Three Times Lucky (8 page)
Authors: Sheila Turnage
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Friendship, #Social Issues, #Mysteries & Detective Stories
The Colonel pretended to wipe a spot off the counter.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Starr said after a long silence. He looked around the café. “Is it unusual for Mr. Jesse to miss supper? Has he seemed worried lately?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton sputtered, standing up at the end of the counter. Her blue-white hair glowed and her powdered face was stern. “Jesse’s like the rest of us. He eats here when he wants to and stays home when he wants to. And Jesse was so peculiar no one would know whether he was
worried or not. Excuse me for saying so, young man,” she said to Starr, “but we’ve answered a number of your questions. I think it’s time for you to answer ours.”
Starr stared at her for a moment, his glare downshifting to neutral. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice going softer. “What would you like to know?”
She studied him, her hair shimmering in the café’s harsh light. “I hear the Tyson brothers found Jesse’s body at Fool’s Bridge. And—”
“Who told you that?” Starr asked, his voice sharp.
“Everybody. It’s all over town.”
Starr sighed. “All right,” he said, flipping back through his notes. “I’d want information too, if I were you. Here’s what I’ve got. The Tyson boys hauled Jesse Tatum’s boat out of the creek around six o’clock this evening, and found his body inside. His wallet was in his pocket, with no cash in it. His death is being investigated as a homicide.”
“Well, who killed him?” she demanded.
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out,” Starr said, snapping his notepad closed.
“Excuse me, sir,” Skeeter said in a pre-law voice of steel. “Aren’t we outside your jurisdiction?”
The Colonel cleared his throat and pointed to the N
O
L
AWYERS
sign.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Understandable,” the Colonel said. “These are trying times.” He looked at Starr. “Her question is a good one.”
“Technically this isn’t inside my jurisdiction, but your mayor’s asked me to investigate and I’ve agreed,” he said. “Besides, I have a hunch this may tie in with the murder I’m investigating in Winston-Salem. Does anyone have a problem with that?”
The Colonel swiped at a spot on the counter. The room barely breathed. “No? Good. My team’s coming from Winston-Salem in the morning. Meanwhile, avoid strangers. Travel in pairs. I don’t want any children leaving without an adult. Questions?”
I raised my hand, and Starr sighed. “Mo?”
“They found Mr. Jesse in a boat?” I asked. “I’m wondering if maybe he just up and died. Maybe there ain’t no murder. Like the fish weren’t biting and he died of boredom. It happens. Boredom kills. I’ve had close brushes myself, during math.”
“Jesse Tatum didn’t die of boredom,” he said. “The back of his head … That is, he suffered a blunt force trauma.”
An Azalea Woman moaned.
“Are we safe?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton asked.
Starr looked at her a moment, like he was weighing his words. “Keep your doors and windows locked,”
he replied. Then he turned to me. “Where were you tonight?”
“Me?” I asked, surprised. “I was at the racetrack. You didn’t see me? I sure saw you. You need an alibi for me, ask your girlfriend. How long you known her, anyway?”
“His
girlfriend
?” Attila Celeste said, looking Starr up and down. “What kind of girlfriend does
he
have?”
“Guess,” I said. “Too slow. It’s Miss Retzyl.”
She staggered back. “
Our
Miss Retzyl?”
“That’s not all,” I said. “She was wearing shorts.”
“
Miss Retzyl?
Wearing shorts?”
Starr clicked his pen. “She did mention running into you. You were with that spooky kid. Dale.” I glanced at Attila. Dale was the last name I wanted tickling her memory.
The Colonel’s words drifted back to me: “The best defense is a good offense.”
“So, Detective,” I said, “what have you done with Miss Retzyl? As representatives of the sixth grade, Anna and me are hoping you didn’t throw her in jail or leave her standing by the creek with a crazed killer on the prowl. Go ahead, Anna, tell him,” I said.
Attila nodded uncertainly.
“Exactly what are your intentions?” I asked. “The sixth grade has a right to know.”
Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton raised her hand. “I’m wondering too.”
“Your Miss Retzyl is perfectly safe,” Starr said. He looked around the café. “Did anyone else see Jesse Tatum tonight?” he asked. “Anyone see anything suspicious?” He sauntered to the bulletin board and stabbed his business card through the heart with a thumbtack. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help.”
“Goodness, I hope you’re not counting on your cell phone,” Mayor Little said.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Starr asked.
