Dark Waters (20 page)

‘Not yet. You like Mexican?'

‘Does the Pope shit in the woods? That place I passed on my way?' Emmett asked.

‘That's the one.'

They headed out in Emmett's car, although the Mexican restaurant wasn't more than a couple of city blocks away. Once inside, menus perused, orders taken and sweet ice teas laid down, Emmett said, ‘Guess you heard about old Darby Hunt?'

‘That he got himself wacked? Yeah, I heard that. Was expecting a call from you,' Bill said.

Emmett felt himself flushing. ‘Sorry about that. Haven't been in charge in a long time, sort of got the better of me.'

‘So who're your suspects? Other than the entire McDaniel family, of course.'

Emmett shook his head. ‘He had a girlfriend, and then there's his family, but that's about it. I was wondering about her family here in Tejas County?'

Bill shook his own head. ‘You mean Cheryl's? Never was much of a presence. The senior McDaniels moved here after their kids were grown, but they're both gone,' he said.

‘Anybody else you can think of?'

‘Well, now, seems Cheryl had a girlfriend, you know, best friend kind of thing, who lived here with her husband. She was pretty shook up over the whole thing, threatened Hunt right back at the trial – when he threatened her family.' He laughed. ‘I remember it like it was yesterday. Little thing, maybe five-two, ninety pounds dripping wet, blonde and blue. Hunt starts his crap and she comes flying out of the gallery, her husband trying to catch her, and she says, “You're a dead man! I'm gonna kill you myself!” And then she called him names I'd blush to repeat.'

‘Hell, Bill! She sounds like a winner!' Emmett said.

Bill shrugged. ‘Her and her family moved to Oregon about a year after. Saw her mama at the Piggly Wiggly the other day, said Dora has five kids now and is as big as a barn.' He shook his head. ‘Shame, when you think about it.'

‘What? Her getting fat, or not being around for me to accuse?' Emmett asked.

Again Bill shrugged his shoulders. ‘Both,' he said. ‘So what's with the girlfriend? And why do women do that, anyway?' Bill asked. ‘I mean, there are plenty of meanass men out here free as a bird if they want a bad boy.'

‘Yeah, well, maybe these women just want the allure of a bad guy, not the real thing,' Emmett said. ‘When they're behind bars they can't hurt you, right?'

‘Right,' Bill said.

Which made Emmett think: was that it? Was Reba Sinclair worried, now that her beloved was out, that he'd start the same crap with her that he had with his wife? That her life was in peril? Did she decide to strike first? Was the principal of Petal's school an excellent shot?

‘You're paying, right?' Emmett said as he got up and threw some ones on the table. ‘For the tip. Gotta get back to my county.' And with that, he was out the door, figuring Bill could use the walk back to his shop.

When I got to our suite, Jean and the boys were back from swimming and had changed clothes. The boys were playing some game that involved ninjas (the one word I heard), and were secure in their part of the suite, so I sat next to Jean on the bed.

‘Heinrich and I figured out that the younger Connelly boy – Jacob, I think?'

Jean nodded her head. ‘Yes, Trip's the older one.'

‘OK, Jacob. Anyway, he's the one who actually took the money out of Clifford Dunne's jacket pocket.'

‘Oh, Lord,' Jean said.

‘Yeah,' I agreed. ‘Maybe you should have a talk with him?'

‘I'll call Rose this evening,' Jean said. ‘Maybe we can talk after dinner.'

But before she could make that call, we got a call on the ship's phone from Lucy Tulia, inviting us to the dining room for the early seating at a large table with everyone involved, except, she said, the senior Mr and Mrs Connelly.

So we got the boys dressed in something a little nicer than shorts and T-shirts, Jean put on a sundress and I wore a jacket, and we went to the dining room. We were escorted to a huge round table. We weren't the first. Esther Monte, her new, for want of a better word, boyfriend, Lance Turner, and her daughter Lyssa were all seated, as were Vern and Crystal Weaver; his son Ryan was sequestered in their cabin. The four of us sat down, with Early taking the seat next to Lyssa and Johnny Mac taking the seat on the end with me and Jean in the middle. I was slightly curious why he didn't sit next to Early, when the Tulias showed up and Janna ran straight for the chair next to Johnny Mac. The grin he gave off went from ear to ear. I swear the boy was advanced for his age – only ten and already in love. I'd have to keep a strict eye on him to make sure there was no kissing going on. Way too young for that!

Mike and Lucy parked next to their daughter. A few minutes later, Rose Connelly showed up with her youngest son, Jacob, filling the table. Her older boy, like Vern Weaver's youngest, was sequestered in his cabin. We busied ourselves with looking at the menu and ordering. Lance got up and headed for the restrooms, and the senior Mr Connelly came in to say something to Rose. As he left, I noticed he whispered something in Esther's ear. She didn't seem to like it but did not reply.

There were always some of the same things on the menu – like steak, shrimp cocktail, Caesar salad, etc., but the main items changed every night. That night I ordered bacon-wrapped shrimp with water chestnut and jalapeño for an appetizer, a soup of lobster bisque instead of a salad, beef Wellington with a side of broccoli gratin, and poached pears for dessert. Though I got to say, the strawberry shortcake that Johnny Mac and Janna shared looked mighty tasty.

It had been decided on the phone that we'd let the kids go to the children's pavilion, but that one of the parents would escort them there and that the sitters would be told the kids were not to leave without a parent. Mike and I were elected to do the honors.

It took about fifteen minutes to get them there and get back to the dining room.

On the way back, Mike said, ‘So, Milt, what do you think?'

‘Huh?' I said.

‘About all this crap – Josh being murdered, our kids being taught how to steal—'

I shook my head. ‘I think our kids handled it pretty well,' I said. ‘Early was pretty smart in spending his money and lying to Josh and, although Johnny Mac said he didn't have enough money to buy anything in that jewelry store, my take is he didn't think about it. But he did steal the only thing in the store that cost less than a dollar, and that toy that Janna took was practically a give-away, little more than a dollar. So I think their upbringing paid off, is what I think, Mike. As for Josh's murder, I don't know if it had something to do with Clifford Dunne's five thousand or not. Maybe Dunne found out it was Josh – how I don't know and it seems unlikely – or somebody else found out Josh had that kind of money on him and wanted it for themselves.'

Mike was nodding his head. ‘Reasonable deductions,' he said and grinned at me. ‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but I feel sorta like Watson to your Sherlock.'

‘Sorry, no cocaine on me,' I said.

By the time we got back to the table, a new bottle of wine was being passed around. We got there just in time. Everyone was in high spirits, except poor old Vern. Crystal was paying little attention to him, instead flirting with Esther's date, Lance.

After Esther's third glass of wine, she said, ‘Crystal, honey, I think you'd be doing more good taking care of your husband rather than trying to romance
my
shipboard romance!'

Crystal bristled and Lance laughed, leaning over and kissing Esther, who laughed with him.

‘You OK, baby?' Crystal said to Vern.

‘I'm fine, honey,' he said, patting her hand. ‘I think maybe I'll go back to the cabin.'

‘You want me to go with you?' Crystal asked. Her tone was saying, ‘No you don't, no you don't.'

‘Naw, honey, you stay. I'm gonna be fine, just need a little alone time.' Vern stood up and wandered off.

To the rest of the table, Crystal said, ‘He'll be OK. This has just been a real shock to him.'

Esther and Lance were still sucking face when I said, ‘Anybody come up with any ideas about who might have done in poor old Josh?'

‘Poor old Josh?' Lucy said. ‘I don't think that's appropriate, Milt. I think it should be “that little shit Josh.”'

‘Now, honey—' Mike started, but Lucy was having none of it.

‘He was trying to get our kids to steal! He did get some of them to!' she said, looking at Rose.

Rose sighed, tears coming to her eyes. ‘Milt told me earlier that they've figured out from talking to the man who was mugged—'

‘Clifford Dunne,' I said.

‘Mr Dunne, that Jacob was the one who actually took the money, egged on or bullied into it by Josh and my son Trip. Jacob stopped sucking his thumb when he was three. I caught him yesterday morning and this morning with his thumb in his mouth when he was still asleep. I couldn't understand why until this all came out.'

Lucy reached over and took Rose's hand. ‘I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to accuse you or your boys—'

‘But they did it,' Rose said. She lifted her head high and said, ‘My father-in-law has told me that when we get back home he plans to take a more active role in the boys' lives. Turn them into good little soldiers. I guess I'll be moving out.'

We were all turned to Rose, hearing the shocking news, when there was a sound from across the table. Lance Turner was holding his throat and making a retching sound.

‘Lance?' Esther said. ‘Lance, are you OK? Baby, what's wrong?'

He tried to stand up, hit the table, backed into his chair, knocking it over, then collapsed on the floor. Everybody ran to him and Jean said, ‘Move out of the way. I'm a doctor. Milt, call for the medics.'

She got down on the floor and ripped Lance's shirt open. Some kind of froth was emitting from his mouth. Jean checked his pulse. Then she leaned forward, as if to smell his breath.

‘Please, would someone help me up?' I was still on the phone so Mike and Lucy got her to her feet. ‘Esther!' she said.

‘Don't stop!' Esther cried. ‘Make him better! Do CPR!'

Jean grabbed Esther's hand. ‘I'm sorry, Esther. He's dead. Which wine glass was his?'

‘What? Dead? No, he can't be dead!'

‘Which wine glass was his?' Jean insisted. ‘Esther! It's import-ant! Which wine glass was his?'

Esther shook her head, then looked at Jean. ‘Which wine glass?' She looked around the table. ‘This one,' she said, starting to pick it up.

‘Don't!' Jean said. Then she grabbed one of the cloth napkins still on the table and picked the wine glass up herself, holding it to her nose.

I finished my call and asked her, ‘What is it?'

‘Cyanide,' she said.

I leaned down to smell the glass. ‘Bitter almonds,' I said.

Emmett radioed in to Holly and got a home address for Reba Sinclair, the principal at the Christian school. She lived within walking distance of the school, on Pine Bluff Drive, where there were no pines and not a bluff in sight. Her house was a typical seventies ranch, a three-bedroom MIL plan, with red brick veneer and newly painted white trim. It had a small front porch with hanging baskets of plants drooping from the eaves and big potted plants taking up most of the floor space. He made his way gingerly to the front door and rang the bell. He could hear movement inside the house, so waited. It only took a minute or two for the curtain on the glass of the front window to move slightly and expose one of Ms Sinclair's myopic blue eyes. Seeing him, she opened the door.

While at the school she'd been wearing a cream-colored suit, skirt to the knee, buttoned to the throat, sensible shoes. Her home attire was a tad different: Daisy Dukes and a tube top, and barefoot. One look and he could see why Darby Hunt might be interested; the woman may have been unattractive from the neck up, but damn if she didn't have a body by Buick, Emmett thought.

‘Deputy?' she said, hand on jutted-out hip, obviously aware of Emmett's observation.

‘Ma'am, a few more questions, if you don't mind,' Emmett said.

‘But I do mind,' she said, and started to close her door.

Emmett put out his foot to stop the door from closing. ‘Ma'am, I'll be happy to wait out here while you call your lawyer to come over, but one way or the other, you and I are having a talk tonight.'

Reba Sinclair sighed heavily but let up her pressure on the door. Emmett wiggled his toes, hoping to get the circulation going again. Like her former future mother-in-law's house, the front door led directly into the living room. Emmett couldn't help noticing that the room was like Reba Sinclair herself: good bones, but unattractive. It was a big room with a nice fireplace and mantel, and an alcove above the mantel, which was empty. The room was brown on brown with some beige thrown in for, he supposed, color. Everything was old and all but used up, and the place smelled kind of funny to Emmett's way of thinking.

The living room held a brown couch in that nubby material he hadn't seen around since the eighties, a matching love seat and arm chair, and three matching Formica-topped tables – two end, one coffee. There were no pictures or anything else on the walls; no books or magazines on the tables, not even an ashtray. And that wasn't the smell. It wasn't stale cigarette smoke. It was something worse than that – a sad smell, a smell of failure, of dreams lost. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it made him itchy – uncomfortable, ready to leave. Instead he sat down on the sofa as Reba Sinclair indicated.

‘What do you want?' she asked him, perching on the tip of the arm chair. ‘I thought I answered all of your questions.'