Harry Bronson Box Set

by L C Hayden

  Bronson placed his hand on his wife’s arm and shook his head.

  That didn’t stop Quaid from responding. “It means that Bronson—the world-famous detective—knows exactly what to do and what not to do.” Quaid switched his attention from Carol to Bronson. “I’ll play your game, but only to a certain point. You better make sure neither of you disappear.”

  The sheriff headed toward the dresser. “I assume this is the vial.” He pointed to the item resting by Carol’s rings.

  “It is,” Bronson said between clenched teeth.

  Quaid retrieved a small plastic bag and without touching it, placed the vial in it. “If by some chance, I find some fingerprints that aren’t yours or Carol’s, I’ll let you know.” He sealed the bag and stuffed it in his pants pocket. “For the sake of convenience, would you mind if I take your fingerprints?”

  “Anythin’, in the spirit of cooperation,” Bronson said. Asshole.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  After Quaid walked out, Carol flopped down on the bed. Bronson sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder. He stared at the bureau, a plain, off-white-painted piece of furniture. How could such an insignificant piece of furniture cause so much trouble?

  Without raising her head off his shoulder, Carol asked, “Now what?”

  “Now I’m goin’ to talk to the people at the front desk to see if you or I requested to have our room card re-keyed.”

  A frown crossed Carol’s forehead. “We’ve never. . .”

  “Exactly.”

  Carol slowly nodded.

  Bronson continued, “I also plan to talk to security, see if they noticed anyone unusual or if someone reported anything of interest. Afterwards, I’ll find Lupe and talk to her.”

  “Who?”

  “The maid. I’m sure she knows somethin’.”

  “What about me? Is there anything I can do?” Carol asked.

  “Sure. I want you to drive us to La Paloma in Solomon.”

  Carol turned to gape at him. “You’re willing to take time off to eat?”

  “I’m willing to take time off to be with you.”

  She smiled. “Retirement becomes you.”

  “You become me. I hope you always know that.” He kissed her. “On the way over, I’ll tell you about my meeting with the O’Days.”

  Carol placed her hands on her hips. “Oooohhh, Harry Bronson!”

  “What? What did I say now?”

  * * * * *

  The drive to Solomon proved to be a relaxing time through the country roads. Most of the scenery consisted of farmland and wide-open spaces. From the outside, the restaurant itself reminded Bronson more of someone’s medium-size home rather than a fancy eating place.

  Once inside, they went down the wide hallway that led to the somewhat small dining area. Soon as they stepped in, Bronson spotted the O’Days. “Well, I’ll be. Just whom I wanted to talk to,” Bronson said.

  Carol poked him in the ribs. “How did you manage to do that?”

  “What can I say? I’ve got magic. Since they’re here, and I need to talk to them, would you mind if we all sit together?”

  “Sure, why not? Why would I ever think we could have a nice, peaceful meal, just the two of us.”

  “We can do that. We’ll talk to the O’Days, then move to our own table.”

  “That would be rude. It’s okay. We can eat with the O’Days.”

  “You’re sure now?”

  “I’m sure. Besides, maybe I’ll get a couple of pointers on how to be a detective.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Bronson reached for his wife’s hand and led her to the O’Days’ table.

  Tom looked up from the menu. “Bronson.” He nodded at Carol.

  “Mind if we join you?” Bronson asked, pulling out a chair for Carol. He sat next to her.

  Tom’s forehead furrowed. “I thought that’s why you invited us to have dinner with you and your wife.”

  Underneath the table, Carol kicked Bronson. He flashed her a mischievous look and shrugged. “On my way back from talkin’ to the maids, I might have bumped into Tom and mentioned we were eatin’ here. Glad you could join us.”

  She kicked him again.

  Bronson moved his legs to the other side of the chair. Looking up at the O’Days, Bronson said, “This is my wife, Carol, the best in the world. Carol, these are the O’Days, Tom and Marie. They’re from California.”

