Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  Peter’s brow furrowed. “For who?”

  “For me,” Tom said. “’Cuz that’s what its gonna cost you to hear the dirt I got last night.”

  “You turnin’ on me, kid?” Peter demanded. “I’m the only one who’s got your back.”

  “My back just got a lot more expensive,” the boy replied. “When you hear what I’ve got you’re gonna be the star reporter at the Dallas Daily News. You can bank on it.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Peter hissed. “I’m not gonna be swindled by a teenage punk.”

  “Suit yourself. There’s other papers that’ll want this story.”

  Peter huffed out a breath. “You gotta give me somethin’. Did Jimmy Novak do something really bad? Drugs? Theft?” He thought for a moment. “Do you have proof he killed those girls ten years back?”

  Tom’s chuckle coming across the line was downright evil. “I ain’t got nothing on Jimmy Jr. But I got a whole bunch on Hayden.”

  “Hayden? The preacher?”

  “That ain’t even his name. And he ain’t no preacher, neither. Tell Sadie to call me when she gets your payment. Soon as that’s done, I’ll tell you what I know.”

  The line went dead. Peter stared at his cell phone. He hated that kid. As far as Peter was concerned, Tom Gibbons made his dead father Zach look like a saint. But what choice did Peter have? In for a penny, in for a pound. He reached for the number Tom had given him.

  ***

  Angie hung up the phone at the kitchen pass-through and turned to Dorothy Jo whose face immediately filled with concern.

  Doggone. Angie didn’t want to cause her old friend any more worry. “It’s Matt,” she managed.

  “He’s worse?” Dorothy Jo stopped slicing the celery for the next day’s gumbo.

  “And it’s my fault.” Angie walked over to the high-back stool at the prep table’s end and plopped down. “At least it explains why he was acting like a little kid.”

  “What happened?”

  “His back was hurting him. I monkeyed with the bed controls. It caused his brain to swell.” She sighed heavily toward the ceiling. “I’ve been so worried that someone else might hurt him, then this! I’m the one that blows it.”

  “Now, honey—”

  A tear escaped down Angie’s cheek and she wiped it away. “Lord, what have I done?”

  “You’ve done your best, for Pete’s sake.” Dorothy Jo handed her a napkin.

  “At least I’m not the only one who let him sit up. He got the janitors to elevate his head as well.” Angie blew her nose. “They’ve increased his blood thinner and it seems to be working.”

  “At least he’s awake enough to be messing around with stuff.” Dorothy Jo squeezed her shoulders.

  “I suppose so.” Angie considered it. The whole situation was so confusing. When he first woke up, he seemed to know her. He squeezed her hand. Then, within twenty-four hours, his face swelled beyond recognition, along with his personality. He’d become a man she’d never met before. “One thing they said gives me hope, though.”

  “What’s that?” Dorothy Jo shoved the celery into a prep container, then reached for a bunch of carrots.

  “This swelling of the brain thing? Besides making him disoriented and sleepy, it can make a person irritable. Mean.”

  “There you go,” Dorothy Jo said. “Now you have a reason for him bein’ so ugly to you.”

  “I hope that’s it.” Angie shoved off the stool and went to the freezer to pull out a bag of fries. “I guess I’ll have to have faith that my Matt will come back.”

  “Are you going to go back to Austin?”

  “Saturday, earliest.” Angie ripped open the bag of fries as she walked over to the fryer. “I promised Bo he could go to Judith’s funeral tomorrow. And he wants to hang out at Pearl’s place afterwards so he can be there when she gets home. How she’ll shake loose of Elsbeth, I have no idea.” She dumped the frozen potatoes into the fryer’s metal basket, and lowered them into the boiling oil.

  Dorothy Jo’s brow creased. “You know Pearl’s gonna get some money from her sister’s estate. I wonder if she’ll still want Bo around now that she’s free to go out and about whenever she wants.”

  “I don’t know.” Angie cast a quick look at the pass-through. Bo was chatting with a customer at the bar. “But if she hurts Bo, this town might have more than one funeral before the end of the month.”

