Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6) (2 page)
Read Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6) Online
Authors: Teresa Trent
"Mom?" My son Zach was on the other end of the line.
" Hi Zach. I was wondering when you would call."
"Yeah, Mom. Listen…"
I wasn't sure if I liked the way this conversation was starting. I could tell he probably had friends standing behind him at the summer camp he was attending. It had been a tough decision for us to send my twelve-year-old son Zach, and Leo’s thirteen-year-old son Tyler, to summer camp. With the baby coming, we decided the boys going to camp would simplify our lives and give us the opportunity to focus on the delivery. The boys wanted to go with their friends anyway, so the two of them were in North Texas enjoying a month-long scout camp. I expected daily calls complaining of homesickness, but instead they called weekly because the counselor made them. So much for missing us.
"Mom, are you still there?"
"Yes I'm here. How are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask you… because I know you’d be concerned for our well-being… it seems we may have run a little short on funds up here."
Wasn't he a little young to be already calling his mother for money?
"How can you be running short? Your dad and I sent plenty of money to last you the entire month."
"I know. But here's the thing…" I closed my eyes as Zach launched into his explanation, while his sibling was starting to do somersaults in the womb.
"…so you see we had no idea that they meant real money in the card game?"
I sighed.
"Funny, huh?" Zach laughed, trying to get me to see the humor in the situation.
"Let me speak to your camp counselor."
"Now, Mom. You don't have to go all nuclear on me. It was a simple mistake. The only problem is Tyler and I don't have any money now. We really do need those sports drinks after a long day on the trail."
"Let me talk to your counselor."
"What's that?" Zach said, his voice focused away from the phone. "Gee, Mom I have to go now. Don't forget to send the money." There was a click on the other end. Unbelievable.
I speed-dialed Leo. If I had to guess who got Zach in a poker game, my money would be on Leo's son. Not to say that my son was more innocent than Tyler, but Tyler was much more of a risk taker.
"Hey, Betsy. I'm so glad you called," Leo said. Even though he said he was glad to hear from me, he sounded distracted. Nothing like working in the weather bureau in August.
"Actually, I hadn’t planned on calling you but…"
"Still, I needed to talk to you. We’re beginning to get some movement in the Gulf. You know we've been watching these storms coming across the Atlantic. They’re really starting to build. Models are indicating the next few weeks could be pretty interesting."
I wondered if Leo was aware he was using his network weatherman voice. After his experience nine months ago filling in for our local weather guru Hurricane Hal, parts of his on-air voice never left him. In reality he hated being a television weatherman, but the experience left some lasting impressions on him.
"That's great to know, Leo, but pretty predictable for Texas in summer time."
"Yes, yes I know. You're right, but this is very exciting."
"Did you know your sons are gambling at scout camp?" I hated to be rude, but I knew we were about to move to cloud patterns and swirling winds. Leo’s weather predictions stalled on the other end. I had achieved the effect that I was going for.
"They're what?"
"Gambling. Zach just called and asked for us to float some money his way. He said he didn’t know they were playing for real money."
"Oh, this will never do. This is one of those times when I really wish the camp would let the boys carry their own cell phones. I can't believe that they would allow him to play for money."
I hadn't missed Leo was speaking only of Zach. How did he know that Tyler hadn’t been involved in the game, too?
"I tried to get him to put the scout leader on the line and Zach hung up on me."
"He hung up? You mean he hung up on his own mother after asking for money? "
"Pretty much."
"Do you think we should bring the boys home? Maybe this scout camp wasn't such a good idea. I don’t remember seeing any poker tables in the brochure."
"I don't know, Leo."
"We could have my mom come up early. She could watch Zach and Tyler while we are busy at the hospital."
I stopped for a moment to consider this idea. The boys were old enough, they wouldn’t be too much work. It would work, but somehow I just felt better with our original plan. I hated to ask Gwyn to change her plans.
"No, I don't want to put your mom to all that trouble."
"No trouble at all. She'll be here for the baby anyway."
"I know. Let me think about this for a little bit." I heard someone call to Leo in the background.
"Betsy? I have to go now."
When I trudged out of the heat into the Gazette office, Rocky was leaned back in his desk chair relishing in its annoying squeak.
"Well now, if it isn’t little Miss Ready to Pop." Rocky’s hair had been salt-and-pepper ever since I’d known him, and now it was turning to a silky shade of white. Still though, he had a full head of it which made him an object of desire among the town’s population of single women over fifty. He never got serious with any of the well-wishing casserole carriers—probably the result of three failed marriages—but he did appreciate the free food.
Rocky’s son, Nicholas, a modern version of his father, was busy tapping away at a computer when I entered the Gazette office. Nicholas had Rocky’s good looks and did a heck of a job staying on top of the news. When Nicholas came into the family business he brought modern technology to a ticker tape newspaper office. Nicholas looked up briefly and nodded, never missing a keystroke.
I wasn’t surprised to see my father, Judd Kelsey, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. This was a familiar tableau, repeated over decades. The friendship between Rocky and my dad was a true love-hate relationship. They were old fishing buddies and from the same generation, but on opposite sides of the political spectrum. When it came to the local crime scene they were adversaries—my dad, a lifelong policeman, was out to arrest the bad guy, and Rocky was out to get in my dad’s way covering the story. After Rocky’s near brush with death last year, the two men, realizing time is precious, had grown even closer.
