Calamity Jayne (19 page)

Stan also gave me my very own cell phone to carry with me. He said it was in case I needed to get a hold of him. I suspected
it was so he could keep track of me. Either way, I was tickled to finally be among the coolest of the cool and carrying a
cell phone. Stan tossed me a cord.

“Don’t forget to plug it in to recharge the battery,” he said. “It’ll be useless as tits on a boar if the battery is low.”

I nodded. “Okey-dokey. Now what?” I asked. “I have to be at Bargain City at two. I’m only working a six-hour shift today.
You want me to surveil Hamilton some more? You know, I got the feeling he was about to give me something when the cops showed
and he clammed up.”

Stan blew a puff of cigar smoke in my direction. “Surveil?” He snorted. “Hell, no. You show up on his doorstep again and they’ll
haul your ass to jail.”

“There’s still Palmer’s wife, Sheila and her—” I was about to say something about her very good friend and confidant, Ranger
Rick Townsend, but for some bizarre reason my jaw hinges stuck and nothing else came out. I couldn’t picture Ranger Rick killing
Peyton Palmer in the heat of passion over Sheila Palmer, but it was certainly possible Sheila Palmer had killed her husband
in the heat of passion over Ranger Rick. The thought of Townsend and Sheila together made me think of Townsend’s derriere.
Thinking of Townsend’s derriere made me think of our little tattoo bet I wanted so much to win. But, dang, in order to win
the bet and see Ranger Rick permanently disfigured with a small but tasteful raccoon tattoo, I needed to produce the corpus
delicti; but the odds of Peyton Palmer being accommodating enough to bob up from the depths of Silver Stone Lake just to help
me win a bet was unlikely.

I ran home to shower and change for work. My machine was blinking. I had two messages. The first was from Joe Townsend, telling
Kato to give the Green Hornet a call, and that he had freshly baked carrot cake. I drooled at the carrot cake reference, then
shook my head. Townsend Jr. would release his menagerie of reptiles into my bedroom if I came within one hundred yards of
his grandfather. I played the second message five times before I could convince myself it was on the level.

“Yo, Barbie. This here’s Manny from the other night. You know, the Thunder Rolls. I’m at the county jail, and I need someone
to bail me out. Maybe we can work something out. You know, bail money for info. Ya hear what I’m saying? Bail’s two hundred.
They take credit cards. Later, Barbie.”

I sat at the kitchen table, and put my head in my hands. How had I gone from dipping cones for preschoolers to posting bail
for bikers? Yet the possibility that Manny might really have some good information was too tempting to resist.

My first impulse was to call Stan and see if he would be willing to spring the biker, but I decided against it. If the guy
was just yanking my chain and didn’t have any information to barter, Stan would be out the two hundred and I would lose what
little credibility I’d bankrolled with my new boss. I threw on my work clothes, retrieved the lone credit card I still had,
which I kept in a locked file cabinet in a file folder marked: use only in case of emergency! Chances were I was being conned,
but knowing my luck, if I blew Manny off, I’d come face to face with him after he’d just been through a body cavity search
and released. This was one guy I’d rather owe me in a good way.

I parked outside the courthouse on the square. The county jail is located in the basement of the courthouse. It always gives
me the willies to see those long, black bars on the windows when I walk by. I entered the sheriff’s office with my head down.
I wasn’t ready to engage in conversation with Deputy Doug or his fearless leader at present. I smiled at the uniformed police
person at a desk behind the counter.

“Hello. I’m here to see about posting bail for a friend of mine.”

The lady deputy got up and came to the counter.

“The name?” she asked.

“Manny,” I began, then realized I didn’t even know his last name.

“Manning?”

I shook my head. “Manny. M-A-N-N-Y. First name. Manny. As in huge, bald, biker-type with arms as big as my thighs. Manny.”
I put my hands out as if measuring the breadth of Manny’s Herculean shoulders.

“He’s your friend, and you don’t even know his last name?”

My smile withered a bit. “I just met him last night,” I said, praying word of this never got out to Rev. Stone at the Open
Bible Church.

“You just met this guy last night. He winds up in jail. And you’re bailing him out? He must be something,” she muttered.

My face turned warm as hot fudge. “Can I or can I not bail out my friend, officer?”

“You got cash?” she asked.

“Even better,” I said. “American Express. Don’t leave jail without it.”

We were just finishing up the paperwork when a voice to my left startled me.

“Well, look who we have here. Calamity Jayne Turner. Finder of dead guys. Corrupter of old men. Stalker of prominent town
leaders. What brings you here? Reporting another body in a trunk? On a boat? In a plane? In a box with a fox? Please, tell
me. I need a good laugh.”