  ***

  For God’s sake, that SOB Kodak has the gall to call me at work and order me back to my own apartment! Apparently he’s found some issues with my fertilizer plant explosion plan. My jaws are already sore from clenching when I burst through my front door. “What do you mean we’re not blowing up the fertilizer plant?” I demand, ready to spit nails.

  “What happened in West was a cluster we can’t recreate,” the twerp of a man replies. “The heat had been building under tons of bio material for hours before it blew. We can’t do that with a bomb. Even with a tank filled with propane. The Chief agrees completely.” He looks at me with that smug ferret face. “If you had done your homework—”

  “I did my homework. On the Austin site.”

  “And that wasn’t very well thought out either.”

  The sonuvabitch. Now where do I stand with the Chief? I have no doubt this beady-eyed snake has thrown me under the bus. Again.

  “Take it easy.” His implication, of course, is that I’m losing my composure—a characteristic not tolerated by the Chief..

  “I’m fine,” I say, jaw clenched.

  “The good news is that I Googled the plant. The satellite view shows that there’s a Wal-Mart and a McDonald’s right across the street.”

  “I know that. I sent you the photos of the whole area last night.” I hold up my cell phone to remind him of the email. “As requested.”

  “Let’s see them again.” In other words, the weasel never even looked at my email, much less the photos.

  Kodak holds out his hand, and I call up the photos.

  I seethe as he scrolls through the shots. I spent three hours in a rusted out old garage, chasing away bugs and sweating like a pig. Even though I left before noon, the temperature had already passed the one-hundred-degree mark. I took notes on the security procedures for getting in and out of the plant, the location of truck entrances in regards to the exposed wellheads, I even hand drew a map of the area with measurements and locations of guard stations and cameras. When I saw the snake with a diamond pattern on its back slither across the garage floor towards me, I decided I was finished with my scouting.

  And hell, yes, I knew there was a Wal-Mart on the corner, with a McDonald’s and gas station out front. I’d hit up the Wal-Mart for bug spray, the McDonald’s for iced tea and the gas station to refill Chelsea’s tank so that I’d return it to her with the exact same amount of gas that was in it when I borrowed it.

  “These will be helpful,” Kodak murmurs.

  Will wonders never cease? He’s said something decent to me. “So what are your instructions for me injecting the TB into Hogan?”

  “For one thing don’t breathe when you’re handling it.” His tone is deadpan. I don’t think it was a joke. I’m not even sure Kodak would know one if he heard one. “We did catch a break, by the way. The hospital staff made a quick diagnosis of Hogan’s intra-cranial pressure issue. He should be able to leave the Neuro Care Unit before the end of the weekend. He’ll still be hooked up to IVs, though, so you’ll be able to inject it directly into his lines. Best results.”

  “I still don’t know how I’m going to do that without being seen. At least by him.”

  Kodak smirked. “I’ll leave that to you. Make sure you don’t screw this up a second time. Oh. Sorry. Make that a third time.”

  I force my smile to be pleasant. “Third time’s a charm.” I take my phone from his grip and head for the kitchen. Looks like I’m going to shack up with Chelsea again tonight. Last night’s toss in the sheets was great. Truth be told, I’m beginning to real
ize I’m fond of her sexy looks and maverick attitude. Being with her is actually...fun.

  I shake off the notion, then entertain a new thought.

  Maybe I should go back to that hell hole in Benedict County and grab that snake with the diamond pattern running down its back. I’m sure it would make a suitable evening companion for Kodak.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I Didn’t See That One Coming

  James W. waited at the entrance of the Paradise Funeral Home for his deputy, Richard Dube, to arrive. The only arrangement left to be decided for Pearl’s sister’s funeral tomorrow was the procession route from the church to the cemetery. As usual, Elsbeth had significant opinions in the matter.

  He straightened his tie, and pulled at his sleeves. James W. wasn’t used to wearing a suit, and he wondered if that was the cause for his feeling so out of sorts. No, he shook his head. This discomfort had nothing to do with a change of clothes.

  He was no stranger to the one-story limestone funeral parlor on the north edge of Dannerton. He’d been through its double-glassed doors more times than he’d like to remember. Being sheriff carried the responsibility not only to protect the Wilks County community, but to comfort and be a source of strength when hard times hit its citizens.

