Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 09 - The Crystal Skull Murders (21 page)

“Can’t tell,” I replied. “Can’t tell.”

She cleared her throat. “I think we should head back
to Sixth Street. This joker, Ivory, the one that Buck
heard Getdown Joe send after that Abraham guy who
offered to sell him the skull-he’s the one we need to
talk to” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I just got a
feeling he’s the key to all this.”

Why not? So much for tomorrow. I rose from my
chair. “Let’s get with it.”

Outside in the parking lot, Janice Coffman-Morrison
was sitting in her blue Miata with the top down, engine
running. She gave Doreen a look that could only be described as scorching, then smiled sweetly at me.
“Hello, Tony,” she said in a soft and gentle voice liberally dosed with strychnine.

I’ve always been fairly glib, which is the politically
correct way of saying I can lie with the best of them, a
definite plus for a PI, but at that instant, the proverbial
cat had my tongue. I stammered and stuttered.

Her smile grew wider. “Aunt Beatrice canceled the
trip. I tried to call you, but you weren’t answering.” She
paused and smiled sweetly at Doreen. “Where’s your
manners, Tony? Aren’t you going to introduce me to
your partner?” The skepticism she placed on the word
partner was obvious.

Finally, I managed a reply, not too eloquent, but in
my flustered state, it was all I could manage. “Janice!”

Doreen saved my life. Later I figured she responded
as she did because of her own turbulent history in previous relationships. Whatever the reason, she smiled brightly, stepped forward, and with an amiable bubble
in her voice, extended her hand to Janice. “Hi. I’m
Doreen Patterson, and you’ve got to be Janice, Tony’s
good friend. He’s told me so much about you, I’d
know you anywhere. I’ve been looking forward to
meeting you, but Tony has kept us hopping the last
few days”

Whatever Janice had expected, that wasn’t it. Taken
aback by Doreen’s affable and flattering words, Janice
automatically took her hand. She glanced up at me, her
brows momentarily knit in confusion.

One of the traits I’ve always admired about Janice,
however, was her ability not to convey her feelings in a
confused situation. More than once, I had seen her confront circumstances that would have caused the average
woman to pull out her hair, but Janice, after a moment
or so to collect her composure, simply faced it with the
casual aplomb of the very rich.

I suppose in the finishing school she attended in Atlanta there was probably had a course titled “Cool
Composure in Any Situation.” And if there were, and if
she took the course, Janice got an A+ in it.

A warm smile leaped to her lips, and she replied,
“Tony told me he had a new partner, and I have so been
wanting to meet you.” Her dark eyes flicked at me before she continued. “Perhaps you can come out to the
ranch with Tony one day.”

Doreen gushed. “I’d love to, but when I’m not working on the job, I spend my time researching a historical anthology I’ve been writing for the last five years. Besides, I’d just be a third wheel with you two.”

“Oh, no. There is so much to do. Why-”

If anyone felt like a third wheel, I did, standing there
listening to the two of them lying so sweetly to each
other, and each knowing exactly what the other was doing. Such parrying and repartee was the stuff of great
pirate movies. It never made sense to me, but then, I’m
just a thick-headed male.

Finally, Janice addressed me. “Aunt Beatrice is planning a reception Sunday at the ranch, Tony. She wanted
me to ask you if you could create one of those delicious
Louisiana dishes for the table. People raved over your
court bouillon last time.”

I nodded hastily, unsure just what had prompted her
to be so amiable, but I certainly didn’t want to waste
time figuring it out. “You bet. What time?”

“Two, but you probably need to be there by noon”

“No problem”

Her eyes twinkled. “And can you bring the little car?”

“Yeah. Sunday, noon” From the corner of my eye, I
saw Doreen look at me.

Her smile grew wider, and then she did something
completely out of character for her. She reached out her
carefully manicured hand to me. I took it. Pursing her
lips, she drew me down to her.

Ears burning, I touched my lips to hers lightly, surprised and not just a little confused over the kiss. Janice
had never been so demonstrative in public.

We watched as Janice drove away.