"Have a seat, Betsy. You look hot. I was just finishing up with ol’ Clark Kent here."
My dad pulled out a chair for me and then turned back to Rocky. "So, you haven’t heard anything at all about the guy?"
I gently lowered myself down into the chair feeling like a hot air balloon coming in for a landing.
"Not a thing," Rocky answered. "I didn’t even know he was missing. Sad about him losing his wife and all. Maybe it had something to do with that. Have you checked with his mother-in-law? Is she still around?"
"In the nursing home. I don't think she'd be much help," Judd said.
Rocky scratched his head. "I thought he was retiring. What about his kids?"
Judd nodded. "They all live out of state now and none of them have heard from him."
"Maybe he got in his car to drive off into the sunset and forgot to charge his cell phone."
"You’re probably right. I’m just following up for one of his old poker buddies. He probably owes him money."
"I think we all have someone out there like that," Rocky said. My father pushed himself off the wall and turned towards me.
"How are you feeling today darlin’?"
"I’m hot, but I guess I’ll survive." Though the thermometer outside read 96, it felt like more than 100. Dogs that normally ran around lay panting in the cool grass. The ice cream truck kept running out of Nutty Buddies and the local pool was overflowing with splashing children.
I shifted my gaze to Rocky. "So, you have a big assignment for me?"
"I had myself an epiphany of inspiration, and you are the woman for the job. I want to put you on it." I began to wonder if Rocky realized I would be taking some time off for the baby.
"An epiphany of inspiration? Isn’t that redundant?" Nicholas looked up from his keyboard, one eyebrow raised.
"Your daddy is the media," my father told Nicholas. "Redundancy is his business."
Rocky scowled at him and then turned his attention back to me. "I suppose you’ve heard about the open seat on the city council?"
"I saw it in the paper."
"It’s a true blessing to our readership. Here we are in the middle of a dull and boring news season, and we fall upon a closely contested city council race. If we’re lucky, there’ll be some mudslinging going on."
"And somehow this involves me?" I asked, my hand resting on my now moving belly.
"Why yes, it does, my Happy Hinter. We’re going to have ourselves a political grill-off. Everybody knows that you can really judge a man by how he grills, and what he grills. It’s a perfect combination of summertime tradition and hard-hitting politics."
"So, you want me to grill the candidates on grilling?" I asked. My father let out a laugh.
"Yes!" Rocky replied. "Get everything you can—secret recipes, as well as any grilling techniques you can pry out of them. Emphasize that this is their opportunity to serve their future constituents. Why, this could be the decision-maker for the voters of Pecan Bayou. I can’t think of a more perfect way to rate our candidates. I mean seriously, would you vote for a man who chooses to grill some sort of namby-pamby health conscious chicken? Or would you vote for a man who will grill up a beefy ribeye and not give a hoot about that nasty ol' cholesterol?"
I was pretty sure the heat had infiltrated Rocky’s thought processes.
"I don’t know Rocky. I planned on wrapping up the column for a couple of months…"
"I know. You’re having a baby. Just this one last writing assignment before you go. Once you have the recipes, you could knock it out in ten minutes. Just email that sucker over here to me at the Gazette and you can go off and put your feet in the stirrups and have that baby." Such a polite thing to say.
"I think it’s a great idea," my father chimed in, even though nobody asked his opinion. Of course, that never stopped him before.
"What do you think, Nicholas?" Rocky asked.
Nicholas kept typing, his gaze never leaving the screen. "Huh?" Clearly, Nicholas was no longer part of the conversation.
I sighed, picked up a file off the desk next to me and started fanning myself. Why did it feel like the heat was on wherever I went?
"Come on Betsy. It’ll help get your mind off the baby," Rocky said. As if that could happen.
I rolled my eyes and then gave in. "Okay, okay I’ll do it, but then that’s it. I am on maternity leave."
I slapped down the file and pulled myself up out of the chair. I wobbled slightly and felt Rocky and my dad’s hands at my elbows. I shook them off. "I’m fine." They let go and stepped back out of hitting range. "So who are the two candidates?"
"The first man to put his hat in the ring is the one and only Baxter Digby," Rocky offered.
Baxter Digby was one of Pecan Bayou’s most successful real estate agents. Half the houses on our pecan tree lined streets had been sold by him. His smiling face was on so many front yard signs that small children could recognize him in the supermarket.
Somehow, the man always struck me as being just a little too good-looking. I also suspected he’d had a dentist add a couple of extra teeth to his blindingly white smile. I’d seen him standing outside the groundbreaking ceremony for the new hospital, and though there was a heavy wind, his hair didn’t move an inch. Ruby Green, our local beautician and purveyor of beauty, he was wearing a wig.
She was probably right. His hair was too perfect.
Rocky continued. "Then our other contender is Drummond Struthers, the town tow truck driver and president of Pastor Green’s congregation. This right here is what I hate to see happen. An honest man going into politics. They’ll have him shape-changing within the hour."
Drummond’s entry into the race was a surprise. He had never struck me as the political type, but you just never knew. Most of the low-income families in town appreciated his kindness. Drummond Struthers typically offered a special discounted rate for the broken down jalopies he was always towing for them. He genuinely cared for his fellow man, but the idea of asking a glorified mechanic for a grilling recipe might not be such a good one.
"So that’s all there is to it Betsy. I just know you can make this sing for us. Once you get this little set of interviews done, just feel free to have yourself a baby. Have I mentioned what a good name Rocky is?"