I turned to face Deputy Doughboy. “Look in the mirror, then,” I said. “That should give you a good chuckle.”

He lost his jocularity. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought I made myself clear the other night.”

I said nothing.

“She’s posting for a ‘friend,’” the woman deputy supplied.

Deputy Doughboy’s forehead wrinkled. Gee, what was it with these foreheads, anyway? “What friend?” He directed the question
to me, but I just smiled.

“Manny Dishman,” the deputy behind the counter replied. “The disorderly from Thunder Rolls last night.”

That got Deputy Doug’s attention. “How do you know Manny Dishman?” he asked.

I shrugged. The cops had kept me in the dark so long I’d developed night vision and the urge to hang upside-down. No way was
I giving Officer Samuels anything but a cold shoulder, and a cone with a hole in the bottom on his next visit to the Dairee
Freeze.

“Is there some problem with me bailing out a friend?” I asked. “A rather large friend. A rather large friend who is very impatient
to be released from your fine establishment?”

“I just finished the paperwork,” the woman deputy told Deputy Doug. “Is there a problem?”

The deputy gave me a long, hard look. “Where Calamity Jayne here is concerned,” he said, “there’s always a problem. But go
ahead and execute the release.” He gave me another one of his stepped-in-cat-poop looks.

“Thank you, officers,” I said with a flourish, “for your assistance. Tell Mr. uh, Dishman, I’ll be waiting for him outside.”

I walked to the glass door, then looked back at the female deputy. “Is that uniform for show or for real?”

“Let me step around the counter and I’ll show you firsthand,” she warned.

I backed out the door. “No, that’s all right. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t being discriminated against because you’re
a woman,” I said, tiptoeing out the door into the warm sunshine. I gave myself a light slap. “Dummy. Fool. Idiot,” I muttered.

“You muttering to yourself again, Tressa? People will begin to talk, you know.”

I whirled around. It was Ranger Rick in full uniform, looking better than any two-timing, reptile-collecting, grandson-of-a-nosy-old-fart
had a right to.

“They already talk,” I observed. “Thanks to insensitive clods who always try to portray me in the worst light.”

He ignored that. “What are you doing uptown? Don’t you have to work today?”

“For your information, I am working.”

He put a hand on the back of his neck and rubbed. “You mean that part-time job as a poor imitation of Barbara Walters? Didn’t
you listen to anything I said last night?” Townsend asked.

“Oh, I listened,” I replied with a snarl. “But I discounted it as coming from a womanizing, forktongued jackass with a twenty-year
track record of messing with my mind.”

Townsend was about to say something further, when his attention wandered. A heavy arm curled around my shoulders, and I fought
to keep my knees from buckling. “Gee, thanks, Barbie, for bailing Manny’s ass out of that hellhole. Last time I was in, I
got scabies.”

I saw the look of disbelief appear on Townsend’s face at the same time his jaw did a trapdoor motion. I tried to make a reassuring
smiley face. I’m almost certain I looked more like I’d just given birth to Rosemary’s horned baby.

“Who’s the stiff?” Manny asked.

“Stiff? Oh, Townsend! Uh, this is Officer Townsend. He works for the DNR,” I said. “And he’s on duty, so we mustn’t take up
any more of the good officer’s time.”

Rick put out a tanned hand. “Rick Townsend,” he said. “You’re a friend of Tressa’s?”

“Tressa? Oh, you mean Barbie here. Naw, we’re more like business associates—aren’t we, Barbie?” He gave my shoulder a squeeze
with one mammoth hand. My arm ached down to my pinky.

“Hardly business associates,” I disputed. “More like acquaintances. Very slight acquaintances.”

“You said Barbie—Tressa here—bailed you out of jail?” Townsend looked from me to Manny and back. “You bailed this guy out?
What the hell are you thinking, Tressa, or are you thinking at all? Jeez, you gotta be the most foolish, stubborn, pigheaded
excuse for a woman God ever made. Do you have any idea how reckless your behavior has become? How dangerous? Get a grip, Tressa.
Get a grip before it’s too late.”

I felt my eyes begin to water, and I was very close to tears, tears I most certainly did not want to shed in front of the
man who was causing them. I was saved from the embarrassing situation by Manny.

“Manny don’t like Rick the Dick,” he said, muscling me away with all the finesse of a secret service agent removing his protectee
from a suspected threat. “Jail food sucks. Manny’s hungry. Let’s eat.”

I didn’t balk at being pulled away from Townsend. At the look on Rick’s face, I figured I was safer with the biker.

