Two Bits Four Bits
By
Mark Cotton
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Mark Cotton
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Two Bits Four Bits
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CHAPTER ONE
I was sleeping deeply when my cell phone rang. It was Ray, his early morning voice ragged.
“Hey, bro’, I don’t know if we’re still playing golf today after what happened. Did you hear about it?”
“No, what?” The red digital letters on the clock by the bed showed 8:38 AM.
“Somebody shot Russell Chilton last night after the reunion.”
“Russell Chilton?” The name didn’t register immediately, my brain still buzzing with the remnants of an interrupted dream.
“Kandy’s husband. The banker dude. She found him floating in the pool this morning.”
“Aw, shit,” I said. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure of the whole story. Remember Melba’s sister Ramona? She’s been working down at the cop shop as a dispatcher and she called Melba a few minutes ago and said he got himself shot while he was skinny-dipping in his own pool. He and Kandy were both still at the party when we left last night.”
Ray and I, along with Ray’s wife Melba, had attended the first event of a high school class reunion weekend at Elmore Country Club the night before. Ray Garcia and I were best friends in high school, and played football together for the Elmore High Drillers.
“Yeah, I remember,” I answered.
I had seen Kandy sitting on a couch in the lobby of the country club as we passed by on our way out the front door at one-thirty that morning. Russell Chilton was visible in the small side room bar just off the lobby, laughing with a group of local businessmen who were obviously too old to be our classmates. I remembered thinking he looked like a guy who was friends with everybody in town. I guess I was wrong about that.
Kandy Chilton had been my high school sweetheart two and a half decades earlier, and Ray had been teasing me about seeing her again since plans for the reunion were announced.
“You wouldn’t believe how hot she looks, dude,” he would suddenly say, when we were talking about something entirely different.
“I hear that Russell guy she’s married to runs around on her. You’ve probably got a chance to move in on that action and become Mr. Kandy.”
And, even though I dismissed Ray’s ribbing, I had been mildly interested in seeing what had become of the woman I was once determined to marry. At the reunion the night before, I was talking to a couple of former classmates when Ray grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away urgently.
“They’re here, man,” he’d said, nodding toward the ballroom entrance. “Kandy and Russell Chilton.”
An attractive woman with dark red hair was standing with a tall well-dressed man just inside the doorway engaged in introductions with two other couples. I could tell it was Kandy from across the room, even with the change in hair color.
“So, she changed her hair,” I said. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, dude,” he said. “I think she looks hot. I just love redheads.”
I had watched her for a few seconds, thinking how strange it was that I’d known her so well in those high school days, yet knew nothing about the woman she had grown into. We hadn’t been in contact since our breakup the summer after graduation. After going together for so long, we were both ready for the split when it came, being from different worlds and neither of us willing to leave our own behind. I wouldn’t put up the social facade that was necessary to fit in with the people in Kandy’s crowd. Their behavior felt like fakery to me and I refused to shut out people based on their popularity or how rich their parents were.
I was just about to turn away and try to resume my conversation with the people I was talking to when Kandy Chilton looked up and caught me staring at her. She smiled and waved, and I waved back. Then, she returned her attention to one of the women in her group, who was gesturing wildly as she talked.
I followed Ray to the bar where I got my soda refreshed and then stepped outside the front door of the country club for a break from the roar of conversation. A small group of alumni were talking and smoking under the wide portico. I shook hands with a couple of people and then strolled toward the golf course. The sun had just set, but it wasn’t dark yet.
The greens had looked good from where I was standing, but the fairways had large patches of dead grass, a result of the relentless summer heat and lack of rain. The Country Club was struggling to stay open since the major oil companies relocated their offices to Midland and Houston, taking dues-paying executives with them. I’d never really cared much for the elite atmosphere of the club, but it was the only nice place in Elmore to hold a large gathering, such as the reunion. And, even with the dry fairways, the golf course was paradise compared to Elmore’s nine-hole public course.
“Hey four-bits! You can tee off from here if you want, but most players start from where those markers are over there.”
I knew it was Kandy Chilton without turning, from the nickname she used. I held out my hand, but she waved it away and threw her arms around me.
“Buddy Griffin! I don’t want to shake your hand you big ox, I deserve a hug after all this time.”
She had squeezed herself tightly against me and I’ve got to admit the squeeze I returned wasn’t something I had to force.
“How you doing, Four-bits?” she had said. She smelled wonderful. Some kind of subtle, but no doubt expensive perfume mixed with the clean scent of soap.
“I’m doing great, Two-bits,” I answered, using the pet name I’d given her on our first date, a play on one of her pep rally cheers. “You’re looking good these days. Whatever you’re doing sure agrees with you.”
“Well, it’s a constant struggle,” she laughed. “It seems like I spend more time at the gym and the beauty shop every year just to keep from losing ground.”
“I hear that,” I said, patting my belly. “Hey, I saw your husband in there. He looks like a great guy.”
“Oh, he is. I wouldn’t trade him.”
“Ray tells me he’s president of the bank now.”
“That’s right. Daddy convinced Russell to come back here to work for him when we were living in Dallas. Russell was practically running the bank by the time Daddy passed away.”
“So, do you have any kids?” I asked.
“Two girls. Heather just finished her junior year at Baylor and Megan starts at Georgetown in the fall. She’s going into pre-law and got a summer job as an intern at a law firm in D.C.”
