Choke (11 page)

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Was that a smirk on his face? Immy gave him a glare. People did not smirk at her mother. “What do you want, Baxter?”

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

The television, its volume low, droned through a soap opera in the background. He swiped his hat off his head and rumpled his glossy curls. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Immy.”

She waited to hear what the favor was before she agreed.

“I did you one,” he said.

That was true, but she had tipped him two dollars. “I’m not going to agree until you tell me what you want me to do.”

He frowned.

“What? That’s only reasonable.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, you know. The police are looking for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Those lazy, hooded eyes got shifty looking. “Maybe.”

Immy’s mind worked furiously. Would Baxter go to the police? Ever since she had known him, which was a couple of years now, he’d avoided the cops. When Chief Emersen or his officer ate at the restaurant, he’d be so busy taking out trash or mopping the floors that he couldn’t bus any dining room tables until they left. She exchanged a look with her mother. Hortense gave her head a slight shake. No, she didn’t think he would follow through, either.

“What is it you want?”

“It’s not much, Immy.” He bestowed his sexy smile on her. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here. Just like you. So, you don’t tell, and I won’t tell. Deal?”

“That sounds fine.” What was the big deal about that? That was understood to be honor among thieves or whatever kind of criminals they both were. She ushered him out. After she closed the door she wondered if she had blown the chance to find out what he was doing at the motel in the first place. There wasn’t an APB out on him that she knew of.

“Imogene, that man will not go to the authorities. He has an aversion to law enforcement, you know.” Hortense made herself comfortable, plumping the pillows and settling back among them. She clicked the remote to change the channel and raise the volume.

“I do know, but I don’t know why,” said Immy.

“He was incarcerated,” said Hortense.

“He did hard time? I knew it. When? What for?”

“He was imprisoned for making and selling methamphetamines.”

“Wow, a meth head.”

“I don’t believe he partakes. I believe he only markets and manufactures it. That is, he used to. I doubt he does it anymore. I received the information from Hugh when he hired the man. Hugh actually consulted me about it, having his doubts as to whether or not Baxter Killroy could be trusted. He did not heed my advice, however, and decided to employ him anyway.”

Immy’s lips started tingling as her mind stubbornly returned to the steamy kiss he’d bestowed on her. She swiped her hand across her mouth to rub it away. She didn’t want any more favors from Baxter.

“So he won’t rat us out, but I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“That is not our problem. Would you mind warming some of that beef stew on the hot plate? My abdomen is communicating with me.”

“What?” Sometimes her mother’s convoluted language defeated her, even though she was used to it. “Oh, your stomach’s growling?”

“That’s what I said.”

Immy was proud that she had remembered to buy a can opener. She opened the can and set it on the little burner her mother had placed on the flimsy veneer end table that sat between the double bed and the back wall.

After they ate their warmed, canned stew lunch, using plastic spoons and waxed paper bowls, Immy announced she had another plan.

“Maybe you should desist from making those plans, dear.”

“Don’t complain, Mother. I got you out of stir, didn’t I?”

Hortense groaned. “Your language, dear.”

“We need more information. We need to know why Frankie isn’t being held and what the police know. Especially, we need to know if they know who the informant is. I’ll be back soon.”

Immy regarded her face in the bathroom mirror. Her fingers strayed to her lips. They didn’t look different, but they still tingled a little. Baxter’s kiss hadn’t been half bad, she decided. Maybe she would brave another one. One kiss, that’s all.

When she returned from her errand, she tried to high-five her mother, but Hortense refused.

“Baxter said I could borrow his truck, Mother.”

“I am not able to invest any confidence in the words of Baxter Killroy, and you shouldn’t either, little missy.”

Not the little missy again. I hate that. Why does everyone think I’m so small anyway? But I will show her. It’ll be OK.

Immy once again put on the beauty spots, only two this time, the sunglasses, and the hat she hadn’t used yet. This one was almost a sombrero, the brim was so wide. The wind had picked up, and the air blew chill, so she also used the oversized sweater she had found in the van.