Doreen chuckled. “Well, she made that pretty clear,
didn’t she?”

“You mean about Sunday? Yeah, she did.”

She eyed me a moment, a look of amusement on her
face. Finally, she shook her head. “You men can be so
thick-headed at times. No wonder we leave you”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” She shook her head, still smiling.

“Well, thanks anyway,” I said.

“For what?”

“For getting me out of a sticky situation. She was really burned up with me.”

“Why?”

I frowned. “I’m not sure. But thanks anyway.”

Doreen chuckled. “Forget it. Been there, done that.
Besides, we’re partners”

I glanced at her. She was still looking after Janice. I
grinned. “Yeah. Partners”

“Sweet girl,” Doreen said.

I frowned at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice.
I’m not sure what I expected, but sincerity wasn’t it.

With a shrug, I replied, “Yeah. She is a nice person.
A little different, but we get along”

Still looking after Janice, Doreen observed, “Rich,
huh?”

I chuckled. “Richer than the Queen of England”

She looked around at me quizzically. “How did you
two hook up?”

Laughing, I pointed to my pickup. “I’ll tell you about
it on the way”

As I buckled my seat belt, I began my story. “Janice’s aunt is Beatrice Morrison, owner and CEO of
Chalk Hills Distillery west of Austin. Janice is her only
family.”

Doreen arched an eyebrow. “Makes it nice for you,
huh?”

With a wry grin, I shook my head. “That, partner,
would never work. Been married once, no kids. Don’t
figure on trying it again.” During the remainder of the
drive down to Sixth Street, I filled Doreen in on the turbulent relationship Janice and I enjoyed, and sometimes endured.

“So, what’s this dish you’re supposed to whip up for
her aunt’s reception?”

Laughing, I explained. “You know how these rich
people are. They like exotic dishes, and to them, the
everyday meals I grew up with back in Louisiana are
exotic. Don’t ask me why, they just are. Last time, I
whipped up a pot of catfish court bouillon. Between
you and me,” I said with a wink, “I think it was the
fancy word, court bouillon, that got the rich dudes”

“Is that what you’re going to fix this time?”

“Maybe” I flexed my fingers about the wheel. “Or
maybe some frogleg jambalaya”

Doreen exclaimed. “Frogleg jambalaya! That
sounds-oh, yucky”

I grinned. “Don’t knock it until you try it. In fact, give me your address, and after I whip up a batch Sunday morning, I’ll drop you off a plate.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“How about some jambe de grenouille jambalaya?”

A frown wrinkled her forehead. “What’s that?”

I laughed. “Same thing. It’s French. Rest assured, if I
take frogleg jambalaya, I’ll make sure to call it jambe
de grenouille jambalaya.”

She shivered. “Thanks anyway.”

“Well then,” I replied, eyeing her with amusement.
“How about, say, chicken jambalaya?”

“That sounds better.” She nodded. “But don’t make a
special trip. Just bring me a plate to the office Monday.”

“No problem. That was fast thinking.”

She frowned at me. “What?”

I grinned. “The research business.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Huh?” I shot her a puzzled glance.

“For the last several years, I’ve been putting together
an anthology of biographies for the signers of the Declaration of Independence. That is what I do on my time
off.”

I whistled and shook my head. “I’m impressed.”

She smiled warmly. “Thank you. Now, answer me
this. What’s the little car Janice was talking about?”

“Little car? Oh” I laughed. “Last year in Vicksburg,
I bought a Model T Ford. I keep it in my garage and
take it out on sunny days. Janice loves to ride in it.”

A flash of color caught my eyes, and I hit the brakes and turned sharply into a parking lot just before we
reached Sixth Street.

“What the-” Doreen exclaimed, grabbing the crash
grip on the dashboard.

Sitting on the edge of the parking lot was a yellow
Jeep with black fenders and lightning bolts on the side.
“Over there. That Jeep. It was behind us yesterday
when we hauled Towers and the skull to his store. It was
driving past the store when we left”

I pulled up behind the Jeep and climbed out. I laid
my hand on the hood. It was still warm. Pulling out my
cell phone, I punched in the office number. Al Grogan,
our resident Sherlock Holmes, answered.

