Small Town Trouble (8 page)

In my dream, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse came roaring into Fogerty. As they rode closer on their shiny steeds, I could see that their ranks were made up of Dickhead, Dan Dandrich, Bud Upton and Ted. Nearer they came, the pounding of hoofs intensifying, and I could tell that this was a dream I didn’t want to be in at all. What I couldn’t tell at that moment was that the thunderous pounding I heard was not equine in origin at all, but the sound of my mother across the hall, beating the crap out of her bedroom door.

I set Evelyn free, like the elusive butterfly she imagined herself, but she didn’t speak to me until a little later, when she caught a whiff of the pancakes and bacon I’d cooked up for breakfast.

“I accept your apology,” she said, snatching a plate from the cupboard and handing it to me in a rather aggressive fashion. “This doesn’t look very low-fat.”

“So sue me. And I don’t recall offering an apology,” I piled her plate with breakfast. I handed it back to her. “But let’s not split hairs.”

“All right,” Evelyn said. “I was a little out of line last night. I’m sorry.”

“A
little
?” I loaded up my own plate.

“I thought we weren’t going to split hairs.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t nice of me to barricade you in your room.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t,” she said, taking her place at the table. “Now let’s eat.”

After breakfast I made a fresh pot of coffee. I decided that it was time to call Bud Upton to tell him we’d accept the WFOG offer, but just as I picked up the phone, a car came up the drive.

Evelyn went to the window. She didn’t look too happy about whoever had come calling. I was hoping it wasn’t The Four Horsemen.

“Kimberly, did you by any chance call the police?”

“The police?”

If one of the neighbors had overheard Evelyn’s wail-o-rama the night before, they’d either waited a very long while to call the police or the Fogerty PD’s response time left something to be desired, or there was some other explanation.

Evelyn showed the cops into the kitchen. One of them was a woman and she happened to be the police chief which should have come as no surprise, but any sign of progress in Fogerty always had that effect on me, that is, if you can actually call a woman police chief a sign of progress.

She was kind of cute and looked a little bit like the newscaster Cokie Roberts, except Cokie probably would’ve had better sense than to be a cop. The other cop was Officer Mike. He was kind of cute too, if you went for the Erik Estrada type.

Evelyn and the cops seemed to know each other well. I had no desire to explore the extent of their relationship. Evelyn offered them coffee, but they passed.

In addition to cute, Chief Cokie also looked grim. Maybe she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Maybe she had bad news. Maybe she always looked that way. As it turned out, I was right the second time.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Chief Cokie said. “Abbott Claypoole is dead.”

Chapter 17

We sat down at the kitchen table and the cops laid out the details. Not only was my cousin Abbott dead, he’d been murdered.

Officer Mike cleared his throat. “It appears that Abbott left WFOG about ten o’clock last night and headed over to...” He paused and looked a little embarrassed, “Jimmy’s Place.”

I thought Evelyn might faint, but she hung tough. I was glad to see that because I was starting to feel a little faint myself.

Officer Mike continued. “The bartender at Jimmy’s says Abbott had a few beers, then left around midnight. That’s the last anybody saw of him until this morning.”

Evelyn and I sat there dumbstruck.

“You should know,” Chief Cokie interjected, “that the rest of the story gets a bit gruesome.”

“Give it to us straight,” I said.

Evelyn winced, then seconded the motion.

We’d asked for it and Officer Mike gave it to us. “The garbage man found Abbott this morning. His throat was slit, and he’d been stuffed in a trash bag out behind the radio station, and there was something missing.”

“Oh, no,” Evelyn gasped. “Not his
thing!”

The pancakes in my stomach flipped and made an unpleasant landing.

Chief Cokie winced. “Afraid so.”

Gruesome
was right.

Abbott and I had never been close. In fact, when I thought of him, which wasn’t often, I generally thought of the bucktoothed, free-loading, redneck goober he was. Abbott was the kind of guy who, in adulthood, still enjoyed pulling the wings off flies, but even with his obvious shortcomings, no one liked to think of their own cousin knifed, vivisected in the private parts arena and stuffed in a Hefty bag.

“Who could do such a thing?” Evelyn said, shaking her head.

“You can bet we’ll do our best to find out,” Officer Mike said.

Jimmy’s Place was starting to sound like a real bad spot for a nightcap.

“Have you turned up anything yet on the last murder?” I asked.

After a long pause, Officer Mike said, “We’re working on it.” He was wooden enough in his delivery to land a big part on
Law and Order.

I needed another cup of coffee badly, so I got up to make a fresh pot. All the bits and pieces of the past few days were flying around my head, colliding and exploding like multi-colored amoebas with lit fuses. The questions were lining up like Russians outside their first McDonald’s.

As it turned out, everybody else was ready for a cup of coffee too so I poured all around. This was drive-to-Detroit coffee, as Ted and I called it, the kind that came in the big can, all the caffeine you can handle and then some. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t touch the stuff, but Fogerty is no place to expect normal circumstances.

I took a hot sip and turned to Chief Cokie and Officer Mike. I wasn’t sure what it had to do with anything, but I asked anyway.

“Ever hear of Larry White?”

Officer Mike looked blankly at Chief Cokie. They both shrugged.

“How about filling us in?” Chief Cokie said, stirring a fourth teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up on
Law and Order
, too.

I told them about Larry White’s recent generous offer for WFOG, and his interest in the Delozier place. It seemed like a long shot, but this mystery guy’s timing on the scene in Fogerty coincided pretty nicely with a couple of grisly murders. They agreed that a murder connection was a long shot, but said they’d look into it.

I felt a black cloud of major proportions settling over us. Reluctantly, it occurred to me that there was a distinct possibility that Evelyn wouldn’t be cashing her check any time real soon.

Later, Evelyn and I went to the radio station to see Alonzo and Agee. They were both visibly undone by their brother’s ghastly death, but they were staunchly carrying on at WFOG. While Agee half-heartedly deejayed, Alonzo sat with us and, through occasional tearful outbursts, he told us that he and Agee weren’t all that concerned when Abbott hadn’t come home the night before.
 

“Abbott had been seeing this
girl
,” Alonzo said.

The three brothers had shared a trailer for years. It was easy to see how bringing a date home was really out of the question.

“What girl?” Evelyn said. “I don’t know anything about a girl.”

Alonzo shook his head. “She’s trouble. Agee and I both said so.”

“She have a name?” I asked. Under the circumstances I hated to be short with him, but Alonzo could get sidetracked.

“Her name’s Charlene. She’s a dancer over at Jimmy’s Place.”

Chapter 18

Back at Tara, I tucked Evelyn into bed for a long nap and got on the phone to Amy Delozier. Once again, I had an idea. Chief Cokie would probably have the same idea, but I figured that two heads were better than one.

It looked like it was Nancy Drew time.

“It’s awful about Abbott,” Amy said.

It was so sweet the way she said it. It made me want to pretend I’d liked him more than I did, but I couldn’t go that far.

“Will you meet me later for a drink?” I asked.

“You bet,” she said, with real enthusiasm. “When and where?”

“How about around ten, at Jimmy’s Place?”

“Jimmy’s Place? The
topless
bar?”

“Trust me.”

Maybe it wasn’t fair to drag a nice girl like Amy Delozier into a scum pit like Jimmy’s Place, but I was a nice girl, too, and if I was going, I was taking somebody with me. I’d already ruled out bringing Evelyn along or anyone even remotely related to me. That pretty much left Amy as bachelorette number one. Besides, maybe we’d run into her brother, Rick Rod, and we could all share a table dance.

 
I figured it was possible that a little girl talk with Abbott’s dancer girlfriend, Charlene, might go a long way in turning up something of interest and I didn’t have the confidence or the patience to wait for Fogerty’s finest to find the killer. They were probably still arguing about who really whacked Nicole Simpson.

I had a few hours to kill before show time at Jimmy’s Place so I gave Ted a call at the restaurant. I wanted to share my misery with someone.

“Little Pigeon.” I didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. It’s always a disconcerting experience to call your own place of business and get a stranger on the other end of the line.

“May I speak with Ted, please?”

It was a labor-intensive, time-consuming phone handoff. Finally, Ted came on the line. “Ted here.”

“Who answered the phone?”

“Oh,” he said, somewhat hesitantly, “as you might recall, we’re a little short-handed so Katrina’s helping out.”

“Katrina? As in Ski Lodge Cocktail Lounge Katrina?”

“The very one.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Katrina could’ve been Lonnie Anderson’s not very bright little sister. Sometimes you just can’t take the cocktail lounge out of the girl.

“May I remind you,” Ted said with a pompous lilt, “that if you were here, we wouldn’t need Katrina.”

“If I were dead, we wouldn’t need Katrina.”

He sighed rather dramatically. “All right.”

I wasn’t going to rub it in or push my luck, so I changed the subject.

“There’s a new twist on the home front,” I said.

“I just love a good twist.”

“My cousin Abbott’s been murdered.”

“Good God. Did you kill him?”

“Very funny. Get this. He was not only murdered, but someone cut off his wiener and stuffed him in a garbage bag.”

“Are you
sure
you didn’t do it?”

I brought Ted up to date, filling him in on the other murder and all of the ugly details right up to Abbott’s recent amorous activity with the topless dancer. This, of course, caught Ted’s attention.

“Whoa,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“Well, somebody wasn’t. Abbott ended up a eunuch in a trash bag.”

“You already told me that part.”

“Just trying to move you back onto the playing field.”

“I’m on the fucking playing field,” Ted said, irritably.

He agreed that Larry White’s interest in Fogerty and a couple of hairy murders had all happened in a pretty cozy time frame.

“Maybe I’ll know more after tonight,” I said. “I’m meeting a date at Jimmy’s Place.”

“The topless joint? Who’s the lucky girl, Ellie May Clampett?”

“You’ve got your Beverly Hillbillies mixed up. Jethro was the lesbian.”

“Ah.”

“Her name’s Amy. We go way back. Unfortunately, she’s married to a dentist.”

“You really are sick, you know that?”

“Love you too, Ted.”

He hung up on me.

It was still a little too early for topless dancing, so I rang Nancy’s office. I was really racking up the long distance calls. Fortunately, I’d had the sense to add Ted and Nancy to Evelyn’s MCI Friends and Family phone list. Every little bit helps.

As I expected, Shirley picked up.

“Sorry,” she said. “They’re taping the goat segment.”

“Excuse me, the what?”

“Let’s see,” Shirley said, “at present there are three goat farmers and exactly twelve goats in the studio with Nancy.”

“Should I even ask why?”

“Doing a special on goat cheese this week.”

“I hate goat cheese.” I also hated the idea that Nancy was schmoozing with a bunch of goat farmers when she could be schmoozing with me.

 
“Listen, gal,” Shirley said, “get your butt back here. Since you’ve been gone, Nancy’s been a real bear.”