“They sure grow up fast.”
“Isn’t that the truth. I can’t tell you how quiet it is since we don’t have the girls at home anymore. I guess we’re turning into those empty-nesters they’re always talking about. The privacy is nice for a change, but I sure do miss them. What about you? Didn’t I hear that you had a son?”
“Daughter,” I said. “Adrienne. She’s going to medical school at Texas Tech. Her mother’s dad is a retired doctor.”
“Is your wife here?”
“No, we’ve been divorced about eight years.”
“What’s her name? Is she from here?”
“Peg Avery. She grew up in Austin.”
“That’s right. Somebody told me you were a policeman in Austin.”
“I was a homicide detective up until a few months ago, retired after twenty-three years.”
“Retired. It sounds strange for somebody our age to be retired. It makes it sound like we’re getting old. So, are you still in Austin?”
“Yeah, I still haven’t decided what I want to do next. I’ve been doing some work for a private security company, but I’m taking time off to wrap things up with my parents’ estate here.”
“We’ll have to have you over for dinner then. I’m sure Russell would love to meet you. But, I’ve got to warn you, he may try to talk you into going to work for him. He’s fired two of his tellers this past year for embezzling.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Is he playing golf with us tomorrow?”
“I think so. Russell never misses a chance to play golf. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve called him at work before three in the afternoon and been told he’s gone for the day.”
As we walked back to the building, she hung onto my arm and it felt for a second as if we were back in high school again.
“It sure is good to see you again,” she said. “Are you coming to the dinner and dance tomorrow night?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
“Good. You’ve got to promise to save a dance for me.”
“You can bet on it,” I said.
Inside, she excused herself and headed off toward the ladies room and I went back to the ballroom to rejoin the festivities. I had enjoyed seeing Kandy again, but it just reminded me of how different we were and made me grateful that we hadn’t gotten more seriously involved than we did. I knew there would never actually be an invitation to dinner with the Chiltons. But, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Common courtesy dictated that Kandy bring up the possibility of a dinner invitation, and that I do my best to appear eager for it to be offered. But, we both knew that the only thing Kandy Chilton had in common with a retired cop from the wrong side of the tracks was a frivolous high school romance and a pair of pet-names, Two-bits and Four-bits.
* * * *
CHAPTER TWO
With the news of Russell Chilton’s murder, Ray and I agreed that we’d skip the golf tournament with our classmates that afternoon. I told Ray I was going to pay a visit to Kandy to offer my support and I wasn’t sure how long I would be there. As a former homicide investigator, I was interested in learning more about how the death occurred.
So, an hour after learning of Russell Chilton’s death, I drove through the streets of an upscale neighborhood located in the southwest part of town, searching for Kandy and Russell Chilton’s house number. The Chilton residence was a large brick home with high, arched windows and immaculate landscaping. There were at least a dozen cars lining the street in front of the house, including two Elmore City Police Department cruisers, a van with police department markings and a big white Ford sedan that had all the earmarks of belonging to a plainclothes detective.
A large well-dressed older woman who introduced herself as a neighbor of the Chiltons met me at the door. She led me into a large formal living room where several people stood in a group talking quietly.
“Kandy’s in with the police right now. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”
I declined, and stood looking out the window at the pool where Russell Chilton died. Three young men, who probably represented the entire staff of the Elmore PD’s forensics team, were working around the yard, making measurements and taking samples of pool water and soil from the garden area beyond the pool. Black fingerprint powder stained the edges of the pool in several places. Yellow police tape blocked access to the pool area from the house. The pool water had a red tinge to it. Beyond the pool, the back yard was lavishly landscaped and surrounded by an ivy-covered wall that was easily nine feet tall.
A heavily paneled pocket door slid open behind me, and I turned to see two men in sport coats and golf shirts emerge from a small sitting room, where Kandy Chilton sat talking with John Donnelly, a local attorney I was using for my parents’ estate. The men both nodded at me, and then went out the back door to join the forensics team. When Kandy saw me, she stood and began walking away from Donnelly, who was still talking. Wearing a look of urgency as he spoke, Donnelly stopped in mid-sentence and changed his expression to one of solemnity when he noticed me.
“Thank you for coming,” Kandy said, giving me a tight hug. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked much older without her makeup. She smelled freshly scrubbed and her hair was damp and combed flat.
“I’m so sorry, Kandy. Is there anything I can do?” I asked as I shook Donnelly’s hand.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “The girls are both flying in. One of my girlfriends is going to meet them at the airport.”
She looked off toward the kitchen, fixing her eyes on something there.
“Oh God, I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “They loved their Daddy so much.”
With that she broke down and sobbed loudly. The woman who had met us at the door rushed over and guided Kandy to the sofa, where they sat and rocked together quietly. Donnelly was standing by the large window that looked out on the pool. I joined him.
“This is horrible,” I said. “Was he in the pool when he was shot?”
Donnelly looked at me for a moment. I could see the wheels turning in his head. It was an odd sensation, watching the attorney I was using for my parents’ estate try to decide how much he could share with me. His instinct as Kandy Chilton’s attorney told him to treat me as if I were still in law enforcement.
“It’s too early to tell,” he whispered, glancing toward were Kandy sat. “But, they think he probably was.”
“How many shots?”
“They’re still trying to sort things out.”
“Did Kandy see it happen?”
