Bayou Bubba Page 5

  “We don’t have a motive.”

  I shrugged. “He took the boat.”

  “That boat’s worth maybe a hundred dollars on eBay.” Cal shook his head. “No. Rough around the edges or not, Lyle Borne isn’t stupid. If he killed Bubba, there had to be a good reason.”

  “I don’t know, I think it’s pretty stupid to bring a murder victim’s boat home and park it at your dock.”

  Cal grimaced. “Yeah. There is that. I’m sure he never thought anybody would travel all the way out there and find it. But the fact that he had it actually argues against Lyle being the murderer. If it had been him, he wouldn’t have done anything to point suspicion his way.”

  “Maybe not, but Bubba was holding a gator tooth in one hand. Lyle wears that necklace with his trophies,” I said.

  “I agree we need to look at him. First, we’ll talk to the sheriff, and then I’ll try to verify his alibi for the time Bubba was killed.”

  “What was his alibi?” I asked.

  Cal slid me a look. “He wouldn’t say. I’m going to have to find that out.”

  “Maybe I should take Irene up on that offer of a visit to Lena.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  I was pretty sure Sheriff Wyatt Erk was the original. Horse and all. It was possible the Sheriff’s real name had been misspelled on historical records. Maybe somebody had put him into one of those cryogenic machines and kept him frozen for a hundred years before releasing him in Bent, Alabama.

  The ancient sheriff sat astride his swaybacked old nag, whose patchy brown sides heaved just from the effort of walking down three blocks of Main Street.

  The nag’s bulging brown eyes were lidded as the sheriff looked down at us, its hay-bellied form weaving slightly as it drowsed.

  I had a terrible urge to prop the ancient horse up with my shoulder. But if I did that, I’d have to stay there for the rest of my life. Because the nag would probably fall over if I took the support away.

  “You didn’t find anything at all in the vicinity of the body?” Cal asked the sheriff. “No idea what could have been used to bash his head in like that?”

  Sheriff Erk’s jaw folded up into his cheeks as he gummed his response. “I couldn’t tell ya, son. My deputy processed the scene, and he’s in Bilksville for a seminar this week. Sorry.”

  “Did he fill out a report?”

  Sheriff Erk hocked a loogie and launched it to the ground on the other side of his half-dead horse. I closed my eyes, praying for a merciful end to the interview.

  “S’pose he did. Cooper keeps everything close, though.”

  I could tell that even my plucky PI was losing patience. “Can I get access to the report?”

  The sheriff leaned forward, resting an age-speckled forearm across the saddle. The leather creaked ominously. “You got a license, boy?”

  Cal’s square jaw tightened, but he extracted his laminated PI’s license and showed it to the sheriff for the third time since we’d stopped him on the street.

  Apparently, the ancient lawman had the memory retention of an undersized flea.

  The sheriff peered down at the license and straightened, launching another loogie into the street.

  If loogies were bullets, Sheriff Wyatt Erk would be Clint Eastwood.

  When the sheriff continued to stare at Cal, he finally lost it. “Sheriff Erk?!”

  The man blinked. “Yeah?”

  “Can I see the report on the murdered homeless guy?”

  The sheriff frowned. “Keep it down, boy. There’s no cause to upset the tender sensibilities of the people of Bent.” He shook his head. “Take it up with my deputy when he gets back in town.” He doffed his cowboy hat. “Enjoy this fine day, folks.”

  Cal and I watched in disbelief as the sheriff and his time-traveling horse tottered on down the road.

  “I have no idea what just happened,” Cal groused.

  I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “Hopefully, things will stay quiet for the next few days. I shudder to think what will happen if Sheriff Erk has to actually do any law enforcement.”

  Cal snorted derisively. “Unless he can do it from the back of that horse, it seems unlikely. I think he’s snapped into the saddle like an action toy.” He touched my arm. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Cal climbed into the Jeep. “To approach this thing from another direction.”

  Ten minutes later, we were pulling into the lot for the hospital. “The morgue?” I ventured.

  Cal nodded. “Hopefully, I can convince the coroner to give up some details.”

  “Sure,” I agreed supportively. “How hard can that be?”

  Pugnacious wasn’t a word I found myself using often. But the woman standing in front of us had modeled herself after the word.

  Dr. Joyce Ye was about the size of a large tenth grader. Her round face and pug-nose under heavy-framed black glasses supported my first impression of her age. The only thing that spoke “adult” was her fierce brown gaze, which currently snapped with temper as Cal tried to entice her into cooperating.

  “I don’t care how many PI licenses you have from Indianapolis, Indiana, Mr. Calamity. I’m not giving you information on an ongoing murder investigation until I get permission from Deputy Cooper.”

  “We can’t wait a week for him to get back. We have reason to believe Felicity’s father is in danger.”

  “A week? He’s only gone for the night.”

  Cal vibrated with frustration. “Sheriff Erk told us the deputy was at a seminar in Bilksville for the week.”

  Dr. Ye rolled her eyes. “And you believed him?”

  Cal expelled a breath, looking at his shoes. I got the distinct impression he was counting to eleven hundred and ten in search of patience. “Okay. Maybe you can tell me what he’s doing there and when he’ll be back since I’ve apparently been given bad information.”

  “He’s following up on a lead.”

  My eyes went wide. “Really? What was the lead?”

  Dr. Ye scoured me with disdain. “I can have the deputy call when he gets back if you’d like.”

  Okay, it was time for desperation tactics. “No. I…” I covered my mouth with my hand and sobbed, squeezing tears from my eyes. The hand over my mouth shook, and my knees buckled.

  Cal caught me. “It’s okay, Felly. We’re going to find whoever did this. I promise you.” He threw Dr. Ye a glare that made her blink.

  “He’s in danger, Cal. And I feel so helpless.” Another sob climbed up my throat.

  Cal pulled me against his chest. I almost forgot to sob again. He smelled delicious and felt so firm and warm. I wrapped my arms around his waist and tugged him closer.

  Cal tensed in surprise.

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” Dr. Ye said in a softer, more pliant tone. “I know you’re worried about your dad, Miss Chance. So I’m going to give you one piece of information.” She picked up a pad of paper and scribbled something onto it, handing it to Cal. “If you want more than that, you’ll need to check in with Deputy Cooper in the morning.”

  Cal glanced at the paper and folded it in half, sliding it into his shirt pocket. “Thank you, Doctor Ye.”

  He stepped away from me and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Felly. Let’s get out of the Doctor’s way and let her get back to work.”

  I sniffled loudly and gave her a watery smile. “Thank you.”

  She pursed her lips, obviously trying to decide if she’d been played, and then nodded. “I hope you find your father in time.”

  Cal tugged me through the door and, as soon as it swung closed behind us, slapped me a five. “If you ever get tired of doing whatever it is you do, you could definitely take an acting job.”

  I grinned. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

  We pushed through the door into the broiling Alabama sun. My pores immediately contracted and then flared, puking up whatever moisture they’d been holding. “So what does the paper say?”

  He pull
ed it out, unfolded it, and held it up in front of me.

  “Lang pale?”

  Cal looked at it again. “It says long pole.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If I’m not totally off base, she just gave us the murder weapon.”

  As we drove past Bent’s Eats, I spotted Dorrie Tae and Irene leaving. “Stop the car. There’s Irene. We need to ask her about the moonshine.”

  Cal angled the Jeep into a spot in front of the restaurant and I climbed out, calling to the two older women as I jogged toward them, my gator purse smacking against my hip. “Hey, ladies!”

  The two stood in front of a battered old pickup and were arguing. Something about Irene wanting to drive her new truck rather than bounce around in Dorrie Tae’s rent-a-wreck Caddy.

  They didn’t hear me calling until I was a few feet away.

  Dorrie Tae smiled as I approached. “Oh.” She laughed. “For a minute there, I thought you were Lena.”

  Irene rolled her eyes. “When are you going to quit pretending you aren’t blind as a bat and wear your glasses?”

  Dorrie Tae glared at her. “I am not blind. The sun was in my eyes.”

  I waited patiently for them to quit sparring.

  “Did you find what you needed on Stink Island?” Irene asked a moment later.

  “I’m not sure…” I began before Cal interrupted me by holding up a couple of the plastic bottles we’d found. He’d slipped them into a baggie during our ride over in the Jeep.

  “We found a lot of these lying around. I understand you might have something to do with them?” he asked.

  Irene and Dorrie Tae shared a look, seeming to communicate without words. And then Irene shook her head. “Those aren’t mine.”

  Cal lifted a midnight-colored eyebrow, clearly not believing her. “We were told that you sell moonshine in bottles like these. They reek of moonshine.”

  The old woman stared him down, her expression every bit as stony as his. “We sell moonshine, Mr. Amity. And we sell it in small bottles. But those aren’t our bottles.”

  “We use the nice brown glass ones,” Dorrie Tae added, curling her lip. “Ours are classy. We wouldn’t use those cheap plastic things.”

  My hopes were dashed again. I’d really thought we were getting closer to finding out what Bubba had been up to on Stink Island that might have gotten him killed.

  “Darn interlopers!” Irene suddenly exclaimed. She shook her head. “I guess it was too much to hope for us to own the market indefinitely.”

  “That means there’s another still around here somewhere? Any ideas where it might be?” Cal asked.

  Both women shook their heads. “Not a clue,” Dorrie Tae said.

  “But we’ll find out,” Irene added, frowning. “You can count on that.”

  Cal nodded. “You’ll tell us if you learn anything?”

  “Of course, Mr. Amity.”

  “Please. Call me Cal.”

  Nodding, she turned away, sliding behind the wheel of her truck.

  Cal raised a hand to stop Irene from closing the door. “What can you tell us about Lyle Borne?”

  The two women looked surprised. Dorrie Tae came closer, lowering her voice. “You think Lyle had something to do with that body on Stink Island?”

  Cal shrugged. “Certain things point in his direction.”

  Irene blew air between her lips and leaned on the truck. “I hope you’re wrong. His sister will be devastated if he goes to jail.”

  “They’re really close?” I asked.

  “It’s not so much that,” Dorrie Tae said. “She really needs the income he provides. He pays half the bills.”

  “I wouldn’t think gator hunting is that lucrative,” Cal said with a frown.

  “You’d be surprised.” Irene twirled her key ring around her finger. “Leather for shoes, belts, purses. And the teeth sell pretty well too…for jewelry and such. But it’s not only the hunting. Lyle teaches economics at the extension in Bilksville.”

  I frowned. “I’d have never pegged him for a college professor.”

  “Lyle’s smart,” Dorrie Tae said.

  “Smart enough to plan a murder and get away with it?” Cal asked.

  Irene sighed. “I guess so. Though I’m not sure why he’d do it.”

  “That’s what we need to figure out.” Cal lifted a hand in a wave, and I said goodbye.

  We watched the truck drive away and then Cal turned to me, wrapping his long, warm fingers gently around my arm. “What do you think about some dinner at Bent’s Eats before we head back to the motel?”

  A warm spot blossomed in my belly at his touch and spread far and wide when he smiled down at me. “I think that sounds just about perfect.”

  8

  Dinner was delicious. I ordered poached bass with pear and cottage cheese, and Cal and I split an enormous order of onion rings on the side. I decided I was glad I didn’t live in Bent. I’d probably weigh five hundred pounds if I did.

  Estime had put a red and white checkered tablecloth over a table in the back corner and placed a fake, flickering candle in the middle, alongside the alligator-shaped salt and pepper shakers.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to spur a romance between us.

  “So you said your father remarried. Where’s your mom?” Cal asked.

  I grimaced. “I have no idea. She left him when I was really small, and it’s been an endless succession of babysitters, gold-digger girlfriends, and trophy wives ever since.”

  Cal chewed his bass thoughtfully, swallowing before asking, “What reason did your dad give you for your mother leaving?”

  “He fed me some gobbledygook about her reaching for her dreams.” I speared a roasted Brussel sprout. “I suspect that dream was to marry someone even richer than Felonius.”

  He grinned. “Why do you say that?”

  I shrugged. “I overheard him talking on the phone to her once. He didn’t know I heard. He said something about the man she married being able to afford his own island.” I chuckled. “At the time, I just thought he was being mean. When you’re twelve, the idea of owning an island sounds ridiculous.”

  Cal shook his head. “It doesn’t sound any less crazy when you’re thirty-two.”

  I tugged the sprout off my fork with my teeth, no longer really tasting it. I hadn’t thought about my mother for years. I wasn’t happy to be thinking about her again. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  Cal nodded and lifted his hand, calling our waitress over. The young woman, whose badge said her name was Amy, smiled. “Dessert?”

  I opened my mouth to say no, but Cal beat me to the punch. “Two slices of chocolate cake.”

  A grin burst over my face before I could stop it. “I’ll explode.”

  He eyed my half-full plate. “I doubt it. You’ve barely touched your fish.”

  “It was a huge piece.” I set my fork down and pushed my plate aside. If I was getting chocolate cake, I needed to save room. “What about your parents?” I asked Cal.

  He piled his plate on top of mine. “Married for thirty-two years, created four sons through immaculate conception.”

  I laughed. “Four? Holy humdinger, that’s a lot of testosterone under one roof.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Holy humdinger, that’s a lot of testosterone under one roof,” I repeated, grinning.

  Cal chuckled.

  We shared a smile and it felt good. I suddenly wondered when we’d become so comfortable with each other.

  Then Amy dropped a huge, gooey slice of chocolate cake in front of me. I forgot to wonder about anything except how fast I could get the first bite into my mouth.

  A group of small, smudged-looking children skittered across the road in front of us as Cal turned into the Backwater Inn parking lot. A few of them were carrying fishing poles, and one had a Styrofoam cooler clutched in her grimy fists.

  A small dog of indeterminate DNA bounced after them, yapping excite
dly.

  I watched them run, laughing and tumbling together, toward the brown ribbon of water behind the motel and smiled. It would be so simple to be a child again, I mused. Then I frowned, remembering that, for me at least, it had never been simple.

  Scratch the heck out of that thought.

  As Cal angled the Jeep into the parking spot in front of our room, a small, square Hispanic woman in a white cotton uniform backed out of number eight, pulling a cart laden with toilet paper and towels out behind her.

  I climbed out of the car and threw a smile her way. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  She smiled back, her pretty, dark gaze sliding appreciatively over Cal.

  “Did the man in that room leave,” I asked hopefully.

  “Si.” She bobbed her head in affirmation, scoured Cal with a last smoldering look, and pushed her cart down the uneven concrete toward the office.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I told Cal.

  “That guy really spooked you, didn’t he?”

  “You never met him. He was terrifying.”

  A delighted squeal down by the bayou had us turning our heads to look. The kids were all gathered around the tallest boy, whose dirty blond head was bent over something he held in his hands.

  The dog-like creature wove between the forest of ankles, its tail happily wagging.

  “Looks like they found something,” I told Cal. I started toward our room but stopped when Cal didn’t join me.

  He was heading toward the tangle of little fishermen.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He spun around, walking backward. “I’m just going to make sure that whatever they found isn’t dangerous or disgusting.”

  I shook my head, starting after him. “That’s very nurturing of you, Cal Amity.”

  He nodded as I fell in beside him. “Being an adult is complicated.” He slid me a look, eyes narrowed. “You might want to try it sometime.”

  “Ha. Ha, ha.”

  The kids looked up as we approached, their grubby little faces filled with excitement.