Small Town Trouble (9 page)

“Really misses me, huh?”

It was kind of fun having this intimate chitty chatter with Shirley. Or maybe I was completely losing sight of the meaning of fun.

“Let’s put it this way,” Shirley said. “Nancy’s really missing
somethin’
, and it ain’t goat cheese.”

Shirley certainly had a way of putting everything in perspective. I guess that’s why Nancy kept her around.

“Will you just tell her that I called?”

Chapter 19

As I hung up the phone, Evelyn knocked on my bedroom, stuck her head in and said that she was going to take a bucket of chicken over to Alonzo and Agee for dinner. I thought this was sweet of her and I told her so.

“Well,
somebody
should.”

She was right there, but it certainly wasn’t going to be me. Doing the right thing had never been my specialty anyway. Not that it was Evelyn’s either, but she appeared to be willing to work on her deficiencies in that area, and I was all for it. I had other chicken to fry anyway.

It was time to freshen up for my date with Amy Delozier. I showered and, as Liberace used to say, slipped into something a little more spectacular. However, in my case it was a clean shirt and a pair of reasonably clean jeans instead of pink ostrich feathers. It was easy to tell which one of us was the real fashion plate.

The warm shower lifted my mood from its face in the dirt. Looking forward to seeing Amy again probably helped, too. In a somewhat different way, I was looking forward to meeting Abbott’s dancer, Charlene. Somehow, I had an eerie sense that Charlene might hold the key to door number one. I reminded myself that proceeding with a good measure of caution would be prudent. I didn’t want to end up like Abbott. Poor guy. He’d never play the dating game again.

I pulled into the lot at Jimmy’s Place about quarter to ten. The breasts on top of the building were well-lit and the whole place was washed in that sick blue light, giving it the ambience it so richly deserved. I sat in the car, relit a half-smoked cigar and listened to the raucous country music coming from inside. It was the kind of music that, after a little time, might drive anyone to ride a mechanical bull.

I smoked what was left of my Nat Sherman and surveyed the parking lot which was just about full this time. There were trucks, a few motorcycles and a selection of less than classic cars. Other than the fact that my car was practically the only one not made in America, it seemed to fit right in. It occurred to me that if I didn’t spend all of my money on Nat Sherman Hobarts and wine, I could be driving something more spectacular, not a Lexus like Amy’s, but something.

I wasn’t a vehicle fanatic. Cars had never really rung my bell, although I did have to admit that whenever I saw a nice looking El Camino I was known to lapse into a somewhat covetous space.

“Boo!” someone shouted. I jumped about a foot. Then I saw it was Amy Delozier leaning in my car window, looking quite lovely in the twilight, and I started to calm down. Sort of.

“Shit,” I said, “you scared the crap out of me.”

I got out of the car and tossed off my cigar. Unlike cigarettes, cigars are one hundred per cent tobacco, which spells all biodegradable. You certainly can’t say that for a Lexus.

I hugged Amy in a friendly way and she hugged me back in an even friendlier way. All in all, not a bad start to the evening. I caught a whiff of what was unmistakably expensive perfume. You can always tell the good stuff. My motto is if you’re going to wear perfume, please make it the good stuff.
 

On the flip side, I, no doubt, smelled like a Nat Sherman, but this didn’t seem to slow Amy down. She’d hugged on me like a mama bear.

“I’m kind of nervous,” she said, finally letting me go. “I’ve never been in a place like this.”

Like I was raised in a topless bar. “Well, me neither.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did?

Trying to ease tension of several varieties, I said, “I’ll bet you didn’t tell the dentist what you were up to tonight.”

She grinned like a fox, the moonlight bouncing off the slight cleft in her chin. “Sure I did. I said I was going out with an old girlfriend.”

“Honesty
is
the best policy.”

“Bull
shit
,” she said, and we laughed. “Just what the hell are we doing here anyway?”

“I thought you might be up for another round of Nancy Drew and I think this may be as good a place as any to look for the twisted candlestick.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain once we get inside.” I didn’t want to lose her before the fun started.

Chapter 20

Amy and I slipped onto a couple of empty seats at the end of the bar. We sat in those high captain’s chairs or whatever they’re called, the kind that seafood restaurants were so fond of a while back. The wide bar was highlighted with a strip of padded black vinyl and lots of cigarette burns. All in all, the decor felt a little bit Hugh Hefner, a little bit Hee Haw.

Like one would expect, the place was mostly filled with guys, but there were a few women sprinkled around which was comforting in a tribal sort of way. If you didn’t count the bare-breasted babe in the spangled cowboy hat who was dancing with a pole that ran from bar-top to ceiling, it all seemed tame enough. I was kind of hoping that the dancer wasn’t Charlene. I don’t know why, but I’d pictured Abbott with a woman who had a full set of teeth.

The bar maid came along and said, “What’ll it be, girls?” She was the same big-boobed blonde who’d hoisted Rick Rod onto the hood of my car, but I didn’t see any good reason to bring it up.

She eyed Amy and me in way that let me know she was trying to sum us up. Hmmm, a lesbian couple, or just a couple of chicks trying to get laid?

I wished her luck. I was still trying to sum us up myself.
 

We ordered a couple of Little Kings and helped ourselves to a bowl of pretzels.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Amy said as she tentatively eyed the half-naked Dolly Parton rip off who was two-stepping her ass off for tips at the other end of the bar.
 

“Not quite the lounge at the Hilton, is it?”

Amy snorted. “Not quite.”