“No. Russell wasn’t in bed when she woke up this morning. She took a shower and decided to go check on him when he hadn’t shown up by the time she finished. Apparently he was in the habit of taking a swim early in the morning, so it wasn’t unusual for her to wake up alone.”
“Do they have any idea who did it? Or why?”
“No. Still too early.”
He glanced around and lowered his voice.
“Confidentially, Russell Chilton had more than one run-in with jealous husbands over the last few years.”
“Oh, by the way,” I said. “Are we still meeting for lunch today?”
He looked at his watch and paused.
“I should be able to make it. We may be a couple of minutes late. I’ve got your cell number in case something comes up.”
“Those guys you were talking to earlier, Elmore PD?”
“Uh huh. The older one that looks like Robert Duvall is Bob Clemmer, and the muscle-bound kid with him is Reese Puckett.”
“They any good?”
“They really are,” he said. “They’ve got a pretty good track record as far as murders go. But, they work other types of crimes too, so sometimes they’ve got more on their plate than they can say grace over.”
We stood watching them for a few minutes, and then Donnelly thanked me for coming and then went back to sit with Kandy. I offered my support again and then excused myself. I glanced out the back window on my way out and saw the three members of the forensics team huddled over an area of patio halfway between the house and the pool with the two detectives standing nearby watching.
Something in Donnelly’s comment about jealous husbands set off an alarm in my head. I spent my law enforcement career dealing with people and trying to read their minds by their actions and words. Donnelly’s comment, coupled with the urgent look on his face during his private words with Kandy troubled me. I had a vague feeling that he intended his comment to divert attention away from Kandy as a suspect. In any unsolved murder, especially one that takes place in the home, the spouse is always a prime suspect in the early stages of an investigation. Although Elmore saw very few murders, and it was probably rare for Donnelly to be involved in a murder defense, he was smart enough to know he needed to get out in front of any suspicions about Kandy, no matter where they originated. He knew about the class reunion, as I had mentioned it to him on the phone a few days earlier, and I suspected he was planting a seed about Russell Chilton’s infidelities in the hope that any reunion gossip about a murder suspect would move in that direction. I may have been overestimating Donnelly’s skills as a defense attorney, but my street instincts told me he was trying to play me.
* * * *
CHAPTER THREE
The home I grew up in was a big ranch style house sitting on a couple acres of dried tumbleweeds, five miles west of town. A single lane dirt driveway led two hundred yards from the highway to the house.
As I pulled off the blacktop on the way back from town, I stopped beside the battered mailbox attached to the top of a rusted metal pipe. I remembered helping my Dad mix and pour the cement footing that we set the piece of salvaged oilfield pipe into, and then watching as he fashioned a crude bracket out of scrap metal and attached the mailbox to it. He spent his entire adult life working in the oilfield, working his way up from floor hand on a drilling rig to area supervisor for Phillips Petroleum before retiring. He could make anything, from a bicycle part to a flower planter, out of a pile of scrap metal that most men would’ve hauled off to the dump.
I’d visited the house a few times over the last few years, on quick visits to check on my ailing parents. But since the funerals, within three months of each other, I hadn’t been back. Nor had I much reason to, since I kept in regular phone contact with John Donnelly about the estate. When my folks had both entered the local eldercare facility, it had been Donnelly who suggested hiring a local caretaker to keep an eye on their place, at least until my brothers and I could get it sold. And, since none of us lived close enough to check on things regularly, I had arranged through Donnelly to hire a man named Roberto Avila to keep the land around the house mowed and things cleaned up so it wouldn’t look abandoned.
I probably wouldn’t have come back to town until the house sold except for the reunion. It was a combined reunion of four of the graduating classes from Elmore High School with events scheduled for Friday and Saturday nights, along with other activities, like the golf tournament. My own class had failed to muster enough interest for a 25th year, but the turnout this time had been pretty good so far. Coming back for the reunion would give me a chance to check on my parents’ house, maybe get rid of some of their old stuff and do any necessary repairs while I was in town. The depressed real estate market in Elmore meant there wasn’t any hurry to get the house ready for sale, but I knew what a few months of neglect could do to property.
The mailbox contained a couple of catalogs that I tossed into the passenger seat of my pickup as I rolled on up the driveway to the house. Although the house had been vacant for more than a year, it looked like whoever lived there might have simply taken a short vacation. It was obvious the Roberto had done his best to straighten things up a bit, but I knew somebody was going to have to spend a lot of time cleaning up around the place, then either selling or hauling off all of what my folks had accumulated over sixty-two years of marriage. I also knew that I was the most likely candidate for the job. It was the sort of task you couldn’t delegate to strangers, and neither of my brothers had been exactly jumping at the chance to help.
Down deep, I didn’t really mind being the one responsible for settling of the estate and disposing of belongings, but I wished they would at least offer an opinion about what they thought I ought to do. I was the oldest, and for that reason alone I had become used to accepting responsibility for things. From a practical standpoint, it made sense for me to be the one to take care of things. My schedule was flexible, even more so now that I was retired from the APD, so it was easier for me to make the trips home to take care of whatever came up than it would have been for either of my brothers.