As I climbed in the pickup, I explained, “Al, I need
an ID on a license, fast. Can you get it for me?”

“I’m booting up now.”

I gave him the number and waited. Doreen held up
her fingers, crossed.

Moments later, Al came back. “Austin number. Belongs to Leander Z.Washington, 1144 Festival Beach”

I repeated the address as Doreen wrote it down.
“Thanks, Al” I punched off. “That guy who works for
Getdown, Ivory. Didn’t Buck say his name was Leander?”

Doreen nodded. “Yes”

I snapped my fingers. “Bingo! The Jeep belongs to
Ivory Washington. After we see Getdown, let’s run this
guy down” I glanced inside the Jeep. The keys were
still in the ignition. I grabbed them.

The last parking slot on Sixth Street was in front of
Neon Larry’s. I stuck my head in Larry’s. He nodded
when he spotted me. “Hey, Tony. Come on in for a beer.”

I declined. “Maybe later. You seen Getdown or S.S.?”

He nodded. “Yeah. S.S. was in here a few minutes
ago. Said he’d be right back after he took care of some
business.” He laughed. “He sure is getting popular.”

His reply took me by surprise. S.S. was as much a
night person as I was a morning one. This time of day
was breakfast time for him, lunchtime for the rest of us.
I glanced at my watch and lifted an eyebrow. “Kinda
early for him, huh?”

Larry laughed and smoothed at his gray ponytail.
“Yep. He usually don’t come in until about eight. He’s
been off the last couple days I figure he decided to
come in early to make up for the time he took off.”

In all the years I had known him, S.S. had seldom
taken time off unless he was ill. “He been sick?”

A patron entered and climbed on a stool by the bar.
“Nope,” said Larry, moving away from us. “Looked
fine.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Check with Buck. Last Monday, S.S. said he was
going down to the Red Rabbit to see Buck about some
investment they had going. He might have gone down
there. If you run across him, tell him that the guy what
delivers our laundry is looking for him too. He left just
before you two come in.”

With a frown, I nodded and glanced at Doreen. She was just as puzzled as I.What did Bull Abdo have to do
with S.S.Thibeaux? And what investment was so enticing that S.S. would put aside his long-standing hatred
for Buck?

The Red Rabbit was only eight or ten doors down the
street from Neon Larry’s, but the journey took us several
minutes, for we paused along the way, tossing shaky ideas
around, hoping to come up with some logical answers.

Doreen frowned at me. “What kind of investment do
you think S.S. had with Buck Topper?”

I shrugged. “I’ve got no idea any more than I can figure out what Abdo wants with S.S.”

Doreen paused and stared unseeing into space. “All
right. We know Abdo worked for Buck.”

“Yeah. To run down the crystal skull, which he did.”

“About the same time S.S. didn’t show up for work
for the last couple days, the skull disappeared.” She
stared coolly into my eyes, her own hinting at the same
questions tumbling through my head.

“Convenient, huh?”

She shrugged. “Very. Could Abdo be looking for S.S.
over the skull? Could it be S.S. is mixed up in all this
too?”

I didn’t want to think that, but then I had no explanation why Abdo was looking for S.S. nor an answer as to
why he was doing business with someone he hated. “I
don’t know,” I said. “Let’s take it a step further. We know
Abdo found the skull. We know he told Buck about it.”

Doreen nodded emphatically. “Think about it. Abdo
stayed home waiting for Buck to call. He didn’t. Maybe
he sent someone else out to the pawnshop. If S.S. is
mixed up in this, maybe he’s the one Buck sent.”

I liked S.S., but as much as I didn’t want to admit it,
her theory made sense to me.

“So what do you think?” she looked at me hopefully.

Arching an eyebrow, I said, “I think we’ve built us a
really nice little theory here. The only problem is that
we don’t have any hard evidence to support even a single little premise of our speculation.”