If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery) (16 page)

As the sun was low on the horizon, some people were eating, some were chatting, some were reading to each other, and some were writing their poetry as they sat in camp chairs and scribbled on notepads. Cliff was probably building a mental grid, separating the groups with his cop eyes.

“We’d like to have some answers, too. Other than determining that the weapon used to kill Norman was a .38 Special, we don’t have anything new, Betts. We’re trying to get more information on everyone here, but particularly Norman Bytheway, and we’re having a hard time finding much at all about him.”

“No family in Kansas City?” I said.

“Nope. We can’t find any family anywhere. His last name is unusual, but there are a few Bytheways in Missouri. We’ve got calls in to the ones we could find. But Norman might not have even been from Missouri. It could be a dead end.”

“So, whoever his family is, they don’t know he’s dead yet?”

Cliff shook his head. “Unless they killed him or they’re secretly here, part of the poetry group, or have paid attention to the news reports—but we expected a call or something after we released his name; got nothing. So as far as we know, none of his family knows anything.”

“I think I remember Jake telling me that he was a part-time actor in Kansas City. He must have had another job, one that paid the bills.”

“He must have, but we have yet to figure out where. There were no credit cards or checks in his possession. His driver’s license expired over a year ago and the address listed wasn’t current, or at least that’s what the people who answered the door there said.”

“I can see letting a license expire. Those things get forgotten sometimes.”

“They do, but the fact that we can’t find anything more about him is, of course, strange. Pretty much everybody leaves a trail these days.”

“He wasn’t who he said he was?” I said.

“That’s one thought, but even though the license expired, it did have his picture on it. We do think he was using his real name.”

“I
might
have something helpful.”

“That’d be great. I hope so.”

I told him about Vivienne and about the supposed argument between her and Orly. I also went over everything Teddy had told me. I told him what Esther and Teddy had noticed about Vivienne and Teddy and Norman, and what Cody had observed. I even mentioned that Esther had commented about Jezzie and Orly arguing, and the reason Jezzie had just given me for the argument—or, as she put it, “discussion.”

“That’s good stuff, Betts. I’ll find and talk to them all again.”

I didn’t think it really was good stuff. I thought it was a bunch of different stuff that wasn’t fitting together and didn’t have much backing it up, but maybe it would lead to something.

It looked like Cliff wouldn’t have to go far to talk to Jezzie. In tandem, we both noticed her hurrying in our direction. We were beside Cliff’s car, so we were back from the crowd. Jezzie kept looking behind her as she moved toward us.

“Jez, you okay?” Cliff asked as he stepped protectively toward her.

“I’m fine, Cliffy, but I saw you two over here and I wanted to talk to you and Betts without Cody around, so I hurried over. Y’all don’t see him coming this way, do you?”

We surveyed the area, but neither of us saw him anywhere.

“You want to go someplace else?” Cliff asked.

“No, no, I just want you both to know that Orly and I
were
having a discussion the other night, and it was only partially about rehearsals. It was about Cody. I’d heard he had a criminal record and I was worried. Orly assured me that all would be fine. Now, let me say that I don’t think that Cody killed anyone, but I just didn’t want him to know that that’s what Orly and I were discussing. You understand, Betts?”

“Of course.”

“And I didn’t even think about mentioning it to you until Betts asked me about it only a little bit ago,” she said to Cliff. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We know about his record, and it was nothing violent, so we aren’t concerned. Frankly, there are quite a few people in town who have some sort of arrest record, and we’re looking at them all. I appreciate the update, though,” Cliff said.

“Oh, good. Well, I’m going to go back into that party for a little longer, but I’ll be going home soon. I’ll stay in touch, Cliffy. We still need a family dinner while I’m in town. Gracious, I never meant to get this involved in things. I was just coming out for a visit.”

“We will definitely get together for dinner, Jez,” Cliff said.

“Jezzie,” I said before she could get away. “I have a horrible question for you.”

“Have at it,” she said, though she blinked uncertainly.

“Have you had any romantic interest in anyone around here, maybe Orly—or even Cody?”

I thought Cliff might hate me forever for asking his cousin such a question, but he gave no indication that he was bothered by my boldness.

“Oh, my! No, not even a little bit, my dear. Why in the world would you ask?”