And, having the house and the settlement of the estate to take care of had actually helped with my transition to whatever it was that was coming next. After being a cop for so long, it was taking some time to adjust to not being one. I had thought that working for Capitol Security would make that easier, but it hadn’t. Being back in Elmore helped take my mind off that strange sensation of being a civilian in a city where I’d always been a police officer. I guess that’s because I never was in law enforcement before I left Elmore, and this was the one place that letting somebody else wear the badge felt almost normal.
As I pulled up to the house, I noticed a big orange tomcat lying in a weedy flower bed next to the driveway. Ever since I could remember there had been various cats living around the property, most of them wild and unapproachable, being descendents of cats abandoned on the highway by their owner decades earlier. There wasn’t enough wildlife in the area to keep even the most skillful feline hunter alive, so Mom began putting out scraps and the cheapest dry cat food available. As a result a perpetual community of cats existed around and under the outbuildings and equipment scattered around the property.
I expected the big orange tom to jump up and run when I got out of the pickup, but he just looked up at me and with squinted eyes and watched.
“Hey big fella, what’s your name?” I walked over to see if he would spook, and then offered a hand for him to sniff. He seemed to approve, butting his head against my hand in the universal cat gesture for ‘you can pet me if you want to mister’. I obliged for a few seconds before leaving him to his sunbathing.
There was so much to do to get the house ready to sell that I had been trying to pick an area to focus on every time I had a few minutes to spare. I needed to meet Donnelly for lunch later and couldn’t get into anything that would mess up my clean clothes, so I decided to look through the pantry and throw out everything but the canned goods with good expiration dates.
One of the things I’d brought with me from Austin was my iPod and a portable stereo docking station. I’d lived a pretty Spartan life since my divorce from Peg eight years earlier, but one of the luxuries I allowed myself was an extensive music collection, which I had stored on my home computer, with the best of the best copied to the iPod. I used the iPod sometimes when I ran and the docking station had sat on my desk at the APD before I retired.
I set up the docking station on the kitchen table and set the iPod for random play and turned it up loud enough to hear throughout most of the house. Then, I brought in a big plastic trash barrel from the back porch and opened up the pantry door. First to go were the boxes of cereals and crackers along with packaged dry foods with expiration dates well over a year past. I had the trash barrel full within a few minutes and carried it out to the small dumpster I had arranged for earlier with the local trash pickup service, knowing there would be plenty to fill it up. The big orange tom seemed interested in what I might be carrying in the trash barrel so he got up out of the flower bed and followed me to the dumpster.
“Sorry big guy, nothing for you,” I said as I dumped the contents.
He followed me back across the driveway and to the front porch. I squatted and rubbed his head some more.
“You can’t come in, but I’ll see if I can find you something to eat and drink. And, you need a name if you’re gonna be hanging around here.”
I could hear the music from inside the house as a song by James McMurtry began. The orange tomcat could have written the lyrics himself.
I'm not from here, I just live here,
Grew up somewhere far away,
Come here thinking I'd never stay long,
I'd be going back soon someday.
“What about McMurtry? You like that name?” He squinted and butted against my hand in approval.
“Okay, McMurtry it is. Now, let’s see what we can do about finding some food.”
I left McMurtry on the front porch and carried the trash barrel through the house and out the back door. Mom had kept the big value-sized bags of dry catfood she bought in a covered steel trashcan on the screened-in porch. The can was still there and the bag inside was almost full. An old Cool Whip tub lay inside the bag to use as a scooper, so I filled it and carried it back into the house.
I picked the two oldest saucepans from underneath the cupboard and carried them along with the catfood out the front door. McMurtry seemed to know what I had in mind because there was a little more pep in his step as he followed me around the side of the house and toward the area between a storage house and the well house where Mom had always fed the local felines.
It turned out I didn’t need the saucepans I’d brought with me after all. There were two large steel dog food bowls already there, one half-full of water and the other with leftover crumbs of cat food. I’d have to remember to ask Roberto if he’d been putting out food and water for the cats.
I dumped the fresh cat food in the food bowl and filled the water bowl from a nearby spigot. McMurtry dug in hungrily and I walked back up to the house, sensing little movements out of the corners of my eyes as I went. By the time I reached the back door and turned around, there were four more cats approaching the food bowl tentatively. There was an obvious pecking order that allowed the more aggressive cats to march right up and eat their fill while the timid ones sat and waited for them to finish. I stepped back onto the porch and scooped another tub of cat food and carried the two extra saucepans back out to the feeding grounds. Everyone except McMurtry scattered as I approached, placing the saucepans a dozen feet from the main feeding bowl and filling them with cat food. By the time I walked back up to the porch they had all emerged from hiding and there seemed to be enough feeding places for all of them to eat at the same time.
* * * *
CHAPTER FOUR
I was sitting at a table inside Lita’s Little Mexico Restaurant, looking at a menu and waiting for John Donnelly and the other attorney that he was bringing to lunch with us.
Lita’s had been one of the most popular restaurants in Elmore for as long as I could remember. Seven days a week, oilfield trucks and cars with Oil Company logos painted on the doors occupied most of the parking spaces on the street and Lita’s parking lot was almost always full. Apparently the oilfield still depended on a good burrito or plate of huevos rancheros as much as it had when I spent my high school summers working on a casing crew.