  A look of surprise flashed in Tom’s eyes, but as quickly as it came, it vanished. “Nice to meet you. Anyone married to this man deserves a medal.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” She looked at Bronson and pulled her face.

  Okay, maybe I deserved that. He rubbed the tip of her nose and smiled. God, he did love this woman. She put up with so much B. S. from him. “Anyone know what’s good in here?”

  “I assume it’s the first time for all of us, but the gals at the convention told me that just about everything here is good,” Carol answered.

  They got down to the serious business of studying the menus. The waitress came, took their order—Bronson felt a bit disappointed that there was no such thing as Mexican coffee—and brought them their drinks. Bronson picked up his coffee mug and raised it, offering a toast. “To our first conference. May next year’s will be a lot better.”

  Bronson clicked his mug to everyone’s glass and drank.

  “Prior to this terrible thing that happened, were you both enjoyin’ the conference?” Bronson asked the O’Days.

  “You bet,” Marie said. “Good as always.”

  Bronson feigned surprise. “Oh really? Why had I assumed this was your first?”

  Marie shrugged and looked at her husband. He set the chip he was getting ready to eat down and glared at Bronson. “I’ve been studying you,” Tom said.

  “Have you now?”

  “Yes, and I know you know what I mean.” Tom ate the chip. “See, that’s the main difference between you and me.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “I have something to say, I come straight out and say it. You? You casually mention something vague, then wait for the person to reveal something incriminating.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

  “Other than making people feel completely exasperated, I see nothing wrong with that.”

  “Me neither.” Bronson reached for a chip, dipped it in the sauce, and ate it.

  “You’re doing it now.”

  “Doin’ what?”

  Tom sighed and looked away. “You obviously have a reason for wanting to talk to us.”

  “Obviously.”

  Tom waited for Bronson to explain himself, but when he didn’t, Tom continued, “I want to know what you know about us.”

  Bronson took in a deep breath while considering how much he should reveal. The O’Days would probably prove to be trustworthy people, but he still decided to feed them a little at a time. Better safe than sorry, he thought. “I know this is your first conference.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Folks—they like to talk. They say, ‘Tom and Marie O’Day have never attended a conference before.’” Their food arrived and they waited until the waitress finished with her task.

  Once she left, Tom looked at Bronson and said, “Okay, what exactly does that mean?”

  “Just what I said. Nothin’ more. This is yours and Marie’s first conference.”

  “And if I tell you you’re wrong? We have attended before.”

  Bronson opened his taco and looked inside. He scooped out a small piece of shredded beef and ate it. “Mmm, good.” He closed his taco. “Then I’d say that maybe Victor and Betty Lowes have attended, but definitely not Tom and Marie.”

  Marie’s eyes opened wide and her eyebrows arched. She looked at her husband. “He knows. How—”

  Tom’s stern look silenced her. He stared at Bronson.

  Bronson bit into his taco and leaned toward Carol. “Thank your friends fo
r suggestin’ this place. Really good.”

  “I can do that,” Carol said.

  “We took a lot of pains to keep our identities hidden,” Tom said. “I’d like to know how you found out.”

  “Fingerprints don’t lie.”

  This time it was Tom’s turn to wear the surprised look. “You had us fingerprinted? How?”

  “Fair’s fair. I’ve been answering your questions. Now’s your turn to answer some of mine.”

  Tom frowned and slowly nodded. “I’m a private investigator. We’re undercover.”

  Bronson wiped his mouth. “Lowes and Lowes Private Agency.”

  “I should have known you’d know that too.”

  “Which means you still haven’t answered any of my questions.”

  “Go ahead and ask, but before you do, I really want to know how you got my fingerprints.”

  “We got latent prints from a glass you used. When we checked the database, we found that you’ve been arrested. Why’s that?”

