Death Crashes the Party (15 page)

“I think your dad will help you on that front. He seemed to be feeling pretty feisty earlier today. I bet he tells you both to go home.”

 

 

After Larry Joe headed for the hospital, I phoned Di to fill her in on what Ted had said over lunch, as well as on what I'd picked up at the beauty shop. She suggested I come by her place and tell her about it over a glass of wine.

Di opened the front door and said, “Hey, you've got kind of a retro thing going on with your hair. I didn't know you were thinking about changing hairstyles.”

“It wasn't exactly intentional. I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Uh, okay.”

After settling into Di's recliner, I kicked off my shoes and took a couple of sips of wine. “Mmm. This is pretty tasty. What is it?”

“I don't know,” Di said, stretched out on the sofa. “It comes in a box.”

I told her what I'd learned from Ted.

“Milton, huh? No wonder he goes by Bobo.”

“It's a good thing you sent that photo,” I said. “At least now the FBI is back on Bobo's trail.”

“I've seen Ralph a bunch of times coming in or out of his mama's house in the mornings,” she said. “In fact, I doubt I would've thought anything about seeing him talking to that guy, if it hadn't been for your vivid description of Bobo.”

“Well,” I sighed, “maybe there is some reasonable explanation as to why Bobo was there. I can't believe Ralph would bring a thug to his mother's house.”

“I wouldn't let him off the hook so quick,” she said. “Wait a minute.”

Di went to the fridge and placed our glasses under the wine box tap for refills; then she said that she'd talked to Dave this afternoon. Apparently, he was still trying to smooth things over with her after the nasty inquisition he put us through at the sheriff's office.

“They checked a little into Ralph's finances and found out he's been having some money troubles. Seems his wife cleaned him out in the divorce, his daughter's at an expensive college, and he also helps out his mom financially.” She drew a long sip of wine. “And yet he recently bought a new bass boat. The dealer in Hartville says he paid cash for it.” Di punctuated the sentence with raised eyebrows.

Her eyebrows went up, and my shoulders sagged, along with my heart and pretty much every part of my being, except my hair. I had sacrificed my hair and half my afternoon for absolutely no reason. Dave had told Di every single thing I had “learned” from Nell.

I went straight home and washed my hair with laundry detergent.

Still nothing.

Chapter 20

I woke up the next morning nuzzled against the prickly, unshaven face of my gently snoring husband and started to nibble on his earlobe. He roused in more ways than one. We had a little time before the alarm was set to go off. Lazy cuddling led to more aerobic activity, which reached a heart-racing conclusion in sync with the alarm clock buzzer.

Larry Joe headed out the kitchen door with a travel mug of coffee and a smile on his face. He planned to run by the hospital to look in on his dad before going to the office.

I hummed during my shower, towel-dried my hair, since blow-drying it was out of the question, and took extra care putting on my makeup before donning a white skirt and a striped, nautical-inspired blouse. I'm not generally a hair bow person, but I stuck a navy-blue bow on top of my head in an attempt to minimize my hair's height. I was meeting with the new clients about planning an engagement party and wanted to look my best, such as it was.

I stopped by the bakery and picked up some fresh-baked apple-walnut mini muffins and brewed a pot of freshly ground Kona coffee to offer Mr. and Mrs. Dodd. They wanted to discuss a formal party to officially announce the engagement of their Ole Miss – schooled daughter to a Mississippi State graduate. If the bride-to-be's family and her fiancé's family started talking football at the party, a brawl could break out. But the meeting went great, and they hired me to plan the party.

After starting a file for the Dodds' event, I freshened my lipstick and headed to the hospital, stopping by the convenience store on the way to pick up a couple of magazines I thought my father-in-law might enjoy paging through. On the way into the hospital, I ran into Ralph Harvey, who was on his way out.

“Oh, hey, Ralph. I suppose we're here to see the same patient.”

“Yes, ma'am. I just dropped off a get-well card that a bunch of the guys had signed for Mr. McKay.”

“That's nice. How's he doing?”

“He seems okay. He was complaining about how there's nothing on the television worth watching. I see you've brought a couple of magazines. He might enjoy looking at those, or maybe you could bring up some videotapes—if you happen to have any just lying around the house,” Ralph said with a knowing look. I had more than an inkling that he was trying to let me know that
he
knew I had filched the security tapes from the office. Maybe he even knew somehow that I had tipped off the cops about Bobo.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Ralph?”

