An Unmarked Grave (5 page)

All things considered, the day had proven to be worthwhile. I'd picked up another lead on Justin Chester; however, the fact that someone else was also searching for him
puzzled me. And to add to the puzzle, had that someone attempted to kill Jig Grimes? Or was that just the old man's
drunken imagination? I opted for the latter.

I shook my head. One fact was certain: there were two of
us looking for Justin Chester. Who had hired the second one?

The buzzing of the telephone awakened me. I couldn't
believe it was already 5:00 A.M. It seemed as if I had just
dropped off.

"Hello"

Jack Edney's strident voice cut through my drowsiness.
"Tony, it's Jack. Did I wake you?"

I blinked my eyes at the clock. Twelve-thirty. I groaned. "What's wrong?"

"Diane left me. She took the Cadillac and left me stranded"

My eyes drifted shut. "So? You're a millionaire. Hire a
taxi to take you back to Austin"

"Sure. Hey, are you going to be around tomorrow?"

When you're groggy with sleep, your brain doesn't function fast enough to tell a lie. "No. I finished my job here"

"Great. How about a ride home tomorrow? What time
you leaving?"

"As soon after five as I can"

"Great. I'll be in the lobby, okay? See you then"

"Yeah, okay," I muttered, hanging up the receiver and instantly dropping into deep slumber.

True to his word, Jack Edney was waiting in the lobby
the next morning, bright-eyed. We pulled onto 1-35 a few
minutes later, heading for Austin, pulling off once at a Mc-
Donald's for a carryout breakfast.

With the drive to Austin taking almost ninety minutes, I
figured on sorting my thoughts and planning my next few
steps. Instead, I listened to an hour and half of Jack's troubles. "How long were you two married?" he asked as we
pulled on to Ben White Road in Austin.

I shrugged. "A couple years"

"What happened?"

"Beats me. We just became different. Married too young,
I suppose"

He clucked his tongue and looked down the highway.
"Did she spend money like she does now?"

I couldn't help laughing. "We didn't have any." I glanced
at him.

He read the question in my eyes. "She spends like there's
no tomorrow, and when I question her about it, she pouts" He
rolled his eyes. "I've never seen a woman pout like she can"

After dropping Jack off at his office on Highway 290
West, I headed up Lamar to my own office, a cubbyhole at
Blevins Security. I figured a few phone calls would save me
a lot of running around when I hit Fort Worth.

I don't know if it is an undiscovered law of nature or not,
but when most people find out they're talking to a private
investigator on the telephone, their memory short-circuits.
Early in my career, I butted heads with that phenomenon a
dozen times before I learned how to avoid it. I simply lied.

My lie this time was that I was a prospective employer
calling to verify Justin Chester's last employment. Personnel officers seem to feel a kinship with others in their field,
so they're usually somewhat more accommodating.

Introducing myself as J. B. Forester, I began calling the
country clubs in Fort Worth. My first two calls were fruitless. On the third one, luck latched on to my shirttail. Wilson Adams, personnel manager at the Brentwood Country
Club, informed me that Justin Chester had worked at their
club for six months. He gave notice the previous June.

"Did he give any indication where he was heading, Mr.
Adams?"

Adams hesitated. "No" Then, suspicious, he asked, "Isn't
it on his application?"

Glibly I replied. "No. There's a six-month gap in his employment history"

My response satisfied him. "He didn't mention anything.
He just came in one day and gave his notice. I hated to lose
him" He paused and added, "I never could figure him out"

"Oh? How's that?"

"Well, his age for one thing. He was around forty. That's
old for a busboy, but he was always conscientious and always did a good job. In fact," he added, "the younger busboys worked harder just so an old man wouldn't show them
up" He laughed. "Crazy, huh?"

Despite being disappointed in the dead end, I laughed
with him. "Yeah"

He changed the subject. "Who did you say you were?"

"J. B. Forester. Hammond Electronics"

There was a moment of silence; then he asked, "Was that
other man one of your people?"

I stiffened and then, in as calm a voice as I could muster,
replied. "This is the only contact Hammond Electronics has
made with you, Mr. Adams. Why?"

He shrugged it off. "No particular reason. One of my wait
staff said some guy came through asking about Justin."

I remembered the man in the tan business suit. If I asked
questions about the man, I might stir up Adams' curiosity,
which I didn't want to do. "Chester probably applied to another company also. Our company is a low-key vendor for the US government, Mr. Adams. For security measures, I
need to find out about the six-month gap"

"Just ask Justin."

"Oh, I plan on it, but I'd like to verify whatever he says
by an independent source"

"I understand"

Trying to sound as beseeching as possible, I said, "I wonder if it would be too much of an inconvenience for you if I
visited with some of your kitchen or wait staff. Perhaps Justin
mentioned his plans to them"

I held my breath.

"No. Be fine with me"

"Great. What about tomorrow? Around one?"

"See you then"

Marty popped into my cubicle as I hung up. I brought
him up to date.

He nodded. "You know where they are? I mean, that music group, the Grasshoppers?"

"I didn't ask. I figured if I didn't learn anything from the
country club, then I could pursue Bones and the Grasshoppers" I drew a deep breath and shut down my computer. "I'll
run up to Fort Worth in the morning and visit with the people
he worked with. No one can work side by side with someone
for six months and not reveal something."

Marty arched an eyebrow. "You want to bet?"

is a good thing I didn't bet with Marty. I would have lost.
The kitchen and wait staff at Brentwood was cordial and
outgoing. They liked Justin, but he was a loner, never revealing any personal information about himself.

I was standing in the doorway opening into the ballroom
with Jerry Byrne, one of the wait staff. An older man, he carried himself with the demeanor of a professional. He shook
his head. "Sorry I couldn't tell you anything, Mr. Forester.
But, like I said, Justin was all business. The only reason I
knew he was from Texas was his drawl" He chuckled.

"One more question. Mr. Adams mentioned that another
gentleman had inquired about Justin"

He nodded. "Yeah. Justin's sure popular."

I grinned sheepishly. "Well, I might have bothered you for
nothing, Jerry. The guy might have been one of our boys,
Larry Charles" I touched my fingers to my face. "Ugly"

Jerry laughed. "I didn't want to say it, but, yeah. Boy, and I thought I had a kisser that would turn a woman to
stone."

I laughed with him. "Larry's good-natured about it. Has
to be " I drew a deep breath. All that was left now was Bones
and the Grasshoppers. I nodded to the club employees arranging tables around the stage. "Looks like a big blowout,
huh?"

Jerry rolled his eyes. "Teen night. One of those awful
music groups that thinks loud is the same as good."

With a grimace, I replied, "I know what you mean." I
paused, then added. "My brother's son plays for one of those
groups, the Grasshoppers. You ever heard of them?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, do I remember them.
Last spring. Prom night. My ears rang for two weeks"

Casually I asked, "Wonder if they're around anywhere. I
wouldn't mind stopping in and saying hi to my nephew."

Arching his eyebrows, he replied, "I wouldn't know, but
come with me. There's always teenagers in the heated pool.
They'll know"

I frowned. "Teenagers? Aren't they in school?"

A wry grin twisted his lips. "These are rich kids, Mr.
Forester. They go to private schools. You know what I
mean?"

Unfortunately, I did.

Bones and the Grasshoppers were playing a week's gig
at the Vegas Club in Dallas, named after the infamous Jack
Ruby's club back in the sixties.

From where I parked, two blocks away, I could hear the
band pounding away. I was surprised the walls didn't vibrate into a pile of brick dust. The club was jammed, and on the
dance floor, heads, arms, and legs bobbed up and down and
around.

Other than the club owners, I didn't see anyone who
looked over twenty-one, yet cigarette smoke filled the room
like a thick fog, and I didn't see one table that didn't have
beer, wine, whiskey, or pills on it. I couldn't resist the cynical observation that perhaps somewhere in this milieu of
smoke and booze was the president of the United States in
thirty years.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I suppose
the same could be said about music-that its beauty is in
the ear of the listener.

If loud implied good, the group was great.

Somehow from my spot next to the rear wall, I managed
to tolerate the reverberations until the band's first break.

A bouncer stopped me when I tried to go backstage. "No
outsiders," he growled. Two twenties made me an insider.
In the dressing room, the five musicians were slouched on

couches and sprawled on cots, eyes glazed, features slack,
gathering their inspiration by toking on joints.

They paid me no attention. I spoke up. "First, I'm not a
cop. I'm a friend of Justin Chester, and I'm looking for a
gentleman called Bones"

No response.

Finally a thin, black man with long fingers rolled his head
to one side. He was one of those whose age was impossible
to guess. He could have been anywhere between twenty-five
and seventy-five. "Well, I ain't no gentleman, boss, but I'm
Bones"

I quickly explained the inheritance. When I mentioned
Justin's share was ten million and there would in all likelihood be a reward, Bones grew interested. "What do I gots
to do for the money?"

I shrugged. "I've got to find him. When your group played
at the Brentwood Country Club last spring, you talked to him.
Remember?"

Bones' blue-black forehead wrinkled in a frown. "Yeah.
I remembers. Done forgot about it, but now I remembers"

"Did he give you any idea what his plans were, where he
might go?"

Two of the other musicians snickered. One muttered sarcastically, "That the crazy honky, Bones?"

Bones grinned and tapped the side of his head. "Aw, the
guy's okay. Just a little far out"

The other musician snorted. "Loony-tunes, if you ask me"

I frowned. "Far out?"

"Yeah. He's into all this far-out stuff like UFOs and aliens
and all that weird stuff. Always been that way"

"You known him long?"

"Yeah, man. I knows him back in Austin before he ups
and leaves. Over the years, I see him about. Last time was at
the country club"