“No service to speak of,” he said. “Oh, you might get a sputter here or there, but not for long. That’s one of the benefits of life in Tupelo Landing: no cell bill. No high-speed Internet charges, either, unless you live on First Street and have cable. I’ll gladly relay phone messages for you, though, if you’d like to use my landline. I’m sure Mother won’t mind.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Starr said, looking doubtful. He glanced at Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton. “Does Jesse Tatum have family here?” he asked. “Is there someone I should notify?”
“Jesse did have a cousin somewhere in the Piedmont,” she said. “A security guard. He died years ago—in Jesse’s arms, as I recall. Jesse was alone in life.”
Starr plucked Mr. Jesse’s notice of a finder’s fee from the bulletin board and folded it into his pocket. “I think you’ll find my team easy to work with, Mayor.” He looked around the room. “Thank you, Sensei. Everyone’s free to go.”
Mr. Li bowed, and the Colonel unplugged the coffee urn. “Everybody out,” the Colonel said. “Don’t let these kids walk home alone.”
I worked my way over to Skeeter. “I’d like to make an appointment,” I whispered as we put our kick pads away. “First thing in the morning.”
She nodded as Mr. Li walked by. “Mo,” he said, his voice hushed, “I’m going to Durham tomorrow. If you’d like for me to take one of your messages along …”
“Thanks, Mr. Li.” I grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, and he tucked it under his arm.
Starr watched our customers pay up and step gingerly into the night. “A couple more questions,” he said as the Colonel closed out the cash register. “Did Jesse Tatum have any enemies? Did anyone here tonight have a grudge against him?”
“Here?” I asked. “You think the killer comes to the café?”
“Murderers usually know their victims.”
The Colonel folded his apron and tossed it on the counter. “As far as I know, Jesse Tatum was a harmless
old coot living out his life on a backwater creek without family or friends,” he said. “Nobody much liked him. But kill him? Why? Time was Jesse’s assassin, and it was closing in on him fast. Murdering Jesse Tatum doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re wrong,” Starr said. “Murder always makes sense—to the murderer. By the way,” he said, picking up his hat, “where’s Miss Lana?”
“Away on business,” the Colonel said. “In Charleston.”
Starr narrowed his eyes. “Please tell her I’d like to talk with her when she gets in. If I don’t hear from her soon, I’ll find her.” He started toward the door. “One last thing,” he said. “I ran that Thunderbird’s plates. You bought that car two weeks ago, not two years ago.”
The Colonel glanced at me. “You’re right. It was a lie, and I apologize,” he said. “I should have told the truth. Which is that I don’t think law enforcement should meddle in people’s lives. That I don’t believe my purchases are any of your business. That the only thing as dangerous as an arrogant attorney is an overzealous lawman. Again, I apologize. I bought that car legally and I should have just said so. Now, if there’s nothing else?”
I stepped near the Colonel.
Starr studied us for one cold, flat minute. “Don’t leave
town,” he told the Colonel. Then he nodded to me and headed for the door.
We watched him climb into his Impala. “He’s going to be trouble,” the Colonel said, unplugging the jukebox.
“Yes, sir,” I said, thinking of Dale. “If you ask me, he already is.”
7
Desperados
The Colonel and I trudged toward home—the flip side of the café. “Been thinking of installing a safety light back here,” he muttered as we followed the gravel walkway through Miss Lana’s dogwoods and daylilies.
“No you haven’t,” I said, slipping my hand in his. “
Miss Lana
wants a safety light. You said you’d be fricasseed in hell before you’d drown out the stars.”
We marched up the rounded steps, to the porch. “Didn’t you leave your night-light on, Soldier?” he asked, stopping by Miss Lana’s potted geraniums.
I gulped. “I always leave my Elvis light on, sir,” I said. “It’s an eternal flame.”
“Stay back,” he replied, stiff-arming me against the wall.
He eased my screen door open, its voice rising like a rusty hymn. In one motion he flipped my light on and sprang inside. He yanked open my mahogany chifforobe, dropped to his belly to peer under my bed, and then leaped into my bathroom. “All clear,” he barked,
latching my windows. He grabbed my night-light and thumped Elvis’s head. “Burned out,” he muttered, tossing it aside. “How fitting.”
He waved me in and dead-bolted my porch door behind me.
I followed him into our living room. As he checked for intruders, my eyes wandered to the photograph of Miss Lana and me during my baby days. In it, she sits on a perfect lawn, her skirt spread around her like a paper parasol as I present her with a dandelion. She is young and beautiful, and I am plump and adorable.