“I don’t know. Conventions and things, and camping under the stars, with the romantic cowboy poetry adding to the ambience.”

Jezzie laughed. “No, my dear, I have no interest in those boys. I have me a good old-fashioned boyfriend back home that I would never even consider cheating on, even if whatever happened in Broken Rope stayed in Broken Rope. I’m sorry if I’ve given anyone a different impression, especially you.”

“No, I was truly just wondering. That’s all.”

“No problem.” Jezzie sighed. “I’m going back in there, but I bet I don’t last long.”

“We’ll see you later, Jezzie,” Cliff said as she turned and hurried away.

“Sorry, Cliff,” I said.

“No need to be. I don’t know why you were curious, but if you needed to know, you needed to know. I think she sounded like she was being honest.”

“I do, too.”

“Howdy!” another voice greeted us.

Cliff and I turned to the person attached to the happy greeting. If I remembered correctly, his name was Gary. He’d been the one to fetch Teddy’s truck.

“Hello,” Cliff and I said.

“You’re one of those police officer fellas, arn’t cha?” The man was short, but that was only the beginning of his unique looks. He wore a very old cowboy hat; I’d yet to notice many new ones. Strands of thick, short gray hair stuck out from under the rim and framed a sunken and wrinkled face. He didn’t have many teeth—I saw only one in front—and his tongue seemed to move around constantly. He dressed the part, but something told me that he always wore stained Western shirts and faded jeans; this wasn’t a costume for the convention.

“I am,” Cliff said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to tell you a story.”

“All right. My name’s Cliff Sebastian. This is Betts Winston. What’s your name?”

“That’s part of the story.” The man winked.

“Go on.”

The man cleared his throat and straightened the knot of an invisible tie.

“Sometimes Gary’s not seen, it’s the one way I can hide. Sometimes I can hear but no one thinks I understand. But that Norman fella, I saws how he was. And what happened next wasn’t just because.”

Cliff and I were silent a moment.

Though Gary’s poem was somewhat ominous, I couldn’t translate it at all.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think you’re trying to tell me you think that Norman Bytheway might have gotten what he deserved? Is that correct?” Cliff said.

“No, sir, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. I just want you to know that mehbe that Norman fella wouldn’t do what someone ask-ted him to do.”

“I see. Gary, I appreciate knowing that, but I could sure use some more information. Can you tell me what he was asked to do, or who asked him to do it?”

“I wishes I could, but even though sometimes I see, sometimes I don’t see what I’m looking at, too.”

“Oh,” Cliff said. “Would you just let me know if something else comes back to you, if you remember more?”

Cliff handed Gary a card. Even though I doubted that Gary had a cell phone, he carefully put the card in his back pocket and then turned and walked away. He moved as though he had a catch in his hip, though not a full-on limp.

“That was interesting. And kind of sad,” I said.

“Yeah.” Cliff squinted and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Yeah. Come on, let’s go find some other people to talk to.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The rising of the clear, bright quarter moon was idyllic. It was difficult to see many stars because of the artificial light poles around the campsite, but as the moon rode along the top of the forest of trees that bordered the site, it seemed to watch protectively over the convention. It looked like it had been hung there on purpose, just for the poets.

The daytime and early evening convention events, like the catfish fry and the Dutch oven demonstrations, were about fun and frivolity. The evening activities were still all about fun, but a blanket of reverence also fell over the crowd once the sun set. Perhaps some of the atmosphere had to do with the murder, but I suspected that the music played and the poetry read were both so well respected that rowdy and out-of-control behavior wasn’t typically accepted until later, when all the performances had been accomplished.

Burly cowboys who weren’t imbibing stood stoically guarding the two campfires, resembling the way some of our summer bouncers posed. I admired Orly’s attention to that detail, but I spent a moment wishing that at least one of the campfire guards had been aware enough to protect my brother a couple nights earlier.

At the far end of the space was a stage. It wasn’t fancy or very high up off the ground. But it was wide and made of strong metal that held the weight of many people at once. Orly had been either on the stage or close by it for most of the evening. A small sound system with one microphone and one amplifier was used so that everyone gathered around could hear the poets and singers. Most of the men and women, but mostly men, who took the microphone and recited or sang something they’d written were blessed with booming voices and didn’t need the sound system’s assistance, but it helped with some of the quieter types.