The blonde brought our beers and charged us about ten times what we’d paid for Little Kings at Sparkie’s Lounge. Of course, one had to expect to pay extra for ambiance.

“Say,” I said, nodding toward the Miss Nearly Nude, “is that Charlene?”

“Who wants to know?” she said, snapping open her traveling bank and making fairly measly change of my twenty.

I almost said Martina Navratilova, but thought better of it. “Me. I’m Abbott Claypoole’s cousin.”

This definitely caught her attention.

“That’s Charlene all right.”

“I’d like to talk with her.”

The waitress glanced at the Budweiser clock behind the bar. “She’ll be on break shortly.”

“Thanks.” I slipped her a twenty.

“I’ll let her know,” she said, folding up the bill. “And hey, sorry about Abbott. What’s this town comin’ to anyway?” She said it like she could give a shit and left us.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Amy said. “Or shall I just continue to sit here and look stupid?”

Amy took a cigarette from her purse and lit it.

“You don’t look stupid.” I bummed a cigarette just to have something to do with my hands.

“Are you gonna tell me about the twisted candlestick now?”

“It was just an allusion to a Nancy Drew book.”

“So there is no twisted candlestick?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Then I proceeded to fill Amy in on what I knew in the detail department regarding Abbott’s love life.

“You mean
her
?” Amy said. I could tell that she was eyeballing Charlene in a whole new light.

“Apparently.”

Charlene was quite a sight, but maybe that’s what all topless dancers in mourning looked like.

“Whoa,” Amy said.

“That’s just what Ted said.”

“Whoa,” she said again.

Then I gave her the rest of the gory story.

“Oh great. So this is like a serial killer thing?” Amy furtively surveyed the barroom. “Swell. The killer could be right in this room.”

“Exciting, huh?”

“Lunatic is the word that comes to mind.”

“How do you say lunatic in French? It must come up all the time over there.”

But Amy ignored me. “Damn! I have to pee.”

“Want me to go with you?”

She put out her cigarette. “Forgive the unfortunate parallel to recent events, but I’m not a total weenie.”

“Tell you what, you’re not back in three minutes, I’ll come in after you.”

“Gee,” she said, sliding off her captain’s chair, “I feel better already.”

Amy was back from the ladies room in two minutes flat, just in time for break time at Jimmy’s. The jukebox kicked in, and Charlene hopped down from the bar. She slipped on a tight T-shirt and an eager young man in a John Deere cap lit her cigarette. He looked about sixteen. They visited amiably for a moment while the bartender poured Charlene a drink and set it in front of her. She seemed to have her order memorized.

“Man,” Amy said, “she
does
have one major set of booballabies.”

“Booballabies?”

“Well,” Amy said, sounding a little testy, “what do
you
call them?”

“Breasts?”

“Okay then,
breasts
.”

“And yes,” I said, finishing off my Little King, “she does have one major set.”

I could tell that Amy wanted to follow up on the breast thing. I ordered us another round of Little Kings and waited patiently. It didn’t take long at all.

“So,” she said, leaning on one elbow, “do you go for women with large breasts?”

This was going to be more fun than watching the Discovery Channel.

“I tend to go for women with large ambitions and I don’t necessarily recommend it.”

Amy said nothing. She just stared at me in a quizzical way.

But our girl talk was about to be put on hold. It was Charlene Time.

Chapter 21

Charlene touched my arm as she slipped into the captain’s chair next to me. “So what can I do for you?” On closer inspection, I could see that Charlene wasn’t really missing teeth at all. It was just that God had left plenty of space between several of her uppers.

I figured Big Hair had already filled her in, but I ran over it again.

“I’m Kim Claypoole, Abbott’s cousin,” I said. “And this is my friend, Amy.”

“Well, howdy.” Charlene set down her drink and we shook. Amy just sort of waved.

“I hear you were
special
to Abbott,” I said, delicately. “You must be very sad.”

“Oh I am,” she said, not convincingly. She lit a fresh cigarette, drained her drink, then signaled the bartender for a refill. “Abbott was a real sweetie pie. What a terrible thing.”

Gee, she was emotionally torn up.

“Yeah,” I said, “a terrible thing, all right. And, as I understand it, that makes two terrible things in a row. First Jimmy, now Abbott.”

Charlene seemed to wait a beat too long. Then she flicked her ashes and said, “Must be some kinda nut loose out there, huh?”

“Got any guesses as to who that nut might be?”

She shook her head. “That’s what the police chief asked me earlier today.”

Chief Cokie and I were on the same trail. But whatever trail that was, so far it was unmarked. And for all I knew, the trail led to a primitive, unimproved campground somewhere east of
North by Northwest
.

“Hell,” Charlene went on, stubbing out her smoke. “The world’s full of nuts.”

“Ever meet a guy named Larry White?”

Charlene definitely waited a beat too long this time. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well,” she shrugged, picking up her drink and her pack of cigarettes, “It’s back to the grind, if you’ll excuse the pun.” She slipped out of her chair. “Nice meetin’ y’all.”

“Thanks for your time. And, Charlene, do take care.”

“I guess it’ll just take time to ease the pain, huh?” she said, smiling a poor-wounded-me smile. “You take care, too.”

“I will.” Somehow, it always makes things a little easier when the grief is shared.

I really hated to miss Charlene’s next set, if you’ll excuse the pun, but it was clearly time to go. John Deere and his pal, a guy with a gut that came in extra-large, had started to take a keen interest in Amy and me.

John Deere struck a Rico Suave pose on my left with Fat Boy parked just to his left.