The Colonel locked the front door. “Good thing Lana isn’t here,” he said. “She was fond of Jesse.” I could smell the garlic on his shirt. “Are you scared, Soldier?”
I took a shaky breath. I
was
scared, but not for the reason he thought. I slid my hand in my pocket, to the reward money, and felt dizzy. If Attila Celeste remembered who she saw by Mr. Jesse’s house, or if Skeeter blabbed, Dale could be in trouble. Big trouble. I had to warn him. “I’m not scared,” I lied. “Are you?”
“A little,” he said.
“Me too.” I hesitated, staring toward my dark bedroom. “I can leave my door open tonight if you’d like. That way I can hear you, if you need me.”
I caught the flicker of a smile in his dark eyes. “That might make me feel better,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll sleep
on the sofa. That way it will be easy to find me if I call.”
“Excellent, sir,” I said, giving him a hug.
In my room, I slipped into my night gear: black karate pants and an old T-shirt. I glanced at my phone and considered calling Miss Lana. I wanted her to come home. Now. On the other hand, I didn’t want to tell her about Mr. Jesse. I picked up a pen and Volume 6 instead:
Dear Upstream Mother,
Mr. Jesse is dead. Even the Colonel is scared.
I wish you were here. We could make some tea, and chat about Joe Starr, and Dale, and poor dead Mr. Jesse. We’d make a plan, and you’d sit and work a crossword until I fell asleep. Everything would be normal for me.
Sometimes I wish Miss Lana and the Colonel were normal, but Lavender says normal is a relative term. “Right,” I said. “What does that mean, exactly?” He said, “It means you think your relatives are normal right up until you notice they’re not.”
I even mentioned it to Miss Lana once, out in the flower garden. “I wish I had a normal family,” I said, very casual, pulling a handful of weeds.
“Normal means ordinary, Mo. The Drab among us have that covered.”
“I don’t mean drab, I mean normal,” I said. “You know. Parents that go to a regular job, come home to an actual house, maybe cart me around to soccer games. I wish the Colonel was maybe a dentist, like Anna Celeste’s dad.”
She looked up from her iris. “You want the Colonel to put his hands in other people’s mouths?” she said, like I’d suggested him sticking his head in a lion’s mouth.
“That’s just an example. I’m saying we could be like people who live on a cul-de-sac. Just to try it, and see if it fits.”
She sat back on her heels, her face smudged with dirt. “I suppose we could live on a dead end if you really want to, sugar,” she said, “but consider this: If the Colonel and I were Anna Celeste’s parents, you would be Anna Celeste. I would still love you, but I wouldn’t like you nearly so much.”
“Right,” I sighed. “Being Anna Celeste would be a definite downside.”
There is a peculiar spin to Miss Lana’s universe, but I admit it’s a spin I miss.
Please come find me.
Love, Mo
The instant I heard the drum of the Colonel’s shower, I closed my notebook and called Dale. He answered, his sleepy hello muffled by shouts in the background. “Hey, what’s going on?” I demanded. “Why’s Miss Rose yelling? Is Starr over there?”
“Ain’t nothing going on,” he said. “Daddy woke up mean as a snake is all, and Lavender stomped out mad. Why would Starr be here?”
“He’s investigating Mr. Jesse’s murder,” I said, easing into my bad news.
“So?”
“So you’ll never guess who the prime suspect is.”
“Who?” Dale yawned.
“You.”
“WHAT?”
“It’s all over town. Attila Celeste saw you with Mr. Jesse’s boat this afternoon, but she ain’t identified you by name. Not yet. Don’t say anything incriminating,” I added. “My line may be tapped. Stay out of town until I tell you different.”
I hung up as the Colonel knocked at my door. “Fan, Soldier,” he said, swinging a heavy black fan onto my desk. “Haven’t made machinery this elegant since World War II.” He clicked it on. “I’m sorry Lana isn’t here to comfort you, but perhaps the murmur of a breeze will help.”
“She’s a beauty,” I told him. I meant it too. Her heart-shaped feet rested on a pad of green felt, and her metal blades curved graceful as angel wings. Her patient back-and-forth hum sent a gentle breeze through my curtains, across my wrinkled sheets.
“Good night, Soldier,” the Colonel said, resting his hand on my head. And he slipped from the room, leaving our door carefully ajar.
Bump.