Death By Derby 8 (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) (6 page)

“Charlie was standing with a group of people, yakking away when Shaneika and Mike danced past them. That’s when all hell broke loose.” I hesitated.

“Go on,” urged Asa again.

“When Shaneika and Mike danced by, Charlie made the nasty remark, ‘There goes a swirl’.”

Asa put down her fork. “Oh, boy.”

“Shaneika just snapped. She pulled away from Mike and got in Charlie’s face. ‘What do you mean by that remark, Charlie?’ she said.

“Charlie gave her a stupid grin and said, ‘What remark?’ She should have known that he was baiting her, but her nerves broke and she went off, calling Charlie a racist bastard and telling him if he ever came near her again she’d cut off his balls and stuff them in his mouth.”

Asa grinned.

“It’s not funny, Asa,” I complained. “It was very embarrassing to witness, a very ugly thing for Charlie to say, and it ruined the party. June was miffed. Now Charlie’s dead and the State Police, FBI, and the ATF are looking at Shaneika.”

“We don’t know that Charlie is dead. Nothing has been confirmed,” countered Asa.

“Then where is he? Charlie would never miss Persian Blue running in the Kentucky Derby. Never.”

Asa shrugged. “As far as we know, Charlie could be sunning himself in the Bahamas.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“What happened after Shaneika threatened Charlie?” asked Asa, ignoring my question.

“Mike pulled Shaneika away and they left, but not before I hurried after them to express my dismay at Charlie’s remark. I found Shaneika crying.”

“Crying!!”

I reaffirmed, “She was bawling like a little girl, a complete meltdown. Even Shaneika has feelings.

“The whole affair was just a mess. I think Mike is a good man, and he and Shaneika have gotten very close this past year. Just when things were looking like they might become even closer, Charlie has to make that stupid remark about Mike being white.”

“Are you playing matchmaker, Mom?”

“Jumping Jehosaphat, the girl should have a love life. Shaneika needs a push. She knows Mike is good for her, but she holds back because he’s white.”

“Maybe she’s skittish because he’s a man. It might have nothing to do with Mike being white. Maybe she doesn’t want to get involved with someone at this stage of her life. She’s got a lot on her plate.”

Hmmm
, I thought.
This might be the time to fish for some information.
“No one ever talks about Lincoln’s father. Not Eunice, not Lincoln, and certainly not Shaneika. I don’t think his birth was due to an Immaculate Conception. I have seen a picture of a handsome black man in her office.”

“You’re fishing,” pointed out Asa.

“Yes, I am. Are you going to tell me anything? Do you know something?”

Asa rose with her empty plate and fork in hand. Bending over, she kissed the top of my head and then headed into the kitchen where she put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She then grabbed her jacket. “I have something to do. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“I know you know something,” I called after her.

“Later, alligator,” she remarked, heading toward the front door and waving goodbye.

I slumped in my chair. How was I going to help Shaneika if no one ever told me anything? I suddenly got an idea.

Maybe I would drop in at Al’s Bar and see an old friend.

“M
ay I sit down?” I asked my old buddy, Officer Kelly. I noticed that he was drinking bourbon.

Kelly looked up with bloodshot eyes. He seemed surprised to see me. “If you must,” he replied, looking back down at his papers.

Ignoring the less than welcoming invitation, I sat down in a battered, duct-taped booth. Picking up his glass, I took a sip of his drink.

“Can I order you something?” he groused, taking the glass of bourbon away from me.

I motioned to the waitress. “Yeah, I would like two cheeseburger platters with fries and two diet cokes with a cup of black coffee. Bring the coffee now, please.”

“I’ll take another one of these,” ordered Kelly, waving his bourbon glass.

I shook my head toward the waitress at that suggestion as I tidied up the table by combining all of Kelly’s papers and stacking them in a neat pile.

“Working on a new poem?” I asked, giving them a quick perusal.

“Maybe.”

Leaning over the table, I sniffed Kelly. He reeked. Scrutinizing him, I noticed his face was covered in stubble and his shirt looked dirty. “You haven’t called me for months.” I thought for a moment. “Since you came to see Asa at the hospital around Christmas time, I haven’t heard a peep out of you. What gives?”

