Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) (6 page)

She went out onto the porch, peered down the stairs, and out across the parking lot.

Nothing. Just the night and the streetlights and a car up on Breakers Boulevard.

Nothing more.

Except the small key that she held in her palm.

‘When the time comes, you will know.’

“All right, Hector,” she whispered, squeezing the key. “All right. Maybe the time has come for you to be a man.”

So thinking, she went to bed.

CHAPTER FOUR: UNTIL A MAN IS NEEDED

She woke at first light and put on her sweater and running pants; then she hurried down the stairs and unlocked her Vespa.

It was a delicious morning, the air cool and redolent of salt.

Within five minutes she was at Bagatelli’s, and by the time the sun had become a complete orange, hovering happily above the horizon, she was back at home with a sack of croissants.

It took her another fifteen minutes to make coffee, but breakfast was ready by the time Jackson Bennett began knocking and her door.

She crossed the living room and opened it.

“Jackson? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to bother you this early, Nina.”

“No bother. I’ve already been out to Bagatelli’s. Coffee is ready. Can I get you some?”

He shook his head:

“No time. I’m trying to set up a meeting for ten o’clock.”

“What kind of a meeting?”

He inflated his huge chest with enough air to get all of it out, then started letting all of it out.

“Last night I was working late. It must have been ten o’clock or so. But an attorney for Louisiana Petroleum called me.”

“The people Edgar worked for?”

“Yes. The man said that the company had just been informed of Edgar’s death. I’m not sure how they heard the news, but since rumors have been flying all over town for the last twenty-four hours, I guess it was inevitable. I’m also not sure how they came to get my name…”

“You’re the town’s leading attorney, Jackson.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Of course, you’re the one they would naturally be referred to. There’s nobody better. But go on.”

“All right. This gentleman said that the company looked upon Edgar as one of their own, and that they wanted to make restitution to the Ramirez family.”

“Restitution?”

“That’s the word he used.”

“But they weren’t responsible for his death.”

“I don’t think that’s what they’re saying.”

“Then what…”

“I’m not sure. At any rate, though, I’ve just come from the Ramirez home. I told them what the attorney had said, then told them also that I would be happy to act as their advisor in the matter. I suggested to everyone that we meet at city hall at ten this morning.”

“And?”

“The Ramirez family agreed. But they talked for quite some time about it in Spanish. Finally, the son…”

“Hector.”

“Yes, Hector. He said to me that they would do the meeting, but that they would like you to be there.”

“Me?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Why?”

Because, a small voice within her whispered, ‘nobody gets over on Ms. Bannister.’

But she did not say this.

“They didn’t say, Nina. I think it’s just very obvious that they all trust you. Maybe more than they trust anybody else right now. So. If you could make this meeting, I think it would make them feel a lot better. To tell the truth, there’s still so much of this that we don’t understand.”

She thought about telling Jackson about the key, but for some reason thought better of it.

‘Don’t tell the police.’

Jackson wasn’t the police, but as an officer of the court—she knew this because of Frank’s career as an attorney—he would be bound to turn over to them any evidence he knew of.

Hector had entrusted her with this object.

Her and her alone.

For now, anyway.

“What do we know, Jackson?”

He shrugged:

“The Ramirez family all say that Hector was at home until about one in the morning, when he left. We don’t know where he was going. About four hours later, he was found with his lungs full of filthy sewage water and his blood level full of alcohol.”

“He didn’t drink, Jackson.”

“He did last night.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“No. But the state police are in town now, and anything that gives a hint about what happened, they’re going to dig up. In the meantime, though…”

“The meeting. Yes, of course, I’ll be there, you know that.”

“Yes. I did. Thank you, Nina.”

And, so saying, he turned and descended the stairs.

Although she arrived five minutes early, the major players in the drama which was to unfold were already seated in a small board room.

Leather chairs, solid mahogany table.

Edie Towler was there, looking beige and professional as always. Jackson, in his charcoal gray suit.

Olivia Ramirez, impeccably attired in black, seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her and Hector, in a black suit, at her side.

Then there was the attorney representing Louisiana Petroleum.

He was the perfect ‘lawyer for the rich.’

Such a highly paid perfection in his dress, tie, smile, handshake, confidence, bearing…

He was above business executives. Nina had seen a lot of business executives and this man was superior.

He was higher and more impressive than senators or governors too.

And probably higher than presidents themselves, though Nina had seen none of them.

No, this man was like, was like…

A football coach.

That’s it. He was like a football coach. Not the good ole boy football coaches that roamed the high school hallways of Bay St. Lucy, but real football coaches. ‘Major College’ football coaches, that became TV analysts after retirement. Five million dollar a year football coaches, the people that every male human being in The United States of America wanted to become.

And so she labeled him:

OIL COACH

Everyone was seated.

Peremptory introductions. Sad tones. The radiant smiles of OIL COACH darkened only slightly by the occasion. Senora Ramirez taking deep breaths and remaining astonishingly composed.

And finally OIL COACH takes the floor:

“Senora Ramirez, I as well as everyone connected to Louisiana Petroleum, want to take this opportunity to express our grief. We had come to know your son very well. Edgar was a part of our family. He was, as you know, a brilliant young man….”

More deep breaths from Se
n
ora Ramirez, whose shoulders could be seen shaking.

Hector leaned toward her and said, softly:

“Señora Ramirez, yo y mi socio, así como todos los relacionados al petróleo de Mississippi, quieren aprovechar esta oportunidad para expresar nuestro dolor. Nosotros habíamos llegado muy bien a su hijo. Edgar era una parte de nuestra familia. Era, como usted sabe, un joven brillante...”

Ms. Ramirez smiled as much as she was able to, and nodded.

The narrative was carried on by OIL COACH #2.

“We have only just learned of the tragic events that have befallen your son. We have no idea what could have happened to him. We have, on the other hand, every confidence that the city and state authorities will locate the person or persons responsible for what happened to Edgar, and that they will see that you and your family receive justice.

He nodded to Hector, who leaned to his mother’s right again and translated.

Nods all around.

Everyone understands.

This is a coach,
Nina found herself mentally commenting,
of a top ten program
.

Louisiana Petroleum is probably due to play in the Rose Bowl this year.

The speech continued.

“Finding these culprits, as desirable as it might be, is not something that we at Louisiana Petroleum can accomplish. Nor can we bring Edgar back to you, his family, or to this, his community. We can do something, though. Something that might help at least to a small degree. We have done some research, Ms. Ramirez, and found that Edgar is the sole provider for your family. His paychecks have gone directly to you, and have been a major means of your support. His loss must be devastating for you financially as well as emotionally. When we lose members of our families to tragic circumstances, whether these circumstances occur in the line of work or not, we do not forget. We are a caring family.”

Upon saying these words, he opened a briefcase, while Hector carried forward the translation.

When he had finished:

“Ms. Ramirez, our company would like to present your family with a check for thirty thousand dollars.”

Olivia Ramirez said nothing.

“This is the base amount of money that Edgar would have earned in the twelve-month period from now until next year. It is, in short, a year’s pay for him. We hope it will help to ease to some degree your pain and suffering.”

Hector translated; Olivia Ramirez nodded.

More papers came from the briefcase.

“We will need you to sign these release documents. They exempt the company from wrong doing. Hopefully, this will not be a problem, since Edgar was clearly not hurt while doing his duties. They also give over to Louisiana Petroleum the permission—your permission as his mother and closest of kin—to enter his room, collect his valuables, and send them ashore to you.”

Jackson Bennett intervened.

“May I see those for a second?”

“Of course.”

The documents were passed around the table.

Jackson took some minutes to read them, then he nodded:

“These seem to be in order. From my experience they’re fairly standard release forms.”

He slid them back.

One of the coaches offered Ms. Ramirez a ball point pen.

She looked first at the daughter, who nodded.

She looked then at Nina.

Teacher,

You always know what to do.

Then she and Hector spoke for a time in Spanish.

And, finally, she herself spoke.

To the entire room.

And in perfect English.

“I am very appreciative of your offer. But one thing is very important to me.”

The attorney sitting across the table nodded:

“Yes, Senora Ramirez. Just tell me.”

“The things in my boy’s room. For them to be touched by strangers…”

She shook her head.

The attorney:

“How should we handle this?”

Ms. Ramirez:

“In my culture it is usually done…”

Silence.

She composed herself, then continued:

“I would like for someone in my family to do this thing.”

Jackson Bennett to his fellow attorney:

“Would that be possible?”

A nod.

“I’ll speak to the people on The Aquatica. In general, though, I don’t think it would be a problem. Groups of civilians, visitors, are flown out to the rig quite often. So, yes, if it means that much to Senora Ramirez, I’m sure it can be done.”

Jackson:

“Senora Ramirez, who would you like to go?”

“My son. My son, Hector.”

“All right.”

“And…”

She looked at Nina.

So did Hector, and Nina could hear the young man’s solemn voice from the night before.

‘No one gets over on Ms. Bannister.’

But were these people trying to ‘get over?’