But as I looked on while the gargantuan fellow tried to fold his bulk into the front seat of my Plymouth, I thought, or maybe
not.

C
HAPTER
18

“So, Manny, what kind of information does two hundred bucks buy these days?” I took a mammoth bite of my big, tasty burger,
folded a french fry into my mouth and washed it down with a big sip from my super-sized diet drink. “It better be good. I
was saving the credit on that card for some Sketchers and a new case of motor oil for my car.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin,
and looked across at my lunch companion, who took up an astonishing amount of his side of the booth.

“Don’t think you’ll have much cause to ask for your money back.” Manny unwrapped his second quarter-pound burger and tore
into it.

As if I’d have the courage to ask if I did.

“Manny heard some talk while I was in jail.”

“Talk? What about?”

“You know. What we was talking about the other night. About Mikey. About who he might be snitchin’ for.”

My hand on the plastic cup tightened. “Did you find out?”

“All in good time. I did learn that Mikey knew he was gonna get busted the last time before he got busted.”

I frowned. “I don’t get it. How could he know he was going to be arrested beforehand? Was he psychic? Did he have a premonition?”

“It was bogus, man. That drug thing with the lawyer and all. Mikey was put in jail to set him up.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not following. You mean Peyton Palmer really didn’t smuggle drugs to Mike Hill? Hill set
him up? Why?”

Manny’s huge shoulders went up and down. “Dunno that. He was a problem for someone, is my guess. He needed to be neutralized.
There’s different ways of doing that. One way is to trash someone’s rep. Make ‘em seem dishonest. Even criminal. That kinda
stuff ain’t hard to do with a friggin’ lawyer.”

“And the other way to neutralize someone?” This was a dumb question. I knew the answer. I just wanted someone else to be the
one to say it out loud.

“You off ‘em. Take ‘em out. Erase ‘em.”

“Shoot ‘em and stuff ‘em.”

Manny nodded.

I sat for a moment trying to process what he’d told me. “If the jail drug thing was a set-up, and Peyton Palmer didn’t take
drugs into the jail, then someone else did.” I didn’t realize I’d said that aloud until Manny replied.

He shrugged. “Or maybe,” he said, sitting back in his booth, “the drugs were already there.”

“Wait. What do you mean?” I asked, not quite grasping the point, but sure as heck not wanting to let it escape me altogether.

“Mikey knew what was gonna go down before he was arrested, Barbie. Someone arranged to get him into jail. Someone arranged
for your dead lawyer to visit him in jail—”

“I know who! I know who!” I interrupted. “Palmer’s law partner, Dennis Hamilton, asked Peyton Palmer to take Mike Hill as
a client. And he was involved with Palmer’s wife. There’s your motive.”

Manny eyebrows raised. “You have been busy,” he said. “Did your source also tell you that the dude is a junkie?”

I blinked. “A junkie? Who? Hamilton?”

He nodded. “One of Mikey’s best customers.” He took a swig of his monstrous drink. “ ‘Course, I ain’t no friggin’ Einstein,
Barbie, but seems to me this couldn’t have been pulled off without somebody on the inside helping pull some strings.”

“The cops?” I squeaked, my chest tighter than when I’d hoofed it after Hamilton. “But why?”

Manny gave me a long look. “Mikey dealt. He dealt a lot. But he got picked up on simple possession. There’s only one way that
could happen. Mikey was hands-off. Untouchable.”

I shook my head. “Hands-off? The guy is dead. How is that untouchable?” I asked, hoping he would draw me a detailed blueprint.

“Mikey obviously became a big problem for someone. He was not what you call the patient type. He wanted something from you,
he wanted it yesterday. I guess Mikey finally pushed the wrong person too far.” He made a finger gun at his temple. “Boooom!”

I jumped in my seat. “Gee, Manny. Hold it down. You scared me.”

Manny gave me a look I could’ve sworn was sympathy. Or pity. “Manny’s thinkin’ it’s a good thing you’re scared. The more scared
you are, the more careful you’ll be. Manny’s thinking Barbie better be real careful.”

“The cops think it’s possible Hill shot himself accidentally.”

Manny crunched a mouthful of ice. “Yeah, right. The cops think.”

“So, you believe I may still be in danger?”

“You gonna give up trying to find out what happened to that dead lawyer?”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Barbie got a Ken to protect her?” Manny asked.

I drew a blank. “Ken?”

“The fish guy?”

“Fish guy?”

“The conservation geek. Rick the Dick. He your Ken?”

I shook my head again. “He’s my hemorrhoid.”