  This time, however, he was here to comfort family.

  Pearl Masterson was his deceased half-brother’s widow. Roth, a Marine trained in Special Ops, had died in 1980. He was killed when his EC-130 helicopter crashed in the covert American military operation to rescue the fifty-two hostages held by Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini. When news of the tragedy reached the United States, the country lost hope for a peaceful resolution to the Iranian hostage crisis; James W. lost Roth, his big brother.

  Roth had married Pearl only a few months before he was deployed. On the day of the wedding, his mother, Miss Olivia, had explained to James W. that for the rest of his life, Pearl would be his sister. When a ten-year-old is told something like that, it sticks. Despite Roth’s death, and Pearl’s subsequent marriage to Ernie Masterson, James W. had never stopped thinking of her as family. Now she had lost her only sibling.

  Pearl’s life had never been easy. She’d married at the young age of eighteen and been widowed before she turned twenty. Her second marriage to the slime bag Ernie Masterson—a plan conceived by James W.’s mother, Miss Olivia—had turned into years of verbal, and, he was pretty sure, some physical abuse. Miss Olivia had said the arrangement would give Pearl the companionship she needed. More likely Miss Olivia was removing the burden of Pearl’s care from taxing the Novak family coffers.

  James W. had stood by and watched it all happen. Granted there was little a twelve-year-old understood of such arrangements, much less could do to stop them. But the clenching in his stomach right now had nothing to do with grief.

  He felt the built-up guilt of the years he’d turned a blind eye to her sad circumstances.

  Richard Dube pulled up in the county squad car and got out, all arms and legs unfolding from the driver’s seat. He trotted up the steps to James W. “Sorry I’m late,” said the acne-plagued man with a face so young it was hard to believe he was over twenty-one.

  “Just as well,” James W. said. “I had some thinkin’ to do.”

  The two men entered and headed down the hall to the family waiting room. Huddled beside a table full of bottled waters and two trays of finger foods, Pearl and Elsbeth spoke in low tones with the funeral director. He was an older man whose shoulders stooped as if the sorrows of the many bereaved families whom he’d assisted weighed heavily on him. James W. noted that Elsbeth had chosen her dark gray “funeral dress” for this evening’s wake. That meant she’d be wearing her black “funeral suit” for tomorrow’s interment. Elsbeth always kept two funeral outfits ready to go for such occasions. In fact, the only reason James W. owned a dark gray suit was because she insisted that he always have the appropriate funeral attire at the ready.

  Pearl was in a simple navy dress, a matching sweater slung over her shoulders. She looked to be holding up pretty good. He hoped she would continue to do so through the two-hour ordeal about to commence. When she saw him, she walked straight to him. “I need to talk with you, James W.” She slanted a glance back Elsbeth’s way. “Alone.”

  “Sure.” He turned toward his deputy. “Richard’s here to get the route straight for going to the cemetery tomorrow.”

  Pearl gave Richard a quick nod. “Elsbeth?” she called over her shoulder. “Could you handle this for me, please? I don’t think I can make one more decision today.”

  Elsbeth hurried over. “Of course, dear.”

  Pearl took James W. by the arm. “Let’s go into the parlor. I want a few moments alone with Judith before they open the doors.”

  She might be small, but Pearl Masterson had a strong grip that broached no argument. Whatever Pearl needed, it must be important. Well, he and his kin were the only family she had left. Whatever she needed, he would move heaven and earth to see it got done.

  ***

  Nurse Meg surveyed Mike’s finished supper tray. “My, you are feeling better,” she said.

  “Macaroni and cheese will do it every time.” He patted his stomach.

  The nurse cleared the tray from the bed stand and whipped the stethoscope from around her neck. “Sit up for me, please.”

  Mike leaned forward. “Any word when Angie’s coming back?” he asked.

  “Breathe, please.” She listened intently, then moved the device to listen to the other lung. “And again.”

  Annoyed she wasn’t answering his question, he did as he was told. When she was finished, however, he pressed her again. “Is Angie going to be here tomorrow?”