“No, ma'am. I wouldn't presume to tell you anything. I'm the kind of guy who tries to mind his own business. Seems like a good policy to me.” Ralph tugged at the bill of his ball cap while giving a nod and said, “G'day, Ms. McKay,” before sauntering away.

I seethed at the thought that Ralph was trying to menace me with some kind of subtle blackmail. What I knew that he didn't was that the sheriff already had in his possession the security tapes I had taken. Of course, Larry Joe and his dad didn't know about the tapes, and I'd just as soon keep it that way. Still, under no circumstances would I let Ralph Harvey get away with running drugs through McKay Trucking Company—or maybe even committing murder.

My face flushed hot with anger. I knew I needed to calm down a bit before I made an attempt to cheer up Daddy Wayne. After wandering into the gift shop, I left my magazines with the cashier while I browsed. I hoped that gazing at angel statues, teddy bears, and key chains inscribed with Bible verses would bring me serenity. After about fifteen minutes, I figured I had summoned all the inner peace I could muster and headed to the elevator.

When I walked in the room, Miss Betty was sitting on the loveseat, listening to their neighbor, Mrs. Finch, chatter nonstop, while Daddy Wayne looked as if his head might explode. He was genuinely pleased to see me.

“Liv, darlin', come on in,” he said.

I gave him a peck on the cheek, along with his magazines, which he started perusing immediately. Mrs. Finch stood and said she'd better be going since Wayne had more company. Even my ever polite mother-in-law didn't try to dissuade her from leaving. After hugs all around, she departed, with promises to keep Daddy Wayne in her prayers.

When she was a safe distance down the hall, my father-in-law said, “I'll say a prayer. Thank you, Jesus.” He raised his hands to heaven. “I thought she'd never leave.”

“I have to admit, I was ready for her to go home,” Miss Betty said.

“Did she catch you up on any good gossip?” I asked my mother-in-law.

“Now, Olivia, you know I don't listen to gossip,” she said loudly. Then, as she hugged me, she whispered, “I'll fill you in later.”

Flipping through the fishing magazine I'd handed him launched Daddy Wayne into a familiar story about the one that got away. He lit up as he described the event in animated detail. We both listened attentively, in a deliberate attempt to boost his morale. After he finished his fish tale, he started to get out of bed.

“Wayne, what are you doing?”

“I'm going to the bathroom, woman. They finally took out that damn catheter, remember?”

“You know you're not supposed to get up without help,” she said, leaning across the bed and pushing his call button to the nurses' station.

“I think I can go to the bathroom by myself. Been doing it for years,” he said gruffly.

I walked around the end of the bed to try to steady my father-in-law. After about two steps, he stumbled forward, and we both nearly took a tumble onto the cold tile floor. Fortunately, Larry Joe walked through the door just in time to grab hold of his dad.

“Guess I'm still not too steady on my feet,” Daddy Wayne said, obviously embarrassed, as Larry Joe helped him into the bathroom.

After they had closed the door, Miss Betty said, “His leg, where they ran the heart catheter, is giving him trouble. But he wants to go home so badly, he won't admit it.”

After visiting a bit, Larry Joe tried to get his mom to go with me to get a bite to eat. She said she'd eaten a late lunch, and insisted the two of us go out for dinner instead.

She walked us to the elevators. “Son, I'm not sure your dad should be on his own tonight.”

“Don't worry, Mama. I'm going to come back and stay the night. I think I should,” he said, looking over at me.

“I agree, honey. The last thing we want is for your dad to end up falling and maybe breaking something.”

Chapter 21

Larry Joe drove to Town Square Diner, where we both ordered a plate of pinto beans and crawfish corn bread. During dinner three different people stopped by the table with well wishes for Larry Joe's dad—one of the nice things about living in a small town. Of course, everybody knowing your business can have its downside, as well.

“I'm sorry about having to spend the night at the hospital again, hon.”

“Don't be silly. I certainly enjoy having you at home,” I said, brushing my leg against his under the table. “But I don't trust your dad to buzz the nurses' station for help any more than you do.”

I told Larry Joe about my new clients from rival schools.

“I think people from different religions have a better chance of making a marriage work than couples with opposing football loyalties. But I wish them all the luck in the world,” Larry Joe said.

“I've learned to put up with you,” I said, “so anything's possible.”

“Ditto,” Larry Joe replied between bites of corn bread.

“Seriously, I can't complain. We have a home. We have each other. And it looks like your dad is going to be okay.”

“I'd order a beer and drink to that,” Larry Joe said, “but it's going to be hard enough sleeping with one eye open tonight without adding alcohol into the mix.”

