The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land (11 page)

“Is she still here?” I asked looking around.

“Hell no.
 
If she were, I would have her arrested.
 
She stormed out the front door and into the night.
 
I have no idea where she went and I really don’t care.” I believed her.

 
I looked at Judy and asked, “Who are Nancy Young and Laura Westbrook?”

Liz answered for her. “Two beauty queens. You mean you didn’t notice them too?”

“No Liz – I did not.
 
After you arrived all my attention was directed toward you,” I lied.

“That’s bull-shit Carson and you know it.” She was kidding – I think.

Judy finally answered. “Both Nancy and Laura were in the Strawberry Queen review – the one Charlotte dropped out of.
 
In fact, Laura was crowned queen that year.”

“Interesting,” I said to no one.

“Yes it is interesting, but let’s please change the subject – can we?” Liz said waiving her empty wineglass at everyone.

She didn’t wait for an answer. “Carson, I’m hungry – are you?”

“No, I had a great dinner and plenty of finger food.”
 
I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing and quickly changed my answer.
 
“Well, actually, yes I am hungry.
 
Anyone for breakfast?” I asked everyone.

No one even thought of answering – just Liz.
 
“Yes - me. Carson, you and I are having breakfast at my house and I’m cooking.
 
How do you like your eggs?”

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
L
iz had to work a noon flight to London, so she dropped me off at my car on her way back to Memphis. The old Ford looked lonely sitting in that field all by herself - I had left her all night.
 
It had worked out best to ride with Liz and her Corvette - she didn’t like my car anyway.

When I got back to Chiefs the breakfast crowd was heavy – this was Saturday morning in a small town.
 
I waved at Nickie and took a stool at the end of the bar – hoping she had some messages for me.

“Jack and Coke, Mr. Reno?” she asked grinning.

“Tell you what.
 
Just hold that thought and bring me some coffee – I’ve already had breakfast.”
 
I should have known better than to say that.

“Well, you didn’t have it in your room, and the maid said no one had used the bed.”

“Nickie, do you always keep up with your guests like that – or am I just special?”

She looked over her nose at me. “Yes, you are certainly special and I always am aware of your coming and going.
 
With you – it is necessary. Lord knows when the sheriff, FBI, Federal Marshals or Wyatt Earp will show up looking for you.
 
We run a tight ship here Mr. Reno and are always here for our guests – and the police.”
 

I knew she was digging and I wasn’t going to roll over.

“Stayed with Mom and Dad last night – seemed a good thing to do,” I lied.

 
“Do you want your coffee in a cup or all over your wrinkled tuxedo?
 
Don’t bullshit me, I don’t have the time or patience.”
 
She seemed a little angry – not like her.

“Okay Nickie, I surrender,” I said putting my arm around her shoulder. “You seem out of sorts. What’s wrong this morning?”

“Sorry Carson.
 
Ronnie has just taken me over the edge this time – I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Should I ask, or just shut-up?” I was really curious.

“Just shut-up.
 
But I’ll tell you anyway.
 
Ronnie has taken most of our savings and invested it in some computer-shit thing called ICBM or IBM or something like that.
 
It’s not enough that I have to work my tail off to keep this place running, while he can’t keep his dick in his pants.
 
Now he takes our hard-earned money and throws it away on something that will never amount to anything. Who does he think he is – John D Rockefeller?
 
What does he know about computers and what does he know about stocks and investments?
 
I have threatened to kill him since I found out – it still might happen.”

“Nickie, I’m sorry – and sorry I asked.
 
Maybe things will work out.” I didn’t think so.

“And I’m sorry to burden you with my troubles, but please get me out of jail when I kill him, okay?”

“I’ll speak to Jack – bail for murder is tough – but it seems you might have just cause, in this case.
 
Right?”

“Right!
 
 
Now I’ll get your coffee.
 
You don’t want anything to eat?
 
Oh, yeah –you already ate. Bet I know where!”
 
She seemed to perk up a little.

“I ate at your competition!” I said trying to defend myself. “No, just coffee please and any messages that came in yesterday or last night.”

She went to get the coffee while I endured the relentless jukebox. 24x7 this thing spat out country music and everybody listened and seemed happy about it.
 
They just kept inserting quarters in the damn thing – and it just kept putting their request in escrow for some other day and time.

“Here’s your coffee and message,” Nickie said returning a moment later, “you only had one.
 
An Al Dollar called and left a Jackson number 529-9011 – sounds like a pay phone.”

“No call from Larry Parker?”
 
I was getting concerned.

“Look, I may not wear a short skirt or do shorthand, but I can take messages and write down phone numbers. No – just the one call – that’s it.
 
Sorry.”

I decided to leave well enough alone and let Nickie plot Ronnie’s murder on her own.
 