  Nurse Meg huffed with impatience. “I’m not your social director. Ask your security guard to call the sheriff. Maybe he can arrest her for you and he can haul her up to see you.”

  He wasn’t amused. “Angie and the sheriff are sister and brother,” he informed her.

  “All the more reason for him to put her in cuffs and drag her away.” She finished checking his lungs, then studied the monitor blipping over his head. “You’re doing much better, pastor,” she said.

  “I’d be doing even better if Angie was here,” he mumbled.

  “I’ll be sure to put that in your chart.” She picked up the tray. “Do you need anything else? Besides Angie, I mean?”

  “No.”

  Mike watched the nurse leave. Except for her and her cheery attitude, he’d been mostly alone all day. It surprised him how much he missed Angie. He knew he’d been an A-number-one jerk to her. He hoped she’d give him a second chance.

  Whenever, if ever, she came back.

  ***

  Pearl guided James W. through the moss-colored, velvet-draped entry into the parlor.

  Judith’s casket was on the right, centered between two large floral sprays of wine-colored carnations. On an easel just left of the hallway entrance, a framed photo of a smiling, healthy Judith stood sentinel over the podium holding guest book and pen. Beyond, several rows of chairs were lined up waiting for mourners to contemplate their memories as they viewed the open casket.

  Of course, James W. thought, shaking his head. That’s exactly what folks wanted to do—stare at the deceased and keep their voices low while they discussed gossip that had nothing to do with the dearly departed. It was an age-old practice he still didn’t understand.

  When they reached the casket, he and Pearl took a moment to stare down into Judith’s sleeping face. “They did a good job,” Pearl commented. “She was so thin at the end.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased.” James W. put a hand on her shoulder, surprised a little that she stood so firm in the face of her sister’s dead body. Pearl was a strong woman, indeed.

  Pearl turned to him. “I want you do something for me, James W.”

  “Anything,” he said, meaning it. “You’re my sister.”

  “This won’t be an easy thing.”

  He arched an eyebrow he
r way, but stood firm. “Whatever you need, Pearl. I’m here for you. Always will be.”

  She studied him, assessing his pronouncement. The woman had something on her mind, James W. thought. He could see it in her determined, fixed gaze.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  She raised her chin in his direction, deciding to put him to some kind of test. “I need you to accept and support a decision I’ve made.”

  “Of course,” he said. Did she want to move in with him and Elsbeth? Did she need money?

  “I’m going to marry Bo Peveto.”

  James W.’s mouth fell open. He closed it quickly, realizing his shock looked anything but accepting and supporting. “Could you repeat that, please?” That was it. He’d heard her wrong.

  A smile twitched at her lips, but her gaze was resolute. “I’m marrying Bo Peveto. I asked him yesterday and he said yes.”

  James W. leaned in to her to give her a closer study. She was serious. Words stuck in his throat.

  “Bo’s coming to the funeral tomorrow,” she continued. “And I don’t want any problems from Elsbeth. I love her. I love you. But this is the way things are going to be.”

  Through the haze of disbelief, James W. finally grasped what Pearl wanted from him.

  Not only did she expect him to support her decision, but she was asking him to make sure Elsbeth did as well. His gaze shifted from Pearl to Judith, then back again. Finally he found something to say. “Is this the right time for all of this, Pearl? You’ve just lost Judith—”

  “Judith supported this. She hoped that Bo and me would stay together.”

  “Stay together?”

  “Bo’s been living with me at the farmhouse for the past month.”

  Again, his mouth fell open. Pearl was asking him for a favor—one he’d sworn to deliver on. But this? “I’m so confused I can’t tell if I’ve lost my mule or found a rope,” he finally got out. “You and Bo are living together?”

  “Bo was the only person who came to my defense when Ernie was still alive,” and now her tone turned hard. “Y’all heard the way Ernie talked to me. And don’t tell me you didn’t notice the bruises I’d get on my arms when Ernie’d handle me a little rough. I came to appreciate Bo as a good, loyal friend. When Ernie died, Bo became more than a friend. I fell in love with him, and he’s in love with me.” She straightened her shoulders, giving him a defiant stare. “Judith saw that, and was happy for us. I’d like to think you will be as well.”