  Tom smiled and with a wave of the hand dismissed its importance. “I was arrested for Sneaking and Peeking. One of my customers hired me to check on his cheating wife. One night, I was snooping around the house. She apparently saw me and called the police. Once the police realized who I was and what I was doing, they dropped the charges.”

  “But you never had your fingerprints expunged?”

  Tom stared at Bronson with a blank look. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, that’s why we found your prints.”

  “I’ll need to remember to have that done.”

  “You do that.”

  Tom nodded. “So what’s your question?”

  “Why the charade?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t find that out.”

  “Could have, but I decided to go to the source. So much more efficient that way.”

  Tom half-laughed, half-smirked. “I suppose so.” He finished his enchiladas and pushed his plate away. “Okay, I’ll come clean with you.” He sipped his soda. “We were hired to investigate you. L’ee was a bit concerned that Weeks hired you over the other applicants who had been on the waiting list for so long. Max’s death seemed a bit too convenient to her, and she hired us to make sure you weren’t involved.”

  “But outside of L’ee and Katherine Shapard, no one knows about your true identity.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And Katherine is. . .”

  “My cousin, just like we told you. Katherine Shepard is her real name and she really is a Texas gal although she’s been living in California for the past three years. She helps us at the office and does a pretty good job at whatever we ask her to do.”

  Bronson nodded. That would explain why she pushed so hard about him killing Max. She was hoping to trap him. “She did good. Didn’t work though, simply because I’m innocent.”

  “We realize that.” Tom reached for his glass and emptied it. “Tell me, Detective Bronson, aren’t you curious to find out what else we know about you?”

  “You’ve found that I was a detective in the Dallas Police Department, that I’m an honest man, that I don’t follow policy, and that’s why I was given the option to retire early.”

  Tom nodded. “Did I find anything else about you?”

  “Yep, you’ve found out I had nothin’ to do with Max’s death and that I can be a pain-in-the-neck when I want to be and sometimes even when I don’t want to be.”

  “That just about sums up what I’ve learned. Maybe I could have saved myself a lot of time if I had just come straight out and asked you.”

  “Live and learn.”

  “There is one more thing I learned about you.”

  “And that is?”

  “That you always have ulterior motives for doing what you do. Like dinner tonight. Did you invite us so you could probe our minds as to what we know?”

  “Basically, and I’ve accomplished that.”

  “But there’s more.”

  Bronson leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Someone is tryin’ to frame me.” He told them about the vial and how at the convention, the mystery the attendees were supposed to solve was a real case, his first case.

  Tom’s interest increased with Bronson’s narrative. The more details Bronson revealed, the more Tom leaned forward to hear him better. When Bronson finished speaking, Tom looked at him and rubbed his forehead. “Wow. I had no idea. You, my friend, got yourself in a real doozie.”

  “That’s a very accurate diagnosis.” He looked around the room for the waitress. When they made eye contact, he pointed to his empty coffee cup. “I need your help.”

  “What would you like us to do?”

  “Stay undercover. Snoop around. See what you can dig up.”

  “I can help too,” Carol offered. Everyone’s attention turned toward her. “I’m having lunch with L’ee tomorrow at Brick’s.” She focused her eyes on her husband as though daring him to stop her.

  Bronson felt as though his breath had been taken away. “When did this happen?” He forced his voice to come out smooth and calm.

  “I’ve told you. I’ve been doing my own snooping. Who better to talk to than to L’ee herself? And if I approach her, she won’t suspect that we know anything.”

  Bronson frowned. Carol could be so logical at times. It irritated him. “I’m not sure I want you—”

  “We’re a team now. Just like Tom and Marie. Just like Victor and Betty.”

  One way or the other, he was going to have to get used to the idea of having a new partner. Dang that woman. “Very well. You work on L’ee, the O’Days will follow their own leads, and I’ll do my own thing.” Whatever that may be. “One way or the other, we’ll get this thing resolved.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Carol and Bronson enjoyed a room-service breakfast in their room while they watched the morning news. When they finished eating, Carol said, “I only have two chapters left in the book I’m reading. I’m going to go to the pool, do a couple of laps, and finish the book.” She grabbed her swimming suit and headed for the bathroom.