She drove Baxter’s truck to the Saltlick police station and sat outside waiting for Ralph to emerge for lunch. She knew he almost always took his lunch after the chief. Ralph had invited her to dine with him many times, but she had always turned him down. She hoped he still wanted to.

Right on schedule at one-thirty sharp, he walked out of the door and over to the old Saltlick cop car, the one he always drove.

Immy cranked the window down. “Psst!”

Ralph’s hand moved toward his pistol. He frowned at her. “Who are you? What are you doing in Killroy’s truck?”

Shit, he knows the truck.
“It’s me, Immy.”

Ralph squinted and took a step toward her. “What the hell?”

“I’m incognito.”

He frowned harder.

“I’m in disguise. I’m wanted, aren’t I?”

“Not really. That reporter must have gotten carried away,” he said. “Chief doesn’t think you or Hortense killed Hugh.”

“Can you get in so we can go to lunch in Range City?”

Ralph grinned. “You want to go to lunch with me?” He poked a thumb at his broad chest. “You bet.” He climbed into the passenger seat. There seemed to be less air with him in the truck, and there was certainly less room.

“We have to go to Sonic,” Immy said, “so I don’t get made.”

“Immy, you won’t get laid just going to lunch with me.”

“Made, Ralph, made. I don’t want to be recognized, and you don’t want me to either. You shouldn’t be associating with a felon.”

“You’re not a felon, Immy.”

“Better safe than sorry. There’s always a possibility of trumped-up charges, you know.”

Immy headed toward Range City via the back roads. If Ralph knew Baxter’s truck, probably everyone in Saltlick did. Immy never paid attention to people’s vehicles, but some people apparently did. Now that she was acting as a PI, maybe she should start observing more details, like vehicles. Maybe even license plate numbers. She drove in silence for a few miles, wondering how to start. Unable to formulate a strategy, she shrugged and dived in.

“So,” she said, starting her grilling, “what do you and Emmett know about the murder?”

At first she thought he wouldn’t spill. He looked away from her, out the window, but then started to sing. “Not much. At least Chief hasn’t told me much. He did say not to bother to bring you in, though.”

“Huh? Why did he say that, because I’m not technically a felon?”

“I think Xenia Blossom is the new suspect.”

Immy swerved but got back into her lane before hitting the oncoming truck. It honked long and loud anyway. Some drivers were so picky. “How can Xenia be a suspect? Did she wake up?”

“Naw. We got another anomalous tip.”

“Anonymous, Ralph.”

“That’s what I said. Chief and me found some stuff in her purse.”

Immy approached the outskirts of Range City and drove past the combination coin launderette/movie rental store.

“Incriminating evidence?” What kind of stuff would implicate Xenia in Huey’s murder? A package of sausage? A pack of Virginia Slims? Some butts that matched the butt in the pot? Immy had never seen Xenia smoke, though. Maybe she carried Frankie’s cigarettes for him.

“Yep.”

“So, did the chief definitely say we’re not wanted any more, Ralph, or are you supposed to maybe bring us in later?”

“Gosh, I’m not sure. He just said not to bring you in. He said, let’s see, he said not to bother. Maybe if it’s not a bother, I should. You think?”

“No, I think you’d better not.” She pulled into the parking lot and up to the order board at Sonic. “What do you want?”

“Immy, I just want to date you. Nothing serious, just a date now and then.”

“I mean for lunch!”

“Don’t shout. Couple of hamburgers and fries, I guess. Iced tea.”

She ordered hamburgers for both of them over the static-y speaker system and thought about the best way to get Ralph to spill. “Just a date now and then when I come in from the cold?”

“Don’t matter if it’s cold or not. But yeah, just a date.”

“What was in Xenia’s purse?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to say.”

She laid her hand on his arm and leaned her face close to his. “Pretty please?” She tried to pucker her lips seductively. It must have worked because he closed his eyes and leaned toward her.

“Here’s your order.”

They both straightened while the server hooked the tray on the driver’s side window. Immy let Ralph pay for the lunch, since she was running very low on cash. They ate in embarrassed silence for a few minutes, then both spoke at once.

“I didn’t mean—”

“That wasn’t—”

“You go,” said Immy.

Ralph swallowed a fistful of fries and took a swig of tea. “I like you, Immy. I always have. I just want you to give me a chance.” He looked at her. “And I think you should take those black things off your face.”

Immy sighed. She might have to give up on the beauty marks. Maybe she could find a fat suit. “There are certain facts I need to know, Ralph. I need to clear my mother’s name.”

“The chief says you and her should pay for the fire damage to the girls’ room.”

“I can’t do that. It probably costs a ton. Look, if you could help me pay for that, I could go out to dinner sometime, maybe next week.” Maybe the heat would be off by then. “Do you think it’s safe for us to return home now?”

“I don’t know about that. We don’t know who killed your uncle yet.”

“I thought you thought Xenia did it.”

“Because she has Hugh’s driver’s license and credit card doesn’t mean she killed him, that’s what Chief said.”

Immy almost grinned. She had done it. She had sweated the details out of Ralph. He realized what he had said a few seconds later, though.

“Hey, I didn’t tell you that, OK?”

Now Immy grinned, but just a little. “OK, but why don’t you think she did it?”

“Why would she go back there to see him if she knew he was already dead? She told Frank she went to try and get her back pay, so it looks like she didn’t know.”

“But she told Frankie she talked to Hugh days after he was dead.”

“How do you know that?”

Now Immy was confused. Hadn’t Frankie said Xenia went to see Hugh right before her crash? No, he’d said he assumed she said that, but he didn’t seem sure. Immy wasn’t sure of anything either.

“I’d better be going, Ralph. I’ll drop you back at the station.”

On the return trip she promised Ralph to have dinner with him next Friday. That was a week away. Anything could happen in a week.

Immy opened a can of chili and set it on the hotplate for their supper. She had tried to return Baxter’s truck keys, but he didn’t answer the door. She had left the keys on the left front tire. Everyone in Saltlick did that. Immy didn’t know if people did it in other places.

It had felt good to get out of her undercover clothes and back to her real life.

Since her mother was on the other side of the bed, Immy sat on the side next to the hot plate so she could watch it.

Hortense simultaneously watched TV and read through the Wymee Falls newspaper Immy had bought on the way back to the Finest. Hortense had always loved to page through newspapers, even before she and Immy had made it to the local crime page.

Immy picked up a section her mother had discarded. It was the sports section and didn’t interest her much. Then she reached for the front page Hortense had laid aside—and gasped.

“That’s the car!” She pointed at the picture of an automobile on the front page. Above it the headline proclaimed Bank Robbers Foiled by Mystery Woman.

Hortense rolled onto her side to look over Immy’s shoulder. “What car?’

“That car was tailgating me yesterday.”

The article told of a daring daylight bank robbery in Wymee Falls. The bank was held up by four youths who fled in a dark-colored SUV. They were apprehended at the edge of town with a flat tire, and all the stolen cash was recovered.

“She threw that thing at us out her window,” one of the robbers was quoted as saying. The article went on to explain that a tire had been punctured with a letter opener, enabling the police to catch up to and arrest the accused felons. The license number of the older model van that disappeared from the scene had not been obtained by the police, who came onto the scene after the vehicle disappeared, they said. One witness said the van was red, another thought it was blue. Another was certain it was a pickup truck.

Hortense finished reading the article before Immy did and started talking while she tried to finish it.

“So you were tailgated by bank robbers? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you. When someone tailgates you, let them overtake you. How many times have I told you that, Imogene?”

Immy gave up on reading the rest of the article. “That was my letter opener. Their tire was punctured by me.”

Hortense gave that some thought. “You don’t have a letter opener, dear. I believe the strain of a surreptitious life is affecting your mental acuity. Your synapses don’t seem to be firing properly.”

“My synapses are fine, Mother, better than ever. I was born for this life. I foiled a heist without even knowing it. Being on the lam suits me.”

“Did you see the other article that…what’s that smell?”

The answer to that became obvious as the sports section Immy had tossed too near the hot plate burst into flames with a soft whoosh.