“Maybe you should tie a string around your dad's foot so you'll feel a tug if he tries to get up during the night.”

“If he tries to get up again on his own, I might just hog-tie him with that string.”

After supper, Larry Joe drove toward our house before heading back to the hospital.

“I'll take the car to the hospital, and Mama can drive home in my truck,” he said.

“Honey, I can drive your mom home. That way, you'll have the truck and I'll have my car.”

“Trust me, Liv, Mama won't leave the hospital tonight until the nurse throws her out. There's no reason you should have to hang around waiting for her. I'll leave in the morning, as soon as Dad's awake, and I'll head home for breakfast and a shower. Then you can drop me at Mama's, and I'll take her to the hospital on my way to the office. Unless, of course, you need the car for some late-night carousing.”

“Don't worry. I can always get a ride,” I said with a wicked grin.

Larry Joe pulled up in the driveway. I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. He pulled me closer to him and gave me a nice long kiss.

“Good night, babe.”

“ 'Night, honey. Be patient with your dad. You know his pride is hurting as much as his leg.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Larry Joe idled in the driveway until I was safely inside. I found his protective streak endearing, if unnecessary.

As I started through the house, Larry Joe's remark about late-night carousing got me thinking. It wasn't late, actually. The clock on the microwave read 7:52 p.m. I rummaged through a stack of local newspapers lying on the coffee table in the den, looking for the weekend entertainment section. I flipped through until I found what I was looking for: a notice for “karaoke every Friday at Buddy's Joint.” The address was on Bass Road, so I surmised that this must be the place Kenny had mentioned. Here was my chance to find Candy and have a chat. Maybe Darrell was one of those guys who talked a little too freely when it came to pillow talk.

I called Di and told her I was going to Buddy's with or without her, which was a hollow threat since I had no car. Fortunately, it took only a couple of minutes to convince her to come along. I changed into some clothes I thought would be a little more appropriate for a karaoke bar and waited for Di to pick me up.

It took about fifteen minutes to make the drive. On the way, I reminded Di about what Kenny had said about the angry boyfriend and gave her his description of Candy. As Di pulled up to a four-way stop, the only four-way intersection between Dixie and Hartville, we spotted Buddy's Joint just ahead, on the left. The gravel parking lot was surprisingly full. As we stepped out of the car, someone opened the front door of the concrete-block building, unleashing a cloud of smoke and a roar of music.

“I'm guessing there isn't a no-smoking section in this place,” Di said.

There was no cover charge, but a large sign at the entry announced a two-drink minimum. It was one of those places that features free peanuts in the shell as bar snacks. I shuffled through discarded peanut shells, regretting my decision to wear sandals.

Scanning tables as we walked to the bar, I spotted only beer bottles and shot glasses. Resigned to the fact that margaritas and daiquiris were clearly not on the drinks menu, I ordered two light beers, and Di ordered a beer and a tequila chaser. The bartender's low-cut top revealed an ample bosom with a dragon tattoo on one breast, its tail disappearing into an abyss of cleavage. She took our money without offering change and handed us our drinks without comment.

Some guy was onstage, singing “Three Times a Lady,” pronouncing the word
twice
as if it had a
t
on the end. We zigzagged our way through the crowd. I looked around the room as if I were looking for a suitable table, not that there were many to choose from, as the place was packed. What I was really looking for was Candy. Di and I finally sat down at a table by the wall on the far side of the room from the bar. I was beginning to worry that Candy wasn't there when I spotted someone fitting her description emerging from a hallway beside the bar, which presumably housed the ladies' room.

My eyes followed her across the room to a table near the stage. She sat down beside a guy with tattooed arms the size of tree trunks. The woman I hoped was Candy turned in our general direction and waved excitedly to a young woman who had just entered the bar. My Candy candidate certainly lived up to Kenny's description. She had a small waist and big everything else: big hair, big teeth, big boobs, and a round fanny. And the guy she was with looked like bad news to me.

The noisy room quieted to a dull roar of chatter and laughter as one singer left the stage and another stepped up to the mike. I communicated to Di where the woman I thought was Candy was seated, and we both tried to think up ways to approach her. Unfortunately, since she had just come from the direction of the ladies' room, I doubted we'd have another opportunity to catch her alone in the restroom anytime soon, unless she had a tiny bladder.

I cracked open a couple of boiled peanuts to munch on and was surprised to realize that I had already finished the first of my two beers.

