An Unmarked Grave (4 page)

Diane smiled up at me and, stretching her swanlike neck,
lifted her cheek for me to kiss.

"Hey," I said, looking around. "Where's that husband of
yours?"

Her face turned sour. "I don't know, and I don't care!"

Now, I might be slow, but I didn't come out of the turnip
patch last night. Reluctantly I asked, "Trouble?"

Her eyes blazed. "I don't want to talk about it!"

Inwardly I grimaced. I had stumbled into the middle of a
marital quagmire that could get dicey. I nodded. "Okay. What
do we talk about?" I glanced across the river and spotted a
man in a tan business suit seated at a table and reading a
newspaper. He looked like a bulldog, and he was staring at us.
When he spotted me, he quickly turned back to his paper. I
thought nothing of it something I would later remember.

She shrugged and drained her bourbon. She plopped the
glass down onto the table. "Another one. A double" Her
brown eyes stared at me in defiance.

"No problem" I held up an arm and pointed to her glass
with two fingers. The young waitress dipped her head and
moments later slid another double bourbon in front of Diane.

By now I was wishing I had never spotted her. She was fast
approaching the tipsy level, and from the sullen expression on her face, she would not stop until she hit the wiped-out
stage.

She gulped a large belt and looked up at me. "What are
you doing here? Work?"

With an indifferent shrug I replied, "Yep. You know how
it is. Trying to find a guy"

"Where are you staying?"

"At the Toreador." I should have expected what was to
come next, but I didn't.

Pursing her lips, she leaned forward, studying me. Her
eyes grew sultry, which, to be honest, unnerved me. "Do
you miss being married to me, Tony?"

The question knocked me back in my chair. I stammered
for words. "Why, uh-uh-yeah" I gave her a crooked grin
and tried to laugh her question off. "Just like you miss being
married to a slob like me" I congratulated myself on what I
thought was a snappy answer that would cut off any further
uncomfortable questions.

She leaned closer, her eyes cloudy. With a sly smile on
her lips, she whispered, "Why don't we go back to your
room?"

Talk about stammering. I finally managed to mumble, "Good joke, Diane. You had me going." I glanced at my
watch and pushed back from the table. "Besides, I have to
meet a guy at twelve-thirty. It's almost that time now"

"Hey, Tony!"

I looked around and spotted Jack coming out of the bar
in our direction. I went limp with relief. He grabbed my
hand and shook it. "How you been?"

Diane glared up at him. If I've ever seen daggers coming
out of someone's eyes, it was hers.

Jack, who always reminded me of a jovial bowling ball,
gestured to my chair. "Sit. Have lunch with us"

I begged off. "Like I told Diane, I've got to meet a guy"
I started backing away. "Good to see the two of you again.
Take care"

I didn't look back for half a block. When I did, I spotted
Diane storming off with Jack on her heels, his arms spread
in supplication.

Turning back around, I spotted the man in the tan business suit peering into the window of a curio shop. Even
from the side he looked like a bulldog with those flopping
jowls.

My luck on the Riverwalk was going from bad to worse
until I hit Elena's, a small bar. There was only one customer
when I entered. At one end of the bar was a small stage for
the nightly music group.

The bartender was named Narelle, an attractive woman
who looked to be in her late twenties, but I decided she was
in her forties when she commented that Elena's nightly
bands were good but nothing like Thin Lizzy.

I slid onto a stool and showed her the snapshot of Justin
Chester. I laughed. "It's about fifteen years old, so sort of
use your imagination."

Chewing on her bottom lip, she studied the photo. "Nope,
but I tell you, Jig comes on at eight. He runs the bar until we
close"

"Jig?"

"Yeah. Eddie Grimes. He's been around forever. Maybe
he'll recognize your friend"

I tapped the snapshot in the palm of my hand. "This guy here stands to inherit a large amount of money. There's a
reward"

Narelle arched an eyebrow. "How much is the inheritance?"

With a grin, I replied, "Ten million"

Her jaw dropped open. Then she gave me a sly grin.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was his wife?"

I laughed. "Come on, Narelle. You can do better than
that"

She chuckled and wiped the bar. "Can't blame a gal for
trying" She paused and shook her head. "Ten million. Some
guys have all the luck"

Later, I would see the irony in her remark.

Outside, I glanced at my watch. Six-thirty. My stomach
growled. Street lamps along the Riverwalk punched warm
holes in the growing dusk. To the west, the last remnants
of purple and orange clouds painted the brittle blue sky in
broad swaths.

Crossing the river, I headed back to the hotel. On impulse,
I stopped at a sidewalk restaurant for an icy mug of beer and
a platter of chicken quesadillas.

I sipped the beer and leaned back. I stretched my arms
over my head. The day had not proven too profitable, but I
knew from experience, what looked hopeless at one moment
could be encouraging the next. I had allocated three days to
the Riverwalk. In addition to the business establishments,
there were hundreds of vendors plying their trade along the
boulevard of tourists, selling everything from shoeshines to
homemade pralines.

A few minutes before eight, I noticed a crowd of tourists gathering at the foot of the steep flight of stairs leading up
to Houston Street high overhead.

Idly I watched, curious. The crowd grew.

Minutes later the crowd parted as an ambulance pulled
up. Shortly, it departed, winding along the walk to the emergency ramp leading to the streets above.

A few minutes after eight, I pushed through the doors into
Elena's, which by now was crowded. A four-piece group sat
on the stamp-sized stage, readying for their first set. I elbowed my way to the bar and spotted Narelle. I nodded. "Jig
around?"

The smile on her face faded. "He had an accident"

I frowned at her. "Accident?"

She arched an eyebrow. In disgust she replied, "Must have
had too much to drink. He fell down the Houston Street
stairs." She inclined her head in the direction of the other
bartender. "Rudy said he heard Jig busted a leg" She shook
her head and muttered a curse as she drew three beers. "The
idiot put a crimp in a whole lot of my plans. I had a long
weekend all laid out too. Now I'll have to be in this dump"

I couldn't believe my ears. "What hospital? Any idea?"
She shrugged. "Probably Christus St. Mary's. That's
where they usually take them"

"How do I get there?"

She paused in drawing the beer and looked curiously at
me. "You going over there?"

"Why not? Worst that can happen is they won't let me
see him."

Pointing south, she said, "Six blocks to the corner of
Navarro and St. Mary's. Can't miss it."

I winked. "Thanks"

"And, hey," she yelled, "don't forget I told you about Jig
if you find that guy"

"Don't worry"

Half a dozen gurneys with groaning patients filled the
ER. Medical personnel bustled back and forth. I stopped a
young man in a white jacket, jeans, and running shoes. "Do
you have a guy named Jig?"

"Jig?" The young intern frowned.

"Eddie Grimes. He fell down the stairs at the Houston
Street Bridge over the Riverwalk"

His face lit up. "Oh, that one. The old drunk" He pointed
to a small, baldheaded man on a gurney next to a wall, his
face taut with pain. "That's him there"

"May I talk to him a moment? See if he needs anything
from home?"

The young doctor studied me a moment. "Family? Sure.
Go ahead"

I hurried across the room. "Jig? Jig? You hear me?"

A wizened little man, he appeared to be in his sixties or
so. He cracked his eyes open and peered up at me. "WhoWho are you?"

The booze on his breath knocked me back a step. "Narelle,
back at the bar, sent me. Said you could help me and maybe
pick up some money doing it"

He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Go away.
I hurt too bad"

I leaned down and whispered, "Might be up to ten thousand dollars in it for you"

His eyes popped open. He looked at me in disbelief. Quickly I explained why I was there, then showed him the
snapshot of Justin Chester.

His eyes grew wide, and he frowned. "I told the other
guy. Didn't he tell you?"

His words stunned me. "What other guy? Tell him what?"

"He didn't say nothing about a reward"

My brain raced. "Someone else showed you this picture?"

"Naw. Not that one, another one. What about the reward?"

"Ten thousand, Jig. If I can find this guy in the picture.
You know him?"

"Justin? Sure, I do. I-"

At that moment a matronly nurse stopped at the gurney.
"How's the pain, Mr. Grimes?"

He bit his lip and shook his head. "Still hurts bad"

She quickly drew a syringe and gave him another shot of
painkiller.

After she left, I asked Jig, "Do you know where I can
find Justin?"

"Like I told the other guy, one of the band members that
played at our bar a few months ago did a gig at some country club in Fort Worth. He spotted Justin up there. They
shot the breeze a few minutes."

"Who is this guy?"

Jig stared at me blankly, then blinked once or twice. "I
just knew him as Bones"

"What about the name of the band?"

"Let me see ... It was some drink-Grasshoppers, I
think."

"You remember the name of the country club?"

His eyes started drooping from the drugs the nurse had
administered. "Naw." His words slurring now, he muttered,
"Don't forget my reward"

"I won't. And you be careful on those stairs. Your bones
are too brittle to fall down them again."

Dragging the tip of his tongue across his dry lips, he
mumbled, "Didn't fall. Somebody pushed me. Didn't see
who"

stared at him in disbelief. Had someone pushed him, or
had he just stumbled? If someone did, who? Could it have
been the man who had asked him about Justin? And even if
it were, why try to kill the old man?

I had a head filled with a bucketful of questions and no
answers.

I tried to rouse Jig, but the drugs had taken effect. Not
even the offer of free whiskey could wake him.

Outside the hospital, I hailed a cab and headed back to
the hotel.

As I entered the lobby to the rousing strains of the
"Toreador's Song," I spotted the man in the tan business suit
exiting the lobby on the Riverwalk side.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator. It was almost nine.
By the time I cleaned up and put together all my notes, it
would be time for bed. I wanted to rise early and get back to
Austin before heading on up to Fort Worth.

Pausing before I opened the door to my room, I spotted
the carpet fiber on the floor. Someone had been in my room.
For all I knew, he or she might still be there.

Opening the door slowly, I slipped my hand inside and
flipped on the light. After a few moments of silence, I pushed
the door wide open and surveyed the room.

Empty!

Nothing seemed to be disturbed.

Drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I closed
and locked the door.

After showering, I pulled out my notes and transferred
them to index cards-one incident, one card. I learned
long ago from Al Grogan, the resident Sherlock Holmes
of Blevins Security, that by writing one idea per card, it
was simple to rearrange ideas to gain a different perspective on the case. Sometimes it proved effective, sometimes
it didn't.

Around midnight, I called the desk and left a 5:00 A.M.
wake-up call. After climbing between the sheets on a bed
that must have been carved out of the limestone hills surrounding San Antonio, I lay staring at the ceiling, listening
to a muted cacophony of voices and traffic.