Though Cliff had said we could question people together, ultimately, he and I had gone different directions with plans to meet up later, compare notes, and maybe revisit people. First I found Gram. She wasn’t surrounded by poets with catfish frying questions by that time, and I was able to ask her how she thought the snake had made its way into the cooler. She said she couldn’t be sure, but she was certain that since no harm had come to anyone, including the snake, that there was no need to give the situation any more thought. I decided not to argue.

After I spoke to Gram, I was surprised to see Teddy’s truck make its way down the path next to the campsite. Joe and the horse trailed behind, but I didn’t think they were following Teddy on purpose. I’d wondered where the ghosts had been; their sudden appearance at the same time as Teddy’s was somewhat curious, but I’d need to find out more to know if it meant anything.

After Teddy parked the truck, Joe continued to steer the horse past it, past the campsite, and toward the Pony Express station. It would be interesting to look at the attraction with someone who’d actually spent some time in a few of the real ones, but finding out why Teddy left the comfort of his couch or bed to come back out to the convention took precedence.

The truck stopped close to the stage. Though I shouldn’t have been, I was totally surprised to see not only my brother exit the vehicle, but Opie, too. And she’d been the one to come out of the driver’s side. She’d fixed herself up, Opie-style, but Teddy still looked rough.

They both sent me looks of impatience as I approached.

“I know, I’m not supposed to be out, Betts, but I was going a little stir-crazy and Opie offered to drive us here. Also, my memory might come back to me a little better if I’m around where it all happened.”

“Hi, Betts,” Opie said.

I took the folding lawn chair that Teddy had lifted out of the bed of the truck and smiled at them both.

“How are you doing, Teddy?”

“Well, I’m a little better,” he said.

“Good. How are you, Opie?”

“I’m great, Betts, really glad you and Miz stopped by earlier. I’m so thrilled about what you told me. I’m a real part of our history. I told Teddy all about it, and he’s excited, too,” she said as we all made our way to an area in front of the corner of the stage.

I nodded. Opie was not a part of “our” history, all of ours, but just a small part of Broken Rope’s history. But that was okay.

Evidently, they thought I’d be upset that Teddy was out and about. I wasn’t happy, but I also wasn’t upset. They also probably thought I’d comment on what seemed like their suddenly reignited relationship, but I didn’t have anything to say. Teddy was over twenty-one. I’d realized a long time ago that he was going to do whatever he wanted to do no matter the repercussions. It wasn’t ideal, but it was truly none of my business.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Teddy nodded toward the stage as I unfolded his chair and Opie unfolded one for herself.

I looked toward the cowboy on the stage. A tree stump, or perhaps it was a plastic fake tree stump, had been placed stage left and gave the poet a “rugged” place to sit. His arms were heavy over the guitar on his lap. He wasn’t singing or reciting a poem as much as doing a little of both. His old brown hat was blackened in the spots that had been often touched by his fingers. He was lit by a small spotlight off to his side, but I noticed that he must always use his left hand to remove the hat. A trail of worn finger marks on the left side of the brim seemed to dance in the light with every little movement.

He said/sang words about a cowboy lost in a sea of tumbleweeds. The cowboy searched and searched for a landmark—a butte that would point him toward home. Considering the tone, I thought that maybe the cowboy in the story never would find the butte, that he’d be destined to die among the tumbleweeds under a “diamond sky.”

The song was melancholy but not unpleasant.

“Talented,” I said.

“Most of them are,” Teddy said. “It’s why I was hanging out with them all. They’re a fun group, sure, but I love what they do with words.”

I nodded. “Anything coming back to you?”

“Yeah.” Teddy looked at Opie, who smiled stiffly. He turned back to me. “I told Opie I might have been talking to a girl or two, Betts, so no need to hold back. She understands we were broken up.”

Were?

“Okay,” I said. “How about the details with the girls? Can you remember anything specific?”

“Yes, there’s one thing. The women named Vivienne and Esther were definitely in the area, and there was some flirty stuff going on, but there was something else, too. I’m now sure there was an argument, though the people who were arguing keep changing in my memory. But now I have no doubt that the ruckus was over a letter, and Norman was trying to calm everyone down. So I don’t think the evening had as much to do with flirting or who liked who after all.” Teddy, his face still horribