Bullet in the Night (16 page)

I set my GPS, named Emma by Nick for her lovely English voice. Emma led me to the town of Kerr without any trouble. I pulled out the note with the name of the restaurant and circled the block twice to find the downtown business section before realizing I’d already driven through it.

I backtracked. The town had a total of six buildings; two were boarded up. The window of one had a six-foot “For Rent” banner. I located Hannah’s Restaurant on a side street in a weathered building lettered with “Home of Chicks” on the front with “Hannah’s Restaurant” painted over it. A plywood “Bowling” sign hung above the side door on the right half of the building.

Cement blocks speckled with blobs the color of hens’ eggs formed the skeleton of the building. I entered the cracked blacktop lot in back.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked surprisingly like Chris Lepsell’s car turn the corner and head down the block. Weird. I shook my head; there was more than one car like that. Why would she be around here? I selected a parking place and glanced about before cautiously opening my door and heading for the storefront. I inhaled deeply and ventured inside.

Old stale smoke, bitter coffee, and a strange smell, a cross between sardines and onions, attacked my nostrils. After my first whiff of Hannah’s, I realized this wasn’t going to be my favorite lunch spot ever.

Plus, I could think of more fun things to do with my free hours than meet with this ex-convict, Russell, but if it would help me find Lenora’s attacker, I was game to dine with him here.

The interior walls, dirty yellow-green, were either a strange paint shade or a uniquely colored mold. One wall had scattered nails framed by whitish rectangular outlines where plaques or pictures once hung. The only frame left held a yellowed Covenant of Good Service that gave me no comfort.

Asphalt flooring in assorted patterns, predominantly beige, had been laid in a motley style, probably leftovers from other jobs. Some people shouldn’t make decorating decisions.

A dingy chalkboard announced the day’s luncheon specials and was covered with enough dust to make me suspect the specials hadn’t changed all month. Hamburger, grilled cheese with or without ham, and potato soup were my choices.

Five patrons clustered on stools at the counter. I smiled in their direction but received only stares back. Six chrome-edged table and chair sets with split red vinyl had served years of bowling leagues, judging by their condition.

May Russell be on time and may this be fruitful. I didn’t feel like waiting around long.

The sign on the far wall announced the restroom location. I walked over to use the facilities, passing six well-polished bowling lanes—the only thing in Hannah’s with a shine, unless you counted one man’s bald head. Nobody was bowling, so it wasn’t obvious if the lanes were functional or not.

Inside the ladies’ room two rusted sinks, one grosser than the other, both had a steady drip. I washed my hands and exited fast.

The clock above the swinging kitchen door, in the shape of a red cactus ringed by white numerals, had both hands pointing to twelve.

At the far end of the counter sat a heavy-set lady, the cook from the looks of the stained butcher-type apron covering the front of her jeans. “Heartbreak Hotel” by Elvis streamed over the speaker, which seemed to have transfixed the woman as she sucked an unlit cigarette.

I flashed a weak smile and approached with all the warmth I could project. My dad had taught me as a child to respect every person I met, regardless of his or her personality, or lack thereof, or unusual appearance. He’d read me enough O. Henry stories filled with strange characters to instill his interest in all types of people into me. I usually could start and enjoy a conversation with anyone.

“I’m meeting someone and need to be sure I’m in the right spot…is this the only restaurant in Kerr?”

The cook gave me a cold stare before drawing words slowly from her ample mouth. “Family Diner went outta business last year. There’s the Mexican grill but ain’t nobody eats there. This gotta be the spot.”

“Thanks.” I chatted with her about the weather and moved on to discussing the town.

All eyes were on us. I ignored stares from the other customers, mostly coffee-drinkers. Did I dare eat here?

Why had I jumped at the prospect of a meeting with Russell? If I’d given this more thought, I’d have insisted on more details before I drove here. I should have tried harder to connect over the phone.

I gingerly perched on a worn gray vinyl chair at the nearest table.

A waitress, around fiftyish with red hair that almost matched the clock, sauntered over, pulled an order pad from a hip pocket, and popped a pencil from behind her ear.

“Hi.” I gave her my best smile.

“Yeah. What can I getcha?”

“I’ll have iced tea in a to-go cup.”

If Russell didn’t show, I’d skip lunch and be on my way.

The door opened and all eyes turned as a woman with two boys around the age of ten came into the restaurant and headed straight for the bowling lanes. Soon the sound of a ball rolling down the alley reverberated, followed by smacks of falling pins.

From the sound of conversations around me, everyone in the place knew each other. A friendly bunch except cool toward strangers, judging by the hard stares still coming my way. I kept one eye posted on the door.

At fifteen past twelve, a six-foot man with a mop of curly black hair strode in, slamming the door behind him. He checked the place with rapid eye movements and waved at me.

Russell had arrived.

And I wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Russell’s noisy entrance added a momentary spark of interest to the eyes around me. He flagged me to a table toward the back of the room next to the bowling lanes.

Gritting my teeth, I picked up my iced tea and followed him.

“You’re the only person seems outa place, so you must be Dr. Jennifer Trevor.”

I produced a smile in an effort to be cordial. “And you’re Russell?”

I started to extend my hand, then withdrew it. He never offered his nor seemed to notice my gesture. So much for manners.

“Got that right.” He abruptly pulled out a chair for himself and pointed me toward the empty one across from him.

Where had he gotten the money for all the tattoos covering his neck and both arms? The man was a walking art show, if you liked body ink. Personally, I didn’t. I struggled not to stare at the curvaceous, tattooed lady covering his entire right arm. My mind took a side trip. How long had he sat having his skin jabbed for her?

The lower half of Russell’s face wore the shadow of a black beard. Probably one of those guys who could shave every three hours and still look unkempt.

Russell yelled to the cook, “Fried egg sandwich and fries, Mel.”

He looked me up and down.

I recoiled from his gaze. I totally disliked being stared at. “Let’s get to the point of our meeting, Russell. You have information about the attack on my friend Lenora Lawrence?”

He leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. “Yeah, I do. Kirk is innocent.”

My skin bristled. “This isn’t news. Kirk already told me, for what it’s worth. Even if I’m inclined to agree, there’s no proof either way.”

“I know for a fact. Kirk and me were for real goin’ straight. He was busting his buttons over his new job. He wouldn’t have ditched it for nothing. Shooting the dame was outta the question, get what I mean?” His face was inches from mine. I drew back and squeezed my hands together in my lap to hide their shaking.

“That’s not what the police think.” I blurted the words out, wanting to sound brave.

“They’re wrong.”

“Okay, if you’re so sure Kirk didn’t shoot Lenora, who else had a motive?” I reached for my notepad in my purse. “Another ex-prisoner?”

The waitress appeared from behind me and plunked down Russell’s food. He wolfed down half the fried egg sandwich before responding.

“I got ideas. I’m looking into it.” His fingers dripped pungent bacon grease, and he paused to lick them. “I figure it coulda been some loser the Lawrence woman helped or a thief off the street. I got buddies out there asking questions since it happened. Or it mighta been somebody inside horning in on her foundation money. I’m not saying nothing definite until I’m sure. Just want you to know I’m on it.”

I stared at him. Did he think that was worth a trip here?

Russell swiped grease from his mouth with a napkin. “You can be sure of this—the person who shot Lenora is dangerous. You better be careful, lady.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

What kind of game was this? Ring the woman around, promise her info, then tell her nothing. My shoulders slumped. “That’s all you have to say? Kirk’s innocent ’cause you know, and you’re on it. I came all this way for nothing.” I nearly choked on my tea.

Russell leaned forward. “I wanted you to come ’cause I got something else to ask you in person. Kirk promised I’d be one of the first guys helped in his new job. I need a bankroll to start a small car repair business. I want the foundation to float me a loan. I expect you’ve got an in. If not, I might give you an opportunity to have a personal stake in my business yourself.”

“Lenora is a colleague and friend, but I have nothing to do with decisions about how the Second Chance Foundation monies are distributed. I do know it isn’t a bank.” I crossed my leg, swinging my foot back and forth to dispel my annoyance. “I can’t believe you deceived me into coming to hear a business proposition.”

The waitress strolled over with more coffee for Russell. Tension coupled with the rumbles of my stomach. I ordered a bag of Fritos to stop the thunderous sounds my insides were starting to make.

The combination of the restaurant smells started nauseous waves in my throat. I spiked my iced tea with sugar, then gulped it.

“I wouldn’t call it tricking ya.” He shook his finger in my face. ”Hear me out.”

I opened the bag of Fritos the waitress dropped in front of me and started munching.

Russell gave a glowing report of his behavior and his mechanical skills. “I’m a guy worth investing in. That’s gotta be obvious to you. I can’t believe the other broad refused to loan to me when I asked her.”

“Lenora already turned you down?”

“Yeah.”

His self-eulogy created steam in my nostrils. “Did it occur to you that you’re a suspect?” I used my diminishing self-control to remain civil. Forget annoyance, I was at fury stage. Something kept me sitting.

Russell planted his elbows on the once-red checkered vinyl tablecloth, picked up a fork and beat it against his open palm. “Well, I’m gonna try to get Kirk off, ’cause Kirk’s gonna put in a good word with Lenora when she’s outta that hospital and see what he can do. I’ve been working at a gas station for a couple of months. I’ll be dead by the time I got enough saved for a shop. I figure my plans go down the tube with Kirk.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” I stood to leave. “Perhaps some community resources can finance you. I’m sure you’re mechanically capable, but if Lenora already turned you down, Kirk wouldn’t be able to do a thing for you either, provided he even stayed out of prison and kept a job with the foundation
.
”

“Community resources for an ex-con? Get real, lady. But you’re lucky. I’m still gonna help.”

I sat back down. “Why? You told me you have a grudge against Lenora because she wouldn’t help you. So why would you care about her? Besides, how do I know you didn’t shoot Lenora? Why should I trust you?” My stomach was still aflutter, but I found strength from my anger.

Russell leaned his chair legs back and put his hands in his pockets—a kingpin on his home turf. No wonder he wouldn’t come to my office. He was in control in his own territory.

Russell slapped his hand on the tabletop. “I’m going to tell you something, lady.” His voice grew louder. I sensed the staring eyes of the other customers again. “Life inside prison was pretty darn good. Don’t think I sat in a cement cell like maybe you saw in the movies, lady. I had planned rec-time and access to TV’s inside and outdoors with movie channels. You name it. I had a desk and bookshelves. Athletic equipment and sports opportunities—volleyball, handball, weights. I even took college courses. You know what it cost taxpayers?”

“Plenty,” I said, irritated.

“And in prison I didn’t pay a nickel for nothing. Now I’m out and trying to be a decent, responsible guy and can’t get a start. I coulda done without the frills at prison, if that money coulda gone for a decent small business loan when I got out.”

“Russell, you talk like the world owes you something. What you make of your life is up to you and God.”

I glanced behind me. Everybody was listening as well as watching us.

“If I don’t get any breaks on the outside, you think I’m gonna worry about going back to prison?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Let’s just say, I lived a whole lot better in the can with a prison-rights group watching out for me and lawyers wanting to represent me for free. All I had to do was snap my fingers. If I don’t get help from the foundation, I’m going to get the money another way. And it’ll be your fault and Lenora Lawrence’s.”

My back stiffened.
Patience, Jennifer. Ignore his threats.
Lord, help me salvage something from this meeting. I need wisdom fast.
“The fact is, Russell,” I said as compassionately as I could. “The foundation’s work is on hold since Lenora was shot.” I checked my watch. “I need to get back to work.” Crumpling the empty Fritos bag in my hand, I reached into my purse. “Here’s my card if you come up with some real information about Lenora’s shooter. Not that you’ve told me anything in the first place.”

“I’ll still be looking into it. Don’t forget what I said about that loan…”

I sensed the Holy Spirit nudging me as I said, “I’ll mention your request to some other non-profit organizations. Perhaps the foundation can help you when things settle down.” I couldn’t permanently dash all his hopes.

I might have expected a smile or a thank you. Instead he glared at me. His expression sent a chill down my spine. I didn’t like having this man for an enemy.