Lita’s was the kind of place that would be hugely popular in Austin. If it were located in Austin, the tables would be crowded with a mix of young professionals and new age hippies, and there would be the faint, lingering scent of marijuana smoke brought in on the clothing of the patrons. In Elmore, the scent carried on the coveralls and steel-toed boots worn by the patrons was likely to be a mixture of crude oil and stale cigarette smoke. The most prevalent topic of conversation around the tables in Lita’s was likely to be the latest exploits of the Dallas Cowboys instead of global warming or local politics.
Lita’s was the central gathering place for Elmore, where rumors were started and quashed and where local politicians came to press the flesh during campaign season. But, it was the food that really kept people coming back, and I couldn’t wait to try it again.
Donnelly entered a few minutes later with an attractive woman in her thirties dressed in what people tend to describe as business casual. Donnelly introduced the woman as Angie Robbins and explained that she was the oil and gas attorney he had mentioned on the phone.
I felt a little flash of guilt for assuming that the brilliant young attorney he had described would be a man, but when we shook hands and I saw her smile I forgot all about that.
After quietly discussing the murder of Russell Chilton for a few minutes, we each went to work on our respective enchilada plates as Donnelly described Angie’s background and qualifications, leading her into a discussion of my parent’s portfolio of oil and gas royalties. She explained how values of oil properties were calculated and suggested we might consider hiring a petroleum engineer to prepare formal appraisals to tell us what we had. I was aware that my father had gotten into a few partnerships on wells over the years and had also accumulated some royalties at various times in a long career in the oilfield, but apparently I had underestimated the scope of his holdings.
Despite growing up in the middle of the oil patch, I had little idea how royalties and oil partnerships worked. I wondered out loud if it was best to sell the royalties immediately, or possibly hold onto them for the income they could produce in the future.
Watching Angie talk was like discovering something new, alive and interesting. Learning the cadence of her voice and laugh and seeing the change in her facial expressions was all so distracting that I only followed about half of what she said. I felt like a teenager experiencing a first crush and unable to concentrate on anything but the object of my fixation.
We were nearing the end of our lunch and I suddenly had more questions than time would allow. I asked if we might continue the discussion over lunch the following Monday. Donnelly said he had a prior commitment, but Angie agreed, without even checking her calendar. And, while I like John Donnelly, I can’t say I was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to make the lunch. In my time as a police officer I met a lot of women, but few so quickly gave me the sense of attraction I felt for Angie Robbins. I was hopeful we could find more in common than oil and gas properties.
* * * *
CHAPTER FIVE
When I arrived at the reunion dinner and dance that night, the atmosphere was subdued. News of Russell Chilton’s death was still spreading word-of-mouth throughout the attendees, most of whom had skipped the daytime activities of golf and a picnic on the grounds of the Elmore High School campus.
But, as the cocktail hour before dinner progressed, talk returned to favorite teachers and high school sweethearts, and the din of conversation grew louder. When people did discuss the murder, it was generally expressing sympathy for Kandy, who won the title of most popular among our classmates.
I spent most of the time listening to what the others were saying, and didn’t volunteer any information about my visit to her home earlier in the day. As much as I appreciated all of Donnelly’s help on my parent’s legal work, I wasn’t going to be any part of a smear campaign against a dead man. If Russell Chilton had been as big a prick as people were saying, Donnelly wouldn’t need my help promoting the jealous husband theory for his murder.
Ray and Melba arrived at the dinner well after I did, coming straight from the wedding of Melba’s niece. Ray nodded at me from the doorway to the club lobby and then followed Melba to the buffet line. Ray couldn’t even wait until he put his food down on the table before starting in on the murder.
“I been trying to call you, bro’. What happened over there? I heard the pool was full of blood. How’s Kandy doing?”
On the opposite side of the large table where we were sitting, a woman who had been a varsity cheerleader with Kandy perked up and focused on me, alert to the fact that I might have some unknown tidbit of information about the murder.
“Kandy’s doing okay,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it after you eat.”
He glanced over and saw the ex-cheerleader eyeing us.
“Hey, howya doin’, Donna?” he said. “How did the picnic go?”
After Ray inhaled his food and whispered something in Melba’s ear, we excused ourselves from the table and walked out to the club lobby. I related the details of my visit to Kandy’s house, leaving out Donnelly’s comments about Russell Chilton’s marital infidelities.
“So, his pecker finally got him killed,” Ray commented. “Ramona’s probably lucky she never got him in bed. She might be on the list of likely suspects.”
A door on the opposite side of the lobby opened up and a waiter exited a small private room with several dinner tables occupied by well-dressed diners. As the door was slowly swinging shut, I noticed Angie Robbins, Donnelly’s associate, sitting at one of the tables eating. She looked up, recognized me, gave a smile and a small wave just as the door was closing.
“Ramona came over to the house this afternoon,” Ray continued. “She said talk around the cop shop is that Russell wasn’t the only one in the family getting some on the side. I say good for Kandy. It ain’t fair for him to be stepping out on a fine looking woman like that without her finding somebody else too.”
“Did Ramona say who she was fooling around with?”
“Well, let’s just say she’s been spending a lot of time with her personal trainer, but I don’t think she’s the one doing the push-ups.”
“Did Ramona have a name for the trainer?”
“No, but it’s probably that young stud over at Hard Bodies. One of those guys who spends most of his time showing the young girls the proper way to use the butterfly machine while he watches to make sure their pecs are working right.”
“Who’s Ramona hearing this from? The detectives on the case?”
“Shit, no. They don’t tell Ramona nothing. I think it’s mostly her and the other dispatchers that come up with this stuff. Maybe a couple of the patrol cops. You wouldn’t believe how much cops like to gossip.”
“Oh, really?” I asked, giving him a blank look.
“Yeah, well most cops. You’re the exception to the rule. You’re about as much fun to talk to as that Joe Friday guy on Dragnet. I gotta get back inside before Melba comes looking for me.”
As Ray headed back into the main ballroom, the door to the private dining room opened again and I saw that the people inside were mostly standing around talking. A waiter propped the door open and members of the group began drifting out into the lobby, stopping to shake hands with people they saw on their way to the front door of the club. Angie Robbins finally emerged, walking with an older couple who were in the midst of telling a story. She glanced at me and gave a slight nod, then excused herself and walked over.
“John said I might see you here tonight,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s our high school reunion weekend.”
“I guess the murder must have put a damper on things,” she said.
“Everybody’s pretty shocked. Kandy and Russell were here with us last night, so a lot of people got to meet him.”
“So, do you still want to get together for lunch on Monday? I understand if something comes up and you need to cancel, with all that’s going on.”
“Oh, no need to cancel. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good,” she said, flashing me that smile that I was beginning to enjoy seeing. “I’ll see you then.”
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night.”
* * * *
CHAPTER SIX
I lay in bed listening to the quiet of the morning. There were birds chirping and the occasional whoosh of a car passing by on the highway, but little else. The hot water heater rumbled now and then, and I could hear Mom’s eight-day clock that I had wound the night before, ticking away on the dresser.
Morning in my parent’s house was nothing like my apartment in Austin. Quiet was hard to come by there, even early in the morning, with the nearby traffic, planes roaring overhead and a constant flow of people creating sounds. The noise had never bothered me much before I retired, but that was probably because I was at my desk early most mornings, finishing my coffee while I reviewed coroner’s reports or re-read suspect interview transcripts.
Capitol Security, where I had been working since retiring, didn’t even open their doors until 9:00 a.m. and the truth was that the background checks and security consulting work they paid me for wasn’t something I leapt out of bed each day eager to begin. It was dull. I was used to dealing with people who tried and often succeeded at murdering each other. The only thing in mortal danger at Capitol Security was my sense of ambition.
I had taken the job to keep from going nuts or starting to drink too much, which were the two most likely scenarios for retired homicide cops, at least in my experience. A guy I met when he worked for the APD had started Capital Security and the salary he offered me was too good to turn down. I only planned to work for him long enough to figure out what I wanted to do with the next part of my life. Most cops I worked with spent most of their time dreaming about what they were going to do after putting in the twenty-three years required for full retirement and turning in their badge. I’d just never been one of those cops. I had actually enjoyed my job.
When they assigned me to the Homicide Division twelve years earlier, I had fallen headlong into a constant preoccupation with whatever cases I was working, often to the detriment of my personal life and relationships, never giving a moment’s consideration to my post-retirement existence. So, when I finished my twenty-three and had the chance to do something different, it caught me unprepared. I was exhausted from year upon year of mounting caseloads and long hours, so I was eager for a break. But after a few weeks of inactivity, I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake by putting in for retirement.
I was working on my second cup of coffee and sorting through a box of my Dad’s old legal papers when my cell phone rang. It was Ray.
“Hey homie, when you gonna drag your lazy ass out of bed?” he yelled into the phone.
“Listen half-pint,” I said. “I was already up when you were still asleep and having that wet dream about your mother-in-law. And don’t call your homie. I’m just as straight as any of the other guys you used to gawk at in the shower after football practice.”
“Shee-it, and I thought you was down with the lingo, babe. See, when I call you my homie it means you—“
“I know, I know,” I interrupted. “Just jerking your chain, Ray-gun. Besides, the only reason you know what it means is from watching reruns on MTV.”
“Hey, we gonna go run today or what?”
“If you think you can handle it, and you can get your butt out here before the temperature hits triple digits.”
Thirty minutes later we were jogging down the side of Highway 385 on the outskirts of Elmore, headed toward town. Like a lot of other small towns in West Texas, big industrial yards containing rusting hulks of farm machinery and oilfield equipment lined the highway leading to town. Some people might find the surroundings bleak and depressing, but for me the run was a nice change from the rolling hills of Austin, where I normally worked out.
Although it was beautiful around Austin, with no shortage of lush greenery and trees, I’d missed the flatness and the visible evidence of the oil industry that had surrounded me when I was had growing up. There was a sense of freedom in being able to see miles in any direction, your gaze uninterrupted by hills or foliage. And, you couldn’t get much flatter than the terrain around Elmore, Texas. If Hollywood ever needed more stock footage of long, straight highways stretching off into the distance with heat waves rising and making the horizon shimmer, this would have been a perfect place to film it.
The climate was different too. Elmore was located in a semi-arid desert region, which meant that perspiration could evaporate and cool your skin as you ran, instead of simply running down your body to collect in your socks.
As we ran, Ray had been filling me in on the latest gossip he had picked up about our classmates during the weekend. He’d had been so excited about the reunion, and deeply involved in the planning, that I knew he felt let down that the weekend was over.
Ray was a very social person and had been his whole life. It was something down deep in his personality. I was just the opposite. Unless my work gave me reason to talk to people, I wasn’t naturally equipped to generate idle conversation. During my years on the APD, I had grown to avoid any non-cop social functions. Some people were uncomfortable around members of the police, which could make for awkward situations when they had a drink or two. It became simpler to limit my circle of friends to other cops.
But, since I was no longer a cop, and knew I had to reenter normal society sooner or later, I had vowed to let Ray drag me to any function he wanted to during the reunion weekend. I had missed some of the earlier reunions, and hadn’t seen a lot of the people in our class since graduation night.
Nearing the city limits, we jogged past Jenkins Drilling, one of Elmore’s major employers. A series of large, neatly maintained, fabricated metal buildings sat in the center of a huge fenced dirt lot that served as storage space for drilling pipe and drilling rigs of various sizes and vintages. The fact that there were any rigs in the yard at all was indicative of the bad health of the local economy. It wasn’t unusual for a driller like Jenkins to owe several million dollars on their drilling rigs, which meant they did everything within their power to keep them operating around the clock, since interest on the loans kept running even when the rigs weren’t. When rigs were sitting unused in the drilling company’s yard it meant there was a visible slowdown in drilling. And, anytime drilling in the Permian Basin slowed down, oilfield payrolls got smaller and the entire business community felt the impact.
“It’s a shame about Kandy, becoming a widow like that.” Ray said.
I didn’t say anything. Ray was all about competition, and we often tried to work mental games on each other during our runs, to tire each other out. We were well past mile four of our run and my body was working like a well-oiled machine. My knees hadn’t begun aching yet, and my breathing was smooth and steady. Ray was trying to upset my physiological balance by introducing mental stress into the mix. Kandy had been my high school sweetheart long before she married Russell Chilton. Ray couldn’t understand how I wouldn’t still be carrying a torch for her. He thought that by mentioning her name he would throw me a mental curveball and gain an edge in our never-ending athletic competition.
“Yeah, won’t be long before she’ll be looking for somebody to replace her stud-muffin bank president,” he continued. “Of course he spent most of his time screwing one teller after another.”
I just kept running, staring straight ahead. I had a strategy of my own. It centered on letting Ray do the talking, pouring all of his spare energy into verbalization, while I concentrated on feeding a steady supply of oxygen to my heart and muscles. It was a perfect strategy to use with Ray because he couldn’t stand any lull in the conversation, and would always move to fill it. He should’ve gotten a job in talk radio.
“She’s looking pretty good these days, Bud. You might want to make a move when things settle down.”
“When did he take over at the bank?” I asked.
My strategy allowed me to speak a few words occasionally, especially if it prompted Ray to do more talking. I was also afraid that if I didn’t say something every now and then, he might catch on to what I was doing and shut up until the run was over.
“Oh, let’s see,” he said between wheezing breaths. “Her old man turned over the reins seven, maybe eight years ago. Just before he died. I think Kandy’s mother is still on the board of directors, but Russell Chilton was running the show. Had himself a pretty sweet deal. Got to be president of the bank all day and hump Kandy all night.”
I could see him glance sideways at me to see if this last barb would get a reaction. I just focused on my breathing and waited for him to continue.
“Course he hasn’t been humping her much lately if the talk around town is halfway right. It sounds like he nailed every female working in that bank under the age of sixty. I’m telling you bro, you might have a shot at her if you play your cards right. Good looking woman like that shouldn’t have had to put up with that screwing around. You ask me, that man was a fool for looking at anybody else. Kandy rocks, dude. She’s still got that cheerleader body and her face is even prettier than it was back in the day.”
“What was Russell Chilton like?” I asked.
My strategy was working perfectly. Ray had begun talking in short bursts of four or five words, punctuated by gasps as he tried to gulp enough oxygen to feed his legs and his mouth, both of which were feeling the effects of the deficit.
“Well, you know, man, it’s weird. I met him when he first came to town about fifteen, sixteen year ago, and he was the nicest guy you could imagine. He was really friendly to everybody and straight as an arrow. I mean you never heard anything bad about him. But, after Kandy’s pop died and he moved into the corner office, he decided he could make up for lost time. Started drinking and hanging out at the bars, which was something Kandy’s old man wouldn’t let any of the bank officers do when he was alive. And, that’s when the talk about him fooling around with the women at the bank started. First it was an affair with his secretary and then just about any skirt on the payroll. Melba’s sister Ramona worked down there at the bank for a while. She said one night they were having some kind of bank party and a bunch of the women ended up in Russell’s office watching porno movies with him.”
“Sounds like Kandy picked a real winner. Did he ever make a run at Ramona?”
“No, but she kept hoping he would. I tell you, Buddy, it’s a damn shame you and Kandy didn’t end up together. I could be going out for a morning run with the president of Elmore Bank & Trust right now.”
“And, trying figure out a way to get me to jump Melba’s sister.”
“Hey, Ramona gets jumped more often than the Rio Grande border. She doesn’t need any help from me.”
Ray may have finally caught on to my competitive strategy, as he fell silent while we continued on into the center of town, still following Highway 385 as it turned into Commerce Street and led us to the courthouse square. The streets surrounding the square were empty except for immediately in front of Lita’s Little Mexico Restaurant, where the vehicles of Sunday morning diners took every parking space.