Candy and her newly arrived friend made their way over to a table by the stage on our side of the room. They began flipping through a notebook that, I surmised, had the list of songs available for karaoke. I nodded to Di, and we headed for this table. There were actually two identical notebooks there, so we stood on the other side of the table, flipping through one notebook, while they faced us, perusing the other. Both notebooks were bolted to the table like a bank pen to a counter.

Candy glanced up, so I smiled and said, “Hi.”

She flashed her huge toothy smile and said, “You two look like maybe the Supremes. Am I right?”

“That's certainly an idea,” I said as Di and I shared a doubtful expression. “What about you two? The Bangles or the Spice Girls?”

“Aren't you cute,” Candy said. “I guess those old girl bands were a big deal when you were younger, huh?”

“Yeah. Them and Sinatra,” Di shot back.

“Oh, well, I guess we're not really up on the current music scene,” I said with what I hoped looked like a sincere smile. “What song are you girls thinking about performing?”

“Probably “Call Me Maybe” or something by Adele,” Candy said.

Even an old-timer like me knew Candy and her Barbie-double friend didn't have the chops to sing an Adele song with any credibility, but I kept my mouth shut. And, surprisingly, so did Di.

“You pick something. I'm going to run and put on some lipstick,” Barbie said to Candy, apparently worried that people with glaucoma might not be able to see the neon shade of coral she already had smeared on her lips.

I seized the opportunity to talk to my new pal Candy alone.

“You look so familiar,” I said. “Don't you live in the Howe Apartments?”

She looked nervous.

“It's just that Kenny Mitchell, who lives there, does a lot of repair work and odd jobs for me, and I always pick him up at the apartments, since he doesn't have a car. I was thinking I'd seen you there, is all,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Actually, I used to live there. I moved in with my boyfriend, Brad, not too long ago. That's him over there,” she said, pointing him out with the same gesture a model on a game show would use to draw attention to a brand-new big-screen TV.

“Oh, he's handsome,” I said. “Were you still living at the apartments when those two brothers were killed? That was just such a tragedy. It must have been unbearable for their poor mama.”

“I only knew Darrell and Duane slightly, as neighbors,” she said unconvincingly. “Their mother didn't strike me as the motherly type. I always felt sorry for Duane, though. He was a sweet boy, just shy and kind of slow, you know?”

“Yes, that's what I heard. Can you think of any reason someone would want to do them harm? It's hard to imagine, especially since the one boy was, well, mentally challenged.”

“Like I said, I didn't really know them well.”

Brad came lumbering over. I guessed Candy had been out from under his thumb for too long. She gave him a quick kiss and said, “Hi, baby. Barbie and I are just about to go onstage.”

So, plastic girl's name actually was Barbie. Di and I shared a knowing look and bit our lips to suppress laughter.

Candy waved to her friend and hurried over to the deejay to let him know their song selection. Brad crossed his beefy arms and leaned against the wall by the table as the deejay cued up their song and they stood stage left, waiting to make their entrance.

Di seized the bull by the horns.

“Excuse me,” she said in a syrupy tone. “Don't you live over in the Howe Apartments?”

Brad glared for a moment. “No, I don't.”

“It's just I was sure I'd seen you there. I thought maybe you were friends with those poor boys that got murdered.”

Brad turned our way, giving us a frontal view of his brawn. “Lady, I don't live there, never have. And I certainly was not friends with ‘those boys.' Too bad they went and got themselves killed like that.”

Brad gave us one more dirty look, for good measure, and walked quickly back to his table as Candy and Barbie started singing their song in a shrieking soprano punctuated by giggles. I couldn't help noticing that the same throng of people we had barely elbowed our way through parted like the Red Sea for Brad.

We eased back to our table and decided to make a hasty retreat while Brad was focused on the stage. We scrambled to the car, and Di punched it out of the parking lot, slinging gravel as she turned onto the roadway.

“Candy and Barbie, for real? What kind of names are those, anyway?” Di said.

“The kinds of names that often indicate bigger boobs than brains. Did you notice how Candy said she only knew Darrell and Duane
slightly
? And yet she knew them well enough that she had met their mama and had concluded she wasn't the motherly type?”

“I noticed that her boyfriend is a baboon.”

“Kenny was right about Brad being bad news,” I said, still a bit shaky after our brief encounter with him. “He certainly wasn't grieved by Darrell's and Duane's demise.”

“And Candy actually looked scared when you mentioned the Farrell brothers,” Di said.

“She's probably afraid of Brad. I know I am. I think we need to suggest to Dave that he ought to check up on Brad. If he's not a suspect in the murders, I think he should be.”