I was, however, wondering why Larry had not called.
 
This was not like him.

Leaving my coffee on the bar, I went to the outside payphone and called the Jackson number.

“Murphy’s Bar,” someone answered.

“Hello, I’m returning a call to Al Dollar. Is he there?”

“Just a minute,” they replied in a rough tone.
 

It was only a few seconds and someone picked up the phone and said, “Hello this is Al – who is this?”

“This is Carson.
 
You left a message?”

“No asshole, you left the message – I just called you back.
 
What do you want?” He was playing tough guy.

“I had some cars to talk to you about – but they are no longer available. Would you be interested in discussing another opportunity?”
 
I was hoping he would say yes.

“Maybe. You can come over here and we’ll talk.
 
But if you’re a cop, you won’t be returning home.
 
Your decision.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you.
 
Where?”

“Murphy’s Bar – I’ll be here all day.
 
Just ask for Al.”

I wasn’t sure I really wanted to do this. “Okay, I’ll see you in a couple of hours – at Murphy’s Bar.”

He hung up, saying nothing else.

I finished my coffee and headed to the sheriff’s office.
 
 
Leroy was on the phone and Jeff was at the front desk.

“You get any info on that limo tag?” I asked Jeff when he looked up.

“Sure did.
 
Rented by a Mickey Campbell – and we know all about him.
 
Is he connected to your 61 Chrysler?”

“Absolutely. I just don’t know how – yet.”

Leroy finished his other call and hung up the phone. I sat in one of his comfortable office chairs and told him about my conversation with Alfred E. Dollar and my planned meeting.
 
He was, of course, very concerned.

“I’ll handle it, but I need you to keep an eye on Jordan Bailey.
 
I don’t think he is involved, but he could be in danger – as well as the whole Bosley family.”

“I’ve got the Milan police department watching the dealership – they’ll let me know if the brothers make a move or if Al and his group get rough.” I felt good about his answer.

I described the man who met with Mickey last night and asked if he might know who he was.
 
Leroy just started to laugh.

“Certainly, that was Travis Luckey.
 
I just let him out of jail yesterday.
 
We were holding him on a domestic abuse charge and somebody made his bail.”

 
“Do you know who made his bail?”
 
This was strange.

“Nope, but I suspect it was our friend Mickey.
 
Somebody wired the bail money and sent along a train ticket to Hot Springs.
 
Ain’t that weird?”
 

Yes it was and getting weirder by the second. “Hot Springs?” I questioned.

“Yeah, maybe he’s going for his health – but I doubt it. Probably going to the horse track.
 
The ticket takes him from Humboldt through Memphis, Jonesboro, Newport, Little Rock and then Hot Springs.
 
Carson, this guy is a loser with a capital L.
 
His wife left him because he gambled - then she turns around and marries another man almost as bad.
 
Last week we arrested Travis for beating up on her and, frankly, to protect him.
 
Her current husband, Curtis Turner, has gambled his life away too, but he would kill Travis if he could get his hands on him.
 
Travis is scheduled back for a preliminary hearing next Friday, but I suspect he won’t make it.
 
Good riddance – he’s nothing but trouble.”

“Wow, OK. That’s nothing I need to be involved in – I don’t think.
 
Please keep me posted on Jordon Bailey and the Bosley’s, if they make a move. I’m headed back to Memphis after my meeting with Mr. Dollar.
 
I’ll call you before I leave Jackson with an update.”

I left the sheriff’s office and headed toward Jackson.
 
I made a point to drive by the Humboldt airport – Phillip Chaney’s Cessna was still there – parked in the same spot.

I also noticed a new sign for the airport and one that I hadn’t seen last night.
 
I guess Mary Ellen’s party had really been good for the flying business around Humboldt!

A Sign Above the Bar Reads:

“We’re Not Happy Until You’re Not Happy”

A
n uninviting place, but sometimes we must do what we must do.

I don’t normally carry a weapon – my grandfather’s .38 always rests comfortably in the Ford’s glove box.
 
However, on this occasion I thought it prudent to stick it in my waistband – hidden by my jacket.

Walking to the back of Murphy’s, I asked the bartender if Al Dollar was around.

“Who wants to know?” he asked giving me a dirty look.

“Tell him Carson is asking for him.
 
And while I’m waiting – get me a Budweiser and a cold glass,” I said in a nice voice.

I never got the beer.
 
This big ape grabbed me from behind and threw me over a back table and into a couple of customers.
 
When I came up, I was looking at a very shiny and very big knife.

“OK Cop,” he said showing me the knife and walking straight at me.
 
“Before I field dress you on this table, you got any last requests?”

“Just one,” I said sticking my .38 under his chin. “I want to see Alfred E. Dollar and the sooner the better.”
 
He didn’t move.