3 A Brewski for the Old Man (26 page)

The next morning, Saturday, I went to see Uncle Ziggy before I went to the Sunset. His color was better and his voice was stronger and not as raw.

“Your dad told me about your little adventure,” Uncle Ziggy said.

“Little? It was the scariest night of my life — well, except for one night in a frat house, but you’re too young to know about that.”

His laugh no longer sounded like it hurt, less breathy and raspy.

“I’m so glad to see you getting stronger. You look loads better than the last time I was here. How long before you’ll be able to come home with me?” I asked.

“They aren’t saying for sure but I figure a couple of days. You sure about this, honey?”

“Oh yeah. I’m going to hire you the cutest little nurse you’ve ever seen. You aren’t going to want to get better.”

“Unlikely.”

“You’re right, when you balance my cooking against her cuteness, you’ll be better in double time.”

At the Sunset, I saw that Rena’s store was open. I debated going in, but what was there left to say except maybe, “So, Rena, did you finally do the right thing and go out there and blow Ray John away?” Maybe not a good idea, so I kept going up to the restaurant and the load of paperwork waiting for me. I hate all that stuff, schedules, checking times and calling in orders, and some days I wasn’t sure keeping the Sunset was worth the mind-numbing hassle.

Within minutes of entering my office there was a knock and Lacey peeked around the edge of the door. “Hi,” we both said. “Come in and sit,” I added.

She was wearing shorts and flip-flops and her hair was pulled back off her face. Colorful plastic bangles jangled up and down her wrist, hiding the scars. For the first time since I met her she looked like what she was, a young beautiful teenaged girl with her whole life ahead of her. She gave me a tentative smile and perched on the edge of the chair facing me.

We were both uneasy, unsure of the new state of our relationship as we went through the “How have you been, how’s it going?” stuff. Finally I said, “Styles was here last night and said you admitted that you took my truck out to the Preserves. But you didn’t tell him that you also took my gun, did you?”

“No.” She looked wary, waiting for me to jump on her for leaving this out of her statement.

“And are you still sure you didn’t use it?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t forget that, wouldn’t forget if I shot someone.”

“Shot? Was he only shot once?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose in the most appealing way.

“Wasn’t he?” she asked. She leaned forward, and asked almost in a whisper, “You mean he was shot twice?”

If she was pretending not to know about the three bullets she was doing a real good job, but being a liar makes you suspicious of any display of innocence. Or maybe Anita was passing on bad info and he hadn’t been shot more than once. “I’m not sure. I just thought you might know how many times he’d been shot.”

“Well, I don’t because I didn’t shoot him.” She was quite indignant.

“The police didn’t tell you or Rena how many times he was shot?”

She shook her head. “Does it matter?”

“Not to Ray John. Have you remembered what you did with the gun?”

Again her nose wrinkled.

“Look, Lacey,” I said, “I went out on a limb for you. That gun is going to come back to haunt us. Stop lying to me and tell me what happened.” I was hoping she’d tell me she’d dropped it off a bridge or down a storm drain, anywhere that it would never be found.

“I was going to kill him.” The words exploded out of her.

“I pointed it at him, told him if he didn’t leave me alone I’d shoot him.” My stomach rolled.

“I couldn’t do it. RJ just laughed at me. Then he told me I’d been bad and he was going to punish me.” Her voice went to a whisper. “Told me what I had to do to make up for threatening him with a gun. The whole thing was a joke to RJ, maybe even excited him a little. I wish I could have shot him but I couldn’t.”

“What happened then, what happened to my Beretta?”

“I don’t know. He took it away from me. He wasn’t afraid of me even when I had a gun. He was never going to let me go.” And now we had come to what brought her up the stairs. “You aren’t going to tell the police, are you? I don’t want them to know I took a weapon out there. I just told them I went out to talk to him.”

“I have to admit I don’t want to tell them about it either; leaving a gun sitting around for you to pick up was pretty foolish on my part, but then I hadn’t expected you to…” I reconsidered my words. “I didn’t expect you to do any of the things you did.”

“I’m sorry. I know I was stupid.”

But hadn’t she had a real good reason for everything she’d done? If I was on a jury and she was charged with Ray John’s death, no way I’d find her guilty. It was self-defense as far as I was concerned, maybe even a public service. “Lacey, did Ray John say anything about the people who lived in the Preserves?”

She shrugged. “He hated them. He wasn’t friends with them or anything; he just thought they were all stuck-up and stupid.” She frowned and thought for a minute. “He never really liked anyone, either at the Preserves or in our neighborhood. He fought with the guy who lives behind us because he leaves his dog outside when he goes to work and it barks all day. It woke RJ up all the time.” Another guy to add to Styles’ suspect list.

“RJ threatened to shoot the dog once. Things were better for a while, but now RJ is gone, the guy is leaving the dog outside again and its barking is driving my mom crazy.”

This guy was definitely someone to add to Styles’ list. “Was there anyone special Ray John talked about at the Preserves?”

She gave it some thought. “This Quinton guy. RJ really thought he was a load of sh…” she stopped and looked at me, squirming a bit in her chair, “Well, RJ just had no respect for the man.”

“Did Ray John spend much time on a computer?”

“Never,” she said in a voice dripping disgust for dinosaurs that had been left behind by technology. “He hated the things, went on and on that they were destroying some great way of life. The way he talked, I bet he could barely use a computer. He never used the one at home.”

“Did he keep a journal or anything?”

“Not that I know.”

“Did the police look for one?”

Her teeth worried her lip for a moment. “I don’t know what they were looking for or what they found. They searched through his desk and all his drawers. Mom nearly went spare but they said they had to find out everything they could about him.”

“Did they take anything away?”

“A boxful of stuff. I don’t know what was in it, except Mom was mad about missing bank statements from the store.”

“How’s Rena doing?”

“Not so good. I should get back.” She stood to leave. She was almost to the door when she asked, “Why are you asking all this stuff?”

“I’m asking because you and I are still under a shadow. The quicker the police look somewhere else, the better I’ll like it. Did Ray John talk about people breaking laws out there?”

“He hinted at all kinds of things but I don’t know any names.” She smiled. “There was one woman living out there who he arrested for prostitution back when he was in the sheriff’s department. Can you imagine that, a prostitute living in a big house with rich people?”

Oh, yeah, I was imagining it all right. “Do you know her name?”

She shook her head. “He liked to put them down but he wasn’t going to say anything that could get around. He was really careful that way. Didn’t want to get sued or anything.”

It didn’t matter, I was pretty sure I could guess the name of the woman who had been turning tricks thirteen years ago, the same woman who’d been celebrating the day Ray John died.

Lunch hour was crazy and it didn’t back off until after two. By four the bar at the Sunset was already filling up again. By seven every seat at the bar was full and people were two deep in the vestibule.

I went to check with Gwen to see if we could get things moving. “There hasn’t been any break since lunch,” a harried Gwen said. “We were still serving lunches in the dining room right up until three and then the bar took over. We’re fully booked tonight. I even had to turn down bookings. This is the best we can do.”

“Hallelujah, I won’t have to declare bankruptcy this week,” I said and ran my finger down the list of reservations. Lots of new names, the word was getting around. In August no one needed to make reservations and no one had, but now in September the story had changed.

“And I actually heard Isaak and Miguel laughing,” Gwen told me.

“Better and better.”

“Maybe not.” She turned away to say goodnight to a handsome couple just leaving. When they were gone she turned her attention to me and said, “I think you were the subject of the laughter. Can’t be sure, mind you, but I did hear your name mentioned.”

“Bitch, but not even you can destroy my gratitude for the lovely people dining here tonight.” “All and all, I think everything is under control.” A tray dropped and a glass shattered. The pen in my hand flew across the foyer and I ducked behind the stand-up desk. “Geez, what’s with you?” Gwen said.

My heart was beating too fast to speak. I forced myself to stand up straight again. I couldn’t explain it, it was just this impending sense of doom that had settled over me, like something was waiting for me, a disaster ready to strike. It had been building all day and now it had me as nervous as a pig at a barbecue.

“Only a tray,” Gwen said, patting my arm. “No need to jump out of your skin.” She looked at me with concern. “Are the nightmares coming back?” Gwen knew all about my bad times.

I tried to laugh but my laughter parts weren’t working. “Just a little jumpy.” I took the pen, which a man waiting for a table held out. “Thank you,” I said to him and then, when the man went back to hold up his share of the wall, I said to Gwen, “It’s your fault.” I told her, “You scare me when you make rash statements about everything being under control. Things are never under control.” I didn’t know how true those words were going to turn out to be.

We’d been short one busboy all night and there were cartons of empties I wanted moved from behind the bar. I went into the kitchen where everything was chaos and asked Miguel, “Where’s Gomez?”

“In jail,” Miguel said, not looking up from the blade flashing up and down, shaving parsley off the stock.

“What? What did he get arrested for?”

“Cock fighting.” Miguel called to one of the assistants, “Leah, do the rest of these plates.”

“Miguel, what do you mean he was arrested for cock fighting?”

He dried his hands on the towel hanging from the ties of his wraparound apron. “He has a trailer out on a sod farm three miles east of the interstate. He was raising roosters for fighting. Someone called the cops. He was arrested for cruelty to animals.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

Miguel shrugged and grabbed another stack of parsley draining in a rack. He shook it violently and slapped it on the wooden cutting board, frowning down at his young assistant who worked slowly and with extreme concentration to drizzle something red from a yellow squeeze bottle. I knew he longed to grab the bottle from her and take over, doing it in his mad frenzied style. “He talked about it. He made a lot more money off them roosters than what you pay him busing tables.”

“Didn’t you think you should tell me about the cock fighting and his arrest?”

“Why?” The knife stopped. “What would you do about it? It isn’t your problem. Life would be easier for us all if you didn’t try to solve every problem in the world.” The blade started slicing through the parsley at speed.

“Well, first of all, it’s left us one busboy short. And I’m in charge here, Miguel. What happens in this kitchen is my responsibility and in the future when you have information like this pass it on.”

“Sure,” Miguel said. “So now I’m telling you we need one more busboy.”

The knife stopped and he raised his eyes. “Gomez was no good for here. I talked to Tommy Jackson, he can start tomorrow.” He went back to the parsley.

I opened my mouth to blast him and then shut it again, waiting a beat before saying, “You take on too much. It’s my job to do the hiring and firing.” “So you don’t want Tommy?”

“Yes, I want Tommy.” Tommy had worked for us full-time before Hurricane Myrna paid a little visit. He’d been working elsewhere when I started rehiring the following spring. Tommy fit in perfectly at the Sunset.

“Good,” Miguel said and turned away with his silver bowl of parsley to oversee the plating of orders.

I really had to get my staff under control, but I didn’t know how. The problem was they were friends before they were staff and I didn’t know how to reconcile the two.

At the bar the bodies were two deep while they waited for something to open up in the dining room. I sent the barman out with the empties while I covered for him.

When he came back I called Sheila and then I went to find Gwen.

Before I opened my mouth she saw the purse over my shoulder. “Oh no,” she said. “You can’t run out on us again.” “I’ll make it up to you,” I promised, heading for the door.

“Don’t tell me, tell the folks waiting for drinks,” she called after me.

See what I mean, I just wasn’t getting any respect.