“Thanks, Shelby,” Lyndon said.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah—wait, grab those tweezers on the end table for me.”
Shelby turned, went back into the house, and shut the door behind her.
Lyndon stood on one foot and pulled his right foot up to inspect the bottom. “Damn splinter,” he said.
Shelby walked back outside and leaned over the railing. “Catch,” she said, and let the tweezers drop. She turned and went back inside.
Lyndon picked up the tweezers and waited for the door to close before he started speaking again. “I didn't want the kid to hear this, but I found out that Branson was messin' around with some other woman. A buddy of mine was in Key West Wednesday afternoon—around dinner time. He saw Branson and some other woman in a restaurant together. He snapped a picture with his cell phone and sent it to me.”
“Did you tell Lola what your friend saw?” Dan asked.
“No, I went to see Branson around six that same night.” Lyndon laid his fishing pole on the concrete and limped over to the other cement block and took a seat. He began picking at the splinter in his foot. “I figured I'd speak to Branson myself—Ouch! I figured, why get Lola upset if I could nip it in the bud.”
“Lola wasn't there?” Red asked.
“No, Branson told me she had walked to the store.”
“What store?” Dan asked.
Lyndon shrugged. “He didn't say.”
“Where was Shelby?” asked Dan.
“She was here, at my house.” Lyndon pulled out the splinter. “Gotcha, ya bastard!” He held the tweezers up to his eye to inspect the sliver of wood. Then held it out for Dan and Red to see. “Treated lumber always seems to hurt more than regular lumber.”
“Did you threaten to show Lola the photograph?”
“Yes. I told Branson that if he didn't leave town, I would show Lola the picture.”
“Did he say he would leave?” Red asked.
“Nope. He said I would be sorry if I did show Lola the picture, and that I had no idea who I was dealin' with.”
“Can I see the photograph?” Dan asked.
Lyndon rose and reached into his pocket. “Sure.” He pulled out his cell, tapped the screen a few times, and turned the phone so Dan could see it.
It was Marilyn Valdosta in the photograph with Branson. They were sitting in a booth—on the same side of the table—in some restaurant. Marilyn held a cloth napkin in her hand and was wiping something off of Branson's cheek.
“Do you know where this was taken?” Dan asked.
“I can text my buddy and ask him.”
“I'd appreciate that,” said Dan.
Lyndon quickly sent out the text. “No tellin' when he'll get back to me.”
“I'll leave my number with you,” Dan said, “and you can shoot me a text when he does.”
Branson slipped the cell back into his pocket. “Sure enough.” He picked up his pole and began fiddling around with the reel. “Is there anything else? I'd like to get back to my supper snaggin'?”
“That's all I can think of,” said Dan. He glanced over at Red. “You?”
“I can't think of anything else,” said Red. He got up and slid the cinder block back to it's original position.
Dan thanked Lyndon for his help and the two men returned to Dan's car.
“Ya know what I was thinkin'?” Red asked, as he got into the passenger seat.
“No,” Dan replied. “What?”
“Branson is supposed to be a spy.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah.” Dan pulled his door shut and started the engine. “And?”
“Did you think to ask Marilyn or Lola if he ever carried a weapon?”
“I never thought to ask.”
“Maybe you should have Maxine write down some questions for you to ask next time.”
“Maybe you should shut up.”
“I'm just sayin'—”
“Well, stop sayin'.”
“Sometimes you don't ask some pretty obvious questions.”
Dan turned to his pal. “Red, if you notice an obvious question I don't ask, why don't you say something”
“I don't want to step on your toes.”
“I wish someone would step on your head.” Dan took a left onto US 1, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “Why do you think I bring you with me?”
“I thought I was just here for muscle.”
Dan nodded his head. “That too, I guess.”
“I'll try and speak up from now on.”
“Good.”
“I'm hungry.” He stretched his neck as they drove past Dunkin Donuts. “There was a Dunkin.”
“I don't want Dunkin.”
“See, I speak up, and you ignore me.”
“I didn't mean about food.”
“I can't read your mind.”
“That reminds me,” Dan said. “What time is your appointment with The Amazing Gary?”
“I told you—three o'clock. And you're not coming with me if you're gonna act like a dick.”
“When have I ever acted like a dick?” Dan shot back.
“I guess you're right,” said Red, “you're never acting.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dan dropped Red off at the bar, and then drove home, with the understanding that he would pick Red back up later and give him a ride to The Amazing Gary's. Maxine's car wasn't in the driveway when Dan arrived. He figured she was probably at work, but how would he really know? If she had told him, he likely wasn't paying attention.
Looking across the street as he climbed out of his car, Dan saw Old Man Stein sitting on his front steps. He had a drink in his hand. The drink was dark in color. Dan assumed it was rum and Coke.
What the hell is Stein's first name? he thought.
Stein held his glass in the air. Dan gathered it was an invite.
Harold, Dan thought. That's it. He walked across the street. “How's it going this morning, Harold?” he asked.
Corner Office (From the Tales of Dan Coast Book 12) Page 11