  Good, Bronson thought. She’ll be busy and I won’t have to worry about her. He stuck his head in the bathroom. “I’m going to go check with security while you’re in the pool.”

  Carol nodded and Bronson rushed out.

  * * * * *

  The head of security was a feisty, eager individual with a hooked nose, similar to an eagle’s. He shook his head with such determination that it drew attention to his nose. Not an eagle’s nose, Bronson decided. A witches’ nose. “No, sir, we definitely haven’t seen anyone suspicious and no one has reported any break-ins. Not in my motel, not ever. Sorry you think otherwise.”

  Bronson had expected as much. “Thank you for checkin’. If you—”

  “Find or hear anything, we’ll let you know, but don’t count on it. I run a very tight ship. Anything goes down, I immediately know about it. Criminals know that. They just stay away from here.”

  If only it were that simple, Bronson thought. He nodded, stood up, and headed for the front desk. “Someone broke into my room,” Bronson began.

  The youth behind the desk gasped and reached for the phone.

  “No, wait. Let me finish.” Bronson raised his hand, encouraging him not to panic. “The sheriff has already been here and the motel security knows about it. I’m just doing some follow up research. I’m Detective Harry Bronson from the police department. What I need to know is if anyone asked any of you to re-key their card, but instead of giving you their room number, they gave you mine. I’m in room three-o-four.”

  The youth shook his head. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t tell you if we keyed any cards to your room. I don’t remember doing any, and I’ll ask the other desk clerks. Besides, whenever we key a card, we always ask for identification. So if the card to your room was keyed, you or your wife or whoever you’re sharing the room with had to be the one requesting the service.”

  Bronson nodded. “I thought
as much.” He started to turn but decided against it. “One more thing. I’d like to talk to Lupe, the lady who cleans our room. Where could I find her?”

  The desk clerk looked at some papers and back up at Bronson.

  “This is an official police matter.” He was glad the clerk hadn’t asked him for his badge and hoped he wouldn’t do so now.

  The youth’s eyes widened, reached for the papers, and looked through them until he found the information he was looking for. “She’s not scheduled to come in until one. She’s often late. She’ll be cleaning the rooms on your floor.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.” He turned to leave.

  “Detective?”

  Bronson turned around.

  “Sorry about your room.”

  Bronson flashed him a smile but knew the real reason he had called him back. He wanted to make sure he answered to the word detective. That was good. Showed the youth was thinking even though he hadn’t asked for his badge.

  Bronson looked at his watch. It was almost eleven. He didn’t like leaving Carol alone for so long. Bronson hurried back to the room.

  As he stepped inside, Carol was about to step out. “Whoa, where are you off to?”

  She turned back, set her purse down on the dresser, leaned against it, crossed her arms and said, “I’m meeting L’ee, Gay, and Gerri for lunch, remember? We’re the four musketeers.”

  He remembered. He had hoped she’d forgotten. “So where are you eatin’?”

  “Brick’s! The gals always rave about it, and now I’m going to get to try it. L’ee says they have the best beef tips.”

  “Sounds like you’ll have a good lunch.” He sat on the bed.

  “I think so. What about you?”

  Bronson patted his stomach. “Can’t eat like I used to when I was younger. I might just skip lunch.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I do it all the time, but I’ll be expectin’ to have dinner with my lovely wife.”

  She leaned over and kissed him. “It’s a date.” She grabbed her purse and walked out.

  Bronson stared at the closed door, forcing himself not to run after her. What was the matter with him, anyway? Carol has gone out to eat with “the girls” a million times before, but not with these girls. Well, so what? Neither Gerri, L’ee, nor Gay seemed to pose a threat—which was his point. Looks were often deceptive.