I had come to weasel some information out of Kelly, but now that I saw the condition he was in, information was the last thing on my mind. Something was very wrong.

Kelly winced.

“Kelly?”

He started to speak, but then clammed up when the waitress brought over his coffee. “I wanted another bourbon,” Kelly complained.

“I’ve cut you off,” I interceded as the waitress put down the cup.

Kelly began to gripe, but I interrupted, using the “mother” tone. “Shut up and drink the coffee. Miss, where’s our food? I think we need it fast.”

Sensing that an unpleasant scene might be brewing, she skedaddled into the kitchen.

Kelly took a sip of the hot coffee. “Tastes awful,” he complained.

“Well, here’s some cream. Drink up,” I commanded. “Ah, here’s our food.” I poured ketchup on Kelly’s plate and salted his fries the way he liked.

We ate in silence except for occasional encouragement from me to keep eating. Finally, we finished and I asked the waitress to clear our table. I noticed that the place was filling with regulars and the noise level had gone up. I could now talk to Kelly without the waitress overhearing our conversation.

“What’s going on, Kelly?”

Kelly looked away and seemed reluctant to speak.

“I’ve known you since you were a boy. I feel like I’ve always been a second mother to you. Now give. I’m growing tired and my leg is starting to hurt. I’m running out of patience.”

Kelly spread his hands out on the table. “My marriage is over,” he said simply.

“What do you mean your marriage is over?”

“She kicked me out.”

“How long ago?”

“Sometime in March.”

“That long ago!” I exclaimed.

“She said I was moody. Too hard to get along with.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. Why were you like that?”

Kelly shook his head. “Reasons. Private reasons.”

“Is she filing for divorce?”

Kelly shrugged.

“Is she filing for divorce, Kelly?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you doing about it?”

He shrugged again. “What can I do? If she wants a divorce, then she wants a divorce.”

I tried another tactic. “Okay. Let’s go back to why you were so moody.”

“Private reasons, I tell ya,” Kelly shot back.

I leaned against the back of the booth and studied my friend. Something was very wrong here. I could tell he was suffering, but embarrassed to reveal the reason behind his suffering.

Grabbing my purse and then his papers, I climbed out of the booth. “Come on,” I insisted, tugging on his arm.

“What for?”

“We’re going to my house to get you cleaned up.”

“NO!!”

“Kelly, you get your fanny out of that booth and follow me or I swear that I will get the good people at Al’s Bar to literally pick you up and throw you into my car!”

Seeing that I was adamant and not going away, Kelly reluctantly scooted out of the booth and followed me–or I should say, staggered after me.

I got Kelly into my car and buckled him up.

I can assure you that it was very long drive home.

I
got Kelly into bed. No, that’s not right. I put a drunken Kelly to bed. Don’t get any wrong ideas there.

Then I called Asa. She picked up on the first ring.

“Don’t come home,” I said. “Get a room at a hotel.”

“Why?”

“Because I just put a soused Kelly to bed.”

“Why’s he drunk?” Asa asked.

“It might have something to do with the fact that his wife kicked him out of the house.”

“Oh, that’s not good!”

“My thoughts exactly. Just stay away while I clean up this mess you caused.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re right. I’m furious. I warned you what could happen when you started up with Kelly again and now it’s come to pass.”

“I didn’t mean for any unhappiness,” she insisted.

“This is what happens when you don’t listen to your mother.”

I hung up.

A
fter getting Kelly settled, I went back into town. I knew that Kelly would be asleep for hours and I had some free time.

Goetz answered his door. He looked surprised. “I thought our date was tomorrow night.”

“It is, but I needed to see someone who wasn’t about to throw himself off a bridge.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I take it that it has been a rough day.”

“Get me a drink, will ya?” I begged, sitting down on the couch and putting my feet up.

“Well, I was just about to go out,” replied Goetz, looking sheepish.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“My own fault for barging in on you unannounced,” I admitted. “Let me walk you out.”

“You go on. I have to get some bills ready for the postman before I go.”

I got up and grabbed my jacket before kissing Goetz on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Seven on the dot.”

“You’ve got the tickets?”

Goetz followed me to the door. “I’ve got the tickets. Don’t worry. See you later.”

I waved goodbye and hobbled my usual limp down the hallway to the elevator. Looking back, Goetz was standing in the hallway, watching me. He waved.

I waved back and as the elevator door opened, I got in, but only took it to the next floor. I waited a few minutes and then I took the elevator back up to Goetz’ floor.

I know when I’m being hustled.

It would be interesting to see what he was up to and I didn’t really care if Goetz caught me at it.

So I tiptoed back–not literally. That’s a figure of speech as I can’t tiptoe anymore, but you get the idea. I put my ear against the door.

Oh my. What juicy tidbits I heard!

M
inor Reasor emerged from Goetz’ bedroom. “You’re dating Josiah Reynolds?” he asked incredulously. “I always thought she was a fuddy-duddy.”

“Many words come to my mind describing Josiah Reynolds but fuddy-duddy is not one of them. What are you . . . four?”

“She always seemed so stuck-up and provincial.”

“I think hostile is a better word. She thinks you tried to frame her daughter.”

Minor didn’t reply. “Let’s change the area under discussion.”

“Touchy subject?” sneered Goetz.

Minor ignored Goetz’ remark. “What have you heard?”

“I talked with my buddies who work at Churchill Downs and some of my gambling contacts. They say that a body wasn’t found in the wreckage.” Goetz watched Minor’s expression.

“Do they give a reason why they say that?” asked Minor.

“Uh, because a body wasn’t found. Not a foot or a hand or even a tooth. Nothing. Is it true? Nobody was in the gondola?” prodded Goetz.

Minor poured himself a drink and stared out the window. “Anything else?”

“No one saw Charlie at Churchill Downs on Derby Day and no one has seen him since.”

Minor turned around. “He was seen getting in the balloon gondola at Bowman Field in Louisville. Spectators said the balloon took him straight up. So where did he disappear to between Bowman Field and Churchill Downs?”

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question,” replied Goetz.

“No male of Charlie Hoskins’ age or description has shown up anywhere. It looks like this whole explosion was staged and Charlie took a powder. And if he took a powder—why?”

“I have some thoughts on that.”

“Which are?”

“This is information that I got from Josiah via Shaneika Todd. Charlie Hoskins was only part owner of Persian Blue and with only a small stake. In reality, he was a front man for a very large syndicate that planned to make a fortune on breeding rights to Persian Blue.”

“That’s taking a huge chance that Persian Blue would survive his races without getting injured. If hurt, the syndicate would have to refund stud fees to anyone who had already paid for breeding.”

“According to Shaneika, Charlie had already paid the entry fees for the Preakness and Belmont, which is no chicken feed.”

“So it was thought that Persian Blue had the stuff to be a Triple Crown winner,” commented Minor.

“If he won just one of those races, his breeding fees would go up dramatically.”

“If Charlie thought Persian Blue to be a contender, why would he jump ship?”

“I always say ‘follow the money.’ See if Charlie withdrew large amounts of cash before disappearing,” advised Goetz.

“Anything else?” requested Minor, looking out the window again.

“Not at this time.”

Minor turned toward Goetz. “If Jo Reynolds left the building, hasn’t she had time to get to the parking lot for her car?”

“What’s that?” growled Goetz, hurrying to the window.

Both men peered out, wondering where I was.

O
oops!

They were on to me.

I knocked on the door.

There were muffled sounds of movement and then Goetz answered the door. His face was flushed.

“Hi again,” he gushed, peering around me and glancing down the hallway.

“I forgot my purse,” I said sweetly. I pushed by him and retrieved the purse that I had “accidentally” forgotten.

Goetz rubbed his hand through his thick hair. “I didn’t even see it there.”

“You ready?”

“Ready?”

“Ready to go to the doctor’s office now. You can walk me down.”

Goetz glanced at his bedroom door. “Yeah. I need to leave or I’ll be late for my doctor’s appointment.” He reached for his coat.

“Don’t forget your bills to mail,” I reminded.