Most of the businesses that lined the square during my youth were gone, their buildings occupied by new enterprises that reflected the change in times. The old Woolworth’s dime store, as my mother always called it, was now home to the Daze Gone Bye antique store, which likely offered for sale hundreds of items originally purchased as new in the same building. Several smaller buildings around the corner held a nail salon, payday loan office and a video rental store. The old Derrick Theater, where I had watched every movie I’d ever seen growing up, was still there, but boarded up, the tall derrick-shaped facade stripped of its elaborate neon of yesteryear by rock-throwing vandals, weather and time.
We circled the courthouse square and headed back out of town the way we’d come, stopping in at a convenience store for bottles of water and walking for a couple of blocks before picking up the pace again. After we’d been running for a couple of minutes I tried my strategy again.
“Hey,” I said. “What do you think about that new tax bill they passed this year?”
He didn’t answer, and when I looked over at him his expression told me he was onto me.
“Ask… me… later,” he wheezed.
* * * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
After finishing my run with Ray, I decided to spend some time trying to organize things around the house. I’d been through most of the closets and pulled out what I thought could go directly to the Salvation Army on Monday. I would go back through the same closets later and try to decide which items my brothers might want to claim for their own. As yet, neither of them had shown any interest in keeping anything from the house. But, if they weren’t going to offer any help in wrapping the estate up, I was going to force them to disclaim ownership of items one by one.
As I carried another box of clothes out to my pickup, trying not to step on McMurtry who seemed determined to walk as close to me as possible, I heard my cell phone ringing from where it was lying on the living room table inside the house. I didn’t rush back to the house to answer it, since it was most likely Ray, eager to reveal some tidbit of gossip he’d forgotten to tell me the night before. I had my phone set to allow ten rings before kicking over to the answering machine, but I reached it and answered on ring number nine.
“Buddy?” It was Kandy Chilton.
“Kandy. How are you?”
I heard her take a deep breath on the other end of the line.
“Okay, I guess. I don’t know. This is just all too sudden. It seems like a bad dream. I keep thinking I’ll wake up at any moment.”
“How are your girls taking it? Did they get here yet?”
“Yeah, they got in last night. I think they’re still in shock. I can tell they don’t know how to act. They’ve never lost anyone close to them before.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“There is. I need to talk to you about something.” Her voice displayed so little emotion I would have never guessed she had found her husband brutally murdered the previous morning.
“Sure,” I said. “Would you like me to come by this afternoon?”
“No, not here. Ray told me you’re staying at your parents’ house. Do you mind if I come out there?”
“Not at all. The place is a mess, but you’re welcome,” I said, realizing Ray must have been the one to give her my cell phone number.
We agreed on a time and I spent a few minutes straightening up the living room before taking a quick shower and changing clothes. I was brewing a pot of iced tea when I heard a car roll up the dirt driveway, followed a few seconds later by a knock on the door.
“I just really wanted to ask your advice,” Kandy said sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of tea.
“The police want to talk to me again. That detective, Clemmer is his name, I think. He called and wants me to go down to see him tomorrow morning.”
She took her sunglasses off, placing them on top of her head. Her eyes were worried and tired looking, but I felt the deep tug of an old attraction in them.
“I mean, is that normal? I don’t know what else I could say that I didn’t already tell them.”
“Did you tell John Donnelly they want to talk to you again?”
“Yes, he’s going down there with me. He said it’s probably nothing, but I’m just wondering if I need to be concerned. That’s why I thought I’d ask you. That is what you did, isn’t it? Investigate murders?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Am I just being paranoid and silly?”
“Look, its normal for you to be concerned, but I’m sure the detectives are just making sure all bases are covered. It isn’t unusual to question witnesses multiple times in a murder investigation. Sometimes the initial shock makes people forget things that come to them later, or they forget to mention details that might not have seemed important during the first interview.”
“I guess you’re right. I’m just worried that things might get, I don’t know, overlooked.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed heavily and stood up from the table. Walking to the kitchen window, she stood looking out the window while gathering her thoughts.
“Russell played golf twice a week with Dave Adams, the chief of police. He did for years. I’m just worried that if something about Russell’s business dealings turns up, Dave might try to cover it up to protect Russell’s reputation.”
“What do you mean?”
She turned away from the window and leaned on the counter, staring down at her shoes.
“I think Russell may have been involved in some business deals with some guys who weren’t on the up and up. People who could never walk in the front door of the bank or meet with Russell in public. People the board of directors would never approve of lending to.”
“Like who?”
“Well, Benny Shanks, for one. I heard Russell talking about some sort of investment deal he was in with Benny.”
I remembered Benny Shanks from my high school years when the rumor was his pawn shop was a front for a long-running bookmaking operation. Shanks spent a few years in prison for income tax evasion, and he was probably the closest thing to an organized crime figure that Elmore had ever seen.
“And you think one of these business deals might be connected to the murder?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, raising her hands to her face. “I’m just— I don’t know how sure I am that the truth will come out. There’s a lot that goes on in this little town that makes me wonder.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know. You hear rumors about certain people who are involved in drugs and other types of crime, but never seem to get caught. It may just be talk, but I think there’s definitely a good-old-boy network, and the people who are in it don’t have to worry about the law knocking on their door when they cross over the line. I just want to make sure the police don’t look the other way when it comes to catching whoever killed Russell.”
“I understand how you feel,” I said. “But I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“Well, I hope you’re right. But just the same, I think I need to do more than just sit back and wait to find out. I’d like to hire you to look into Russell’s murder.”
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