Manny nodded. “Manny’s got more good news. You remember Carver from last night?”

I nodded. “Skinny. Long, greasy black hair. Dirty fingernails. Potty mouth. What about him?”

“He got thrown in jail with Manny.”

“And you just left him there? You didn’t want me to bail him out, too?”

Manny shook his head. “Manny can’t stand him. But Manny here figures that skinny SOB heard the same shit I heard in lock-up.
Maybe he even let the cops know what’s going around that cellblock. Since you bailed Manny out, the cops will figure Manny
told you. And there ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a crooked cop, Barbie.”

My tasty lunch wasn’t so tasty anymore. I took a long sip of cola to wet my dry mouth, had trouble swallowing, and ended up
dribbling much of it down my vest front. I rubbed my forehead. I’d always expected the boys in blue to be true blue, to uphold
the highest standards of behavior. As the keepers of the peace and enforcers of the law, I always assumed those charged with
this task would operate within the guidelines themselves. That was naive, I now knew. And possibly dangerous.

“Who was Hill snitching for, Manny?” I asked.

Manny gave me a long look. “He was there. At the courthouse when Manny was released.”

I felt my legs begin to shake beneath the table. “He always did seem to be Johnny-on-the-spot,” I said slowly. “Thanks, Manny.
For everything. I’m beginning to think you’re right. Barbie does need a Ken.”

Manny drained the last of his soft drink and crushed the container. “Screw Ken. Barbie needs a freakin’ GI Joe.”

I sighed. This Barbie was stuck with one ancient Green Hornet wannabe.

I dropped Manny off back at the Thunder Rolls. The cops had allowed him to leave his Harley there rather than impound the
bike. He gave me a bear hug, and I was certain I would require a chiropractic adjustment to get my spine realigned.

I took my place behind the electronics counter at Bargain City and worked my six hours with about the same amount of enthusiasm
I reserved for a bikini wax. It’s hard to be upbeat when you could be served up as Grandville’s next corpse-of-the-day special.
Hold the slow, painful death, please.

I was about to walk out the door when I was heralded by a cashier. “You got a phone message. Kari says to tell you you’re
trying on bridesmaid dresses after work.”

“You? A bridesmaid?” Landon in customer service snickered. “Now, that I gotta see.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Too bad, because you won’t be invited to the wedding,” I said, with real pleasure.

“Oh yeah? Well, Brian’s a friend of mine, so guess who’ll be there with bells on? Hope you don’t mess up the bridesmaid gown
like that Bargain City vest you got on.” He gestured to my soiled top. “Better wash it before the boss sees.”

I gave him the royal raspberry (real mature, I know), and left. I wasn’t in the mood to try on dresses. Okay, so I’m never
in the mood to try on dresses. Especially long, girlie dresses in various shades of pukey pastels. I sighed and drove to Kari’s
apartment behind the local car dealership where my brother Craig worked. I threw my red vest in the back of the car and hoofed
it up the stairs.

“These dresses better not be putrid,” I warned as I entered her apartment on the second floor. “And no ruffles or bows, remember,”
I added.

Kari had selected several gowns and charged them to her credit card. She would then return the losers in exchange for credit.

“Are we having another bad day?” she asked.

“More like a bad life,” I said, and slumped into the nearest chair.

“Why do these things keep happening to you, Tressa? I’m almost afraid to contemplate what might occur at the wedding.”

I felt another twinge of hurt. What did she think I’d do? Set fire to myself with the unity candle? Trip the ringbearer? “What
could happen?” I asked, defensiveness creeping into my voice.

“Remember what happened at Craig’s wedding.”

“That was Townsend’s fault. He squeezed my butt when we filed out after the ceremony. I told Craig not to pair me with him!”

“What about the wedding pictures? You disappeared after the ceremony, and when they tracked you down for family pictures,
you had a trail of barbecue sauce down the front of your dress. They had to hide you in back.”

“I was hungry and those cocktail weenies looked so good.”

Kari just shook her head.

“So, where are the frocks?” I asked, hoping to distract her from another lecture on responsibility. “I might as well get this
over with.” I rose and followed Kari to her room. “You do remember I have full, unconditional veto power. Right?” I asked,
getting a glimpse of some godawful red velvet thing laid out on her bed.

“Sure. Right. Gotcha,” Kari said.

I stripped down to my panties and bra and tried the red dress on while I had the strength. I walked to the mirror and frowned
in disgust.

“I can’t wear this,” I said to Kari’s reflection behind me. “I look like Santa’s niece, Tressa Kringle.”

Kari nodded. “Too elf-like. Gotcha. Try on the green one.”

I did. I looked like my artificial Christmas tree.

“Don’t think so.” I shook my head.

“What about this one?” Kari held up a satiny maroon strapless. I looked askance at the low bodice and cups that looked way
too big for my 34 B’s to fill. “I don’t know. I’m not that busty,” I said. “I’d probably pop out.”

“We’d have to get it fitted, of course. I just want to see if the style works for you.”

I held the dress in front of me. “Can I wear a turtle-neck under it?” I asked.

Kari put the discarded evergreen dress on a hanger and put it aside. “Just try it on. You want a pop?”

I looked at the dress, remembered the soda mishap of earlier and Landon’s smart remark, and shook my head. “No!” I barked.

Kari gave me a
chill, girlfriend
look, shrugged, and left the bedroom. I put the dress over my head and pulled it down, straightening what there was of the
top over what there were of my breasts. I shut my eyes for a moment before opening first one, then the other. I laughed out
loud.

“Kari, you’ve got to see this,” I said, exiting her bedroom. “Get a load of this fancy, schmancy dress with my sports bra.”
I looked down at my decolletage with a grin, and waltzed down the short hall and into the living room like a bad impression
of Miss USA on her walk down the runway after being crowned.

“I’d rather get a load of it without the sports bra,” a male voice interjected. I looked up and ran right into Ranger Rick.

“You!”

“Yep. Little ole Rick the Dick. Isn’t that what your friend Manny called me this morning?”

I managed to look uncomfortable. “Manny isn’t my friend. Like he said, he’s my—”

“Business associate. Right,” Rick finished for me. He reached for me and grasped my arms above my elbows. “What the hell are
you up to, Tressa? What have you gotten yourself into now?”

To his credit, his concern seemed genuine enough. But what did I know? For a time I thought O.J. was innocent, Rosie really
had a thing for Tom Cruise, and the guys in uniform were the good guys.

“What’s going on between you and Sheila Palmer?” I turned the tables. If he answered my question, I’d consider answering his,
depending on his response, of course.

His grip on my arms tightened. For a moment, I thought he was going to come clean, but then his fingers relaxed and he shook
his head. “This isn’t a game of tit for tat, Tressa,” he said.

I shook his hands from my arms and stepped back. “You think I look at what’s happening as some sort of game?” I asked. “People
are dying, Townsend. That isn’t exactly my idea of fun and games, despite what you may think of me.” I rubbed my upper arms.

“That’s not what I meant, Tressa. Look. I just think you’re too close to this police investigation. Way too involved. And
now with this damned newspaper job, you’ll have your nose stuck even further into this case. We’ll need the jaws of life to
remove you. Or a body bag,” he added.

I winced.

“Are you ready to tell me who this Manny is, and why you posted bond for him?” Townsend asked.

“Are you ready to tell me what the nature of your relationship with Sheila Palmer is, and what she was doing on your boat
the night Mike Hill was killed?” I countered. A quiver in his clenched jaw told me there would be no quid pro quo here.

“Hell,” was all he said, and turned away.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “Where’s Kari?”

“I’m Brian’s best man,” he announced, and I paled. Please, God, not another wedding party from hell. “Kari told Brian to scram
tonight, so he called me to go grab a bite. We finished and decided to check out the bridesmaid dresses.”

“Since when have you been interested in bridesmaids’ dresses?” I asked.

“Since I knew you were going to be modeling them,” he said.

I felt a tightening in my chest. I hadn’t expected such an admission. Then I remembered who was making the admission.

“Won’t Sheila be jealous that you’re watching other women parading around in skimpy dresses?” I commented.

“You call that skimpy? I’m still waiting for you to take off your bra.”

I sneered. “Don’t hold your breath, Ranger Rick,” I said. “On the other hand,” I added as a thought occurred to me, “I might
just be willing to lose this bra here and now under the right conditions.” I covered the distance between us with a slow,
casual move, trailing one finger up his arm, over his shoulder, around his neck to rest on his cheek. I thought I saw his
nostrils flare. I was hoping this was a good sign and not sinus problems. I linked my arms around his neck and moved suggestively
against him, ill at ease with my bad girl role, but figuring since he’d already seen me without my swim top in high school
and I hadn’t developed much since then, what was the big deal? Besides, I reckoned I could maneuver the bra down over my breasts
without revealing a great deal. Not that there was a great deal to reveal. I was about ready to give my Marilyn pout, remembered
how that had tanked with Dennis Hamilton, and instead ran my tongue ever so slowly over my lips. “Interested?” I whispered.