Hot Enough to Kill (22 page)
As I moseyed inside, I noticed there were only four other cars in the parking lot. A white oil field truck that was mud-red from the hood down, a blue Chrysler sedan, a white Lincoln Town Car and an old white Chevy Caprice. I didn't have a clue as to who owned the muddy truck and the Chrysler, but the other two I had a real good handle on. Velma Bennett and Ethel "Bony Butt" Fossy were inside.
Well, now, wasn't that an interesting turn of events? Why, it just wouldn't be right if I didn't drop by their table and say howdy-do, now would it? With a slightly evil smirk on my face and clever opening lines running through my head, I walked inside the moderately cool DQ, marched right up to the counter and said hi to Jimmie Sue.
Jimmie Sue did not looked overjoyed to see me. She just nodded a little, grabbed an order pad and pencil, tapping the latter annoyingly on the counter. Apparently this was her new sign language for "May I take your order, please?" Miss Jimmie Sue was not being nearly as friendly as she had been before, so I suspected she had been listening to ugly gossip about me. Tsk, tsk.
"Good to see you again, too, Jimmie Sue," I said, truly trying to not sound like a smart ass. Okay, maybe only half-trying.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap....
After I ordered a large iced tea--without comment on the fine quality to be found in the establishment--I decided it was time to leap in with some subtle snooping. Just because Jimmie Sue wasn't being very friendly, didn't mean I couldn't pick her brain, such as it was. I smiled as if she'd been treating me like royalty instead of a royal pain. "Things sure have been turned upside down around here since all this started," I said, clucking my tongue and shaking my head.
"Yes, they have," Jimmie Sue snapped, breaking her silence rather curtly. After giving me what a less forgiving soul might have called "the evil eye," she then turned and jammed the Styrofoam cup into the ice bin. She usually filled the cup with the handy metal scoop because the fancy ice was so dense it would break chunks out of the cup, or at the very least bend the top so a lid wouldn't fit on. I didn't get much ice that way either, and the hot tea was going to instantly melt what little ice made it in the cup. Yes, it sounds whiny and that's exactly how I felt about the whole thing. Jimmie Sue might not like me, but golly, gee, couldn't she make my iced tea right?
Jimmie Sue smacked the cup down on the counter, a half inch of tea slopping out. I caught a glimpse of the last ice bits as they melted in the puddle.
"Um, well," I said, wondering how to get a little more ice into the cup. I wasn't going to drink iceless tea, for goodness' sake. "Could you, I mean, if you don't mind, could you put a little more ice--"
Jimmie Sue leaned around, grabbed the metal scoop, gouged out some ice and plopped it into the cup, sending more tea splattering out on the counter. "I think it's high time everybody just went on back where they came from and left us all alone," she said, glaring at me as if I were an idiot and might miss the inference.
I kind of liked the old Jimmie Sue better, but I tried to pretend she was still acting just as sweet as pie. "Yes, all these various investigations sure seem to be upsetting things. I heard Dewayne Schuman's been kind of down lately." Okay, maybe it wasn't a great leading line, but I haven't been to the "say this to get people to spill their guts" school of question making.
"Don't know nothing about Dee-Wayne except he ought to be feeling bad over all the trouble he's in plus what he's causing around here. We sure don't need no more snoopy government types nosing around here. Or outsiders."
I ignored the obvious and tried to think of something to ask that she might answer, otherwise standing here listening to Jimmie Sue was pointless. "Guess Gifford's not too happy about any of this."
Jimmie Sue's eyes darted across the room. "Not my place to say who's happy or not about anything."
I turned to where she had glanced. In the corner booth sat a stocky man in a light blue-gray business suit that I suspected was made of old-fashioned polyester and might have been called a leisure suit in a previous life. He had a thick, short neck, a couple of chins and a large fleshy nose that looked like it might have been broken a couple of times. With a head full of thick white hair, cut in a one-inch buzz on top and nearly skin close on the sides, he made a memorable impression. I knew I'd never seen the man before, but I remembered my dad grousing about a buzz-cut Nazi and presumed this was Gifford Geller.
I knew I should go talk to him, the opportunity being tossed in my lap, but I am not all that gregarious, really. Yet again another fine example of why I was not cut out to be a reporter. I am basically a shy and unobtrusive person who doesn't want to bother anyone. Yes, really I am, dammit. But I couldn't be this time. I had to suck up my fears and go talk to the man. "I can too do it," I muttered to myself.
Jimmie Sue looked at me like I had lost yet another screw, so I just took my tea and turned away before she could make a nasty comment about my habit of talking to myself.
Giff sat in the back corner booth. Velma and Bony Butt sat in a middle table just a few feet away. I couldn't get to Gifford without walking past the non-grieving widow and the wiry zealot. I did not want to be whacked again, or preached to, thank you very much, but the options were definitely limited. It would have been a whole lot easier to just leave and forget the whole thing, but I forced myself to take the proactive approach and walked directly to them. "Good afternoon, ladies. My, it's hot out there."
Velma Bennett looked as bland as her gray plaid dress, but she did glance my way and nod.
Bony Butt looked a little more lively, wearing brown stretch pants, a gold floral shirt and a wicked scowl. "It's long past afternoon, missy, and if you don't like the heat, why don't you just run on back up to your mountain cave and sit yourself in the snow. You better enjoy it while you can because there won't be any snow saving you from the eternal fires."
I couldn't comment on that eternal fires business, but I could have mentioned that it is almost guaranteed not to snow at my house in July, but that would have spoiled her fun. Speaking of fun, I checked my watch and realized Ethel was right about one thing. It was getting late. Where had the day gone? Time flies and all that, I guess. I turned from Bony Butt and nodded to Velma Bennett. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Jolene--"
"She knows who you are, hussy," Bony Butt said, wagging a gnarled finger at me. "It's because of that slut mother of yours that Velma's beloved husband and a pillar of this community is dead."
Beloved husband? Pillar? Oh, please. And his death was my mother's fault? Anger prickled up my back and curled my lip. "Don't you dare blame my mother for any of this," I said, dropping any pretense of being willing to put up with her abuse. "My guess is, Ethel, that you've got a mouthful of sour grapes since Lucille is the popular one and you're not."
Bony Butt's head started twitching and fireballs sprayed from her eyes. "I'd never go with a married man, and I'd surely not parade myself around like a tramp."
"No, I can see you're having way too much fun being a fire and brimstone nut case."
"Now, see here," Velma said, almost forcefully. "That kind of talk is uncalled for. You might have taken your schooling here, Miss Jackson, but surely you realize you're not one of us."
Yes, that much had been abundantly clear for many years.
A burst of laughter from the back booth saved me from further explaining my disdain. I turned to see Gifford Geller waving a hand in my direction, motioning me over to his table. "Ethel," he hollered to Bony Butt. "Leave the girl alone. She doesn't have to put up with your caterwauling. Everybody in town knows you're jealous of Lucille."
While Bony Butt sputtered and Velma patted her hand, I marched on back and slid into the booth across from the acting mayor of Kickapoo, Texas. I didn't need to introduce myself because he obviously knew me at this point. What did need was a good way to start the conversation.
"I knew your dad," Gifford said, eliminating my initial problem. "We worked together out at the county for a while."
Yes, I knew that much, but I also knew Dad didn't think much of Giff, called him a loudmouth with a big ego and a little brain, amongst other things. I wouldn't quibble with that assessment, but I'd also add mean to the list. The set of his pudgy jaw and the coldness in his eyes, even when he laughed, said he could be cruel if it suited him.
"Yeah, sure do miss ol' Bertram," he said. "Don't have nobody leaning over my shoulder anymore, telling me what a dumb ass I am, if you'll pardon my plain talk."
I nodded and shrugged all at the same time. This was not exactly where I'd figured this conversation would go, and saying ugly things about my father wasn't bowling me over with good will. "So," I said, resisting the urge to agree that he was a dumb ass, "what's it like being mayor now?"
That seemed to catch him off guard and change his thoughts to something other than how awful my dad had treated him. I doubted Dad had done or said anything to Gifford that I wouldn't have. Actually, I'm sure he would have been a whole lot nicer. "Is it everything you hoped it would be?"
After a few more seconds, he took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. "Ain't much to it. BigJohn made it a big deal when it didn't have to be. I'm mostly just trying to straighten out all the things he messed up."
That statement pretty much jibed with what Lucille had said, so I followed it out a little more. "So you're dropping the city permit thing?"
He snorted. "First thing I did when I walked in the door. Dumbest thing I ever heard of."
"I guess that made Dewayne pretty happy."
"I wouldn't know about that." He fiddled with the handle on his coffee cup and drummed his fingers on the table. "Don't think he probably even knows about it. Guess I ought to tell him."
"You mean you didn't tell him at the funeral?"
Gifford shifted in his seat just a little. "Nah, didn't figure it was really the time for business."
Then it must have been the time for cracking jokes because they'd both sure been having a grand old time. "I'm headed over to Dewayne's in a few minutes," I said. "I'll mention it to him if it's okay."
"Oh, sure, it's no secret. That's one thing I'm not gonna have is a bunch of secret deals going on like that dumb shit Bennett. Pardon again."
Yes, well, that remained to be seen. "Too bad the city water deal's already gone through though. Sure would have been nice not to have to build a new treatment plant."
"Well, now, that's a whole 'nother issue. Can't say that we don't need a new plant." He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "But I'm figuring on getting a better deal from ol' Velma on those lots."
A variety of questions hit me at once, some of them not really fully formed, more bits and snippets of whys and what-ifs. Okay, I'll admit it. I did wonder if Giff might have killed BigJohn so he could get the lots cheaper from Velma. The theory didn't fly too well, but maybe it was only one feather on the wing, so to speak. And that was the real problem. I had plenty of theories available, but none of them were quite ready to soar with the eagles. I tried again. "So, say you get the lots at a good deal, won't you still have to hold a vote on a bond issue for the water plant?"
He rubbed a weathered hand across his equally weathered face. "That's one way of doing it, sure, but taxes are going to go up no matter what. Seems better to save the city the cost of an election and just figure out how to pay for it now."
"Aren't you required to put something like that to the people for a vote?"
"Not necessarily. There's ways around these things." He paused a minute and frowned. "How come you're so interested in all this? Planning on moving back?"
Oh, no. Hell no. I forced my hackles down and leaned back a little in the booth. "Just curious mostly. But, like everyone else around here, I'm wondering who killed BigJohn and who tried to kill my mother and me. The former mayor had created so many controversial issues with the city that I thought that might figure into it somehow."
Giff took another sip of hot coffee. "Don't waste your time on political matters. That don't play into the killings, er, killing, I mean. The goings on at city hall didn't have nothing to do with it."
"You sound awfully certain," I said, wondering what that meant. "How can you be so sure?"
He chuckled. "Because ain't nobody trying to kill me."
Well, now, he might have a point. Or, maybe they just hadn't tried yet. Or maybe he didn't have to worry about that because he was the killer or at least knew he was safe from the killer since they were in cahoots on all of this. It made my head spin, and since I needed to get going anyway, I stood. "Nice to meet you, Mister Geller."
He stood also. "Call me Giff. Now, you need anything, little lady, you just give me a call up at the city hall. Do whatever I can to help you and Lucille out." He winked. "Always liked Lucille."
I shuddered and gave him an "in your dreams, buddy" kind of chuckle. Then, without further ado or adios, I hurried from the room. About the time I turned the key to start the car, it occurred to me that something was missing that I should take note of. I glanced around the parking lot and noticed we were short a couple of white sedans--specifically, a Lincoln Town Car and a Chevy Caprice.
Bony Butt and Velma had vanished.
When I finally located Walnut Street, I didn't have to guess about which house was Dewayne's. Odds were pretty darned good that it was the one with the sheriff's car parked in front and a crowd of people clustered in the yard. I had highly unpleasant feelings about the reason for the activity, but held out a glimmer of hope that I was wrong. Maybe Dewayne was just having a going away party or something--"or something" would have been my real guess.