Authors: Jude Pittman
Kelly fastened his gaze on the fireplace and collected his thoughts.
“I won’t kid you.” He brought his eyes back to Cam. “Once the cops find out about that struggle on the bridge, they’ll settle on you like ticks on a hound dog.”
“Don’t I know it.” Cam drained off his beer and nursed the empty mug. “I swear to God, Kelly, I didn’t have anything to do with Anna’s murder. She was alive when I left her and I don’t have a clue how she ended up dead inside the flea market.”
“It’s too bad you took so long getting back to the bar. That doesn’t look good.”
“I know what it looks like.”
Kelly doubted Cam realized just how bad things were but he’d better get him as prepared as he could. “You were sure as hell in the wrong place at the wrong time last night,” he said? “I know how Gus thinks and he’ll look at the facts and you’ve just admitted opportunity, the whole bar heard Anna’s threat about your note, so that takes care of the motive and since she was strangled with a silk scarf that you could’ve picked up anywhere that takes care of means. Frankly, I’d be surprised if they didn’t arrest you on the spot.”
Cam
groaned and gripped his head. “Maybe I ought to pack up and get the hell out of here for a while.”
“That’s the worst thing you could do.” Kelly fixed Cam with a hard stare. “Do you want every cop in the state on your tail?”
Cam
shook his head. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you ought to call Bill Shipton and tell him the whole story. You’re in deep shit no matter what but if you and Bill go see Gus and tell him exactly what happened last night, at least he’ll know you’re not trying to hide anything.”
Cam
stared at his glass. “If I do that, will you investigate Anna’s death for me? Once I’m arrested, the cops won’t look too hard for the real killer and I’m scared shitless I’m going to go down on a murder rap.”
Kelly sighed. He’d been expecting this and deep down, he knew he wanted to get involved. “I’m willing to see what I can do but first I’ll have to talk it over with Gus,” he said. “It’s his case and I can’t go mucking around in a murder investigation without his okay. That’s the best I can do for you.”
Cam
nodded and attempted a smile. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Kelly stood up and extended his hand. “Keep your chin up,” he said. “Get hold of Bill and do what he says. If anybody can talk you out of jail, Bill’s the man to do it. Matter of fact, Gus is liable to leave you loose just to shut him up.”
Kelly chuckled then choked it off. Cam’s face had gone dead white at the mention of jail.
Chapter Four
Jack Boscon unfolded the morning edition of the
Fort Worth Star Telegram
and frowned at the headline.
“Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth?” he growled and continued to read the story about a woman who’d been strangled at the Indian Creek flea market.
A security guard had discovered her body when he made late rounds. The victim’s name was being withheld pending notification of next of kin and the police were asking the public’s help in locating a young woman who had reportedly been involved in a dispute with the victim earlier in the day.
The paper gave a description of the young woman and Jack had a sinking feeling he knew who she was.
A couple of weeks before, a young woman named Krystal Davis had hired him to find her mother. According to her story, her father had shot himself seventeen years earlier and her mother had disappeared that same night. Krystal had spent her childhood with her grandmother and an uncle and neither of them would talk about her mother.
Jack had gotten the idea from the flat, emotionless tone she’d used when she talked about her family, that they hadn’t lost much love on Krystal.
Krystal had explained that she’d inherited her father’s controlling interest in Davis Oil and in three months, on her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d gain control of the trust that held the company’s assets. In other words, she was fixing to become a very wealthy woman and she was determined to know the truth about her mother. She wanted her mother found and she also wanted a sketch of her mother’s lifestyle.
Jack had warned Krystal that if her mother wanted to stay lost, she’d be covered deep and the investigation would likely be expensive. She’d shrugged off the expense and asked him to start immediately.
Jack had done some surveillance work for Krystal’s uncle Andrew Davis a few years back, so he was familiar with the family but he’d never handled any of their personal business and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to be on the good side of the young heiress.
He’d started Krystal’s job the next morning. Not expecting much on the first run-through, he’d plugged Anna Davis’ name into the computer and was surprised to come up with six possible matches. Within hours he’d finished the cross-matching and had a make. Anna hadn’t even tried to hide. She had a flea market license from Tarrant County that gave her place of residence as Indian Creek—a small community on the outskirts of Fort Worth.
The next morning Jack had cruised out to Indian Creek where a young fellow at the gas station asked if he was a fisherman. Jack nodded and said he’d heard that Indian Creek was a good spot for fishing. The kid assured him it was hot. Jack thanked the gas jockey and posing as a writer for
Field and Stream
, he hung a camera around his neck and went in search of the locals.
His first stop was the flea market, where he snapped a few random pictures and asked a talkative old geezer where he might find Anna Davis. With directions to her stall, Jack did some reconnoitering and managed to snap a couple of pictures while Anna waited on customers.
Finished at the flea market, he went in search of gossip. He’d spotted the Hideaway on his way in and figuring that as the likeliest spot for gossip, he made that his next stop.
Inside, a group of old timers were gathered around a potbellied stove. Jack sat for a while at the bar, then ordered a round and introduced himself. It hadn’t taken Jack long to spot Frank Perkins as the blabbermouth of the bunch and with a little manipulating, he’d managed to hire Frank and his boat for a tour around the lake.
The investment had been more than profitable. Jack had gleaned a wealth of information from the old man—who seemed to know everything about everyone. When Jack casually brought Anna Davis’ name into the conversation as a woman he’d met at the flea market and tried to interview, Frank let out a snort.
“I’m surprised she didn’t take a shotgun to you. She probably hadn’t hit the whiskey yet.”
“Likes the sauce does she? Drowning old sorrows or what?”
Frank’s shrug had been noncommittal. “Hell, nobody knows about her. She’s been around this Creek for more’n fifteen years but she hasn’t ever had a visitor I know of. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman when she first showed up here but she turned herself into a hag in a hell of a hurry. Most of us figure she was married to some rich dude and when she started hitting the bottle, he paid her to get the hell out of his life.”
“Could be an interesting story but I don’t think I’d like to get myself shot trying to dig into it.”
“I’d forget her if I was you. I doubt if there’s much to it other than what I said. One thing though—she’s got a pile of dough hid somewhere around the Creek.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, I can’t rightly say how I know.” Frank had smirked, looking pleased with himself. “You can take my word for it though. She’s stashed a pile somewhere. I know that for a fact.”
Jack recognized cagey when he heard it but he hadn’t been hired to dig into Anna’s finances, so he’d shrugged it off. Krystal’s instructions called for him to find her mother and get a rundown on her lifestyle. With more than enough to wrap up the job, Jack had left Indian Creek that night.
The next day he’d left a message on Krystal’s answering machine.
She’d appeared in his office a couple of hours later, breathless and trembling. “I want to hear it in person.”
Jack had chuckled and motioned her to a seat. “I’m glad I’ve got something to report.” He’d smiled and tapped a manila folder.
“Do you mean you’ve found her already?”
“Yep, sure have. Sometimes I just get lucky and this was one of those times.” Handing her the folder, he’d expected her to open it immediately but she’d just sat there clutching it to her chest.
“Aren’t you going to look?”
She’d been biting her lip but finally she’d nodded, opened the cover and spread it out on the desk. Clipped to the inside was a photograph of a haggard and emaciated woman. Wisps of gray hair clung to her head and her deep brown eyes had a haunted expression.
“Oh!” Krystal had gasped. “She looks so old.”
Jack had leaned back and closed his eyes. Poor kid. If she thought the picture was bad, wait ’til she read the report. When he opened his eyes again she was staring at the photograph.
“You still want to meet her?”
She’d blinked a couple of times then nodded her head.
“Okay. It’s your call but if I can make a suggestion, why don’t you go down to that flea market on Saturday when she’s working her stall. As you’ll see from the report, she drinks a bit and she’s more likely to be sober then. I think that might be better, don’t you?”
Krystal had looked like she was fighting back tears and Jack had patted her hand. She’d blinked a couple of times and finally answered. “Yes. Thanks. I don’t know what I’m going to say but I’ve got to see her.”
That had been three days ago. Now this. He glared at the newspaper and felt a little sick to his stomach. It wouldn’t do business any good if it got out that he’d set the girl up to murder her mother.
Sighing, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Frank Perkins was sure to know what was going on out there and Jack wanted confirmation the body was Anna’s before he took any steps.
When he passed the Hideaway, Jack noted that the lot was already full of vehicles. No doubt murder was the main attraction but he kept on down the hill toward Frank’s cabin. He’d just as soon keep this visit as quiet as possible.
Frank wasn’t home but Jack walked down to the creek and spotted him at the dock.
“Hi.” He strolled up to Frank and lifted a hand. “You remember me?”
Frank, who’d been bending over the boat, stood up and squinted. “Sure,” he said. “I remember. You get the assignment for that boating story?”
“I’m still waiting to hear from the editor. I see you’ve had a bit of excitement. Surprised the hell out of me when I read the paper. They didn’t give the name of the woman who was murdered though. Anybody I know?”
“It was Anna Davis that got it. You remember me telling you there was some fishy stuff going on with her? Well, she sure as hell got on the wrong side of somebody.”
“You called that one all right, Frank.” Jack smiled and put plenty of syrup in his voice. “Do the cops have a line on the killer?”
“Well, there’s some speculation about that.” Frank puffed out his chest. “’Fraid I can’t go into detail,” he said. “They’ve asked me to give them a hand, you know.”
Frank reminded Jack of a bantam rooster. “It’s a bit of luck for them—you being on the spot.” Jack said, being careful to keep a straight face. “I hope you’ll keep me in mind, if anything breaks down here.”
“You thinking about doing a story?” Frank’s eyes lit up, no doubt contemplating his part in a local whodunnit.
“I’m considering it,” Jack said. “Of course, I’d need a fresh approach. That’s where I thought you might help. What about the money angle? Didn’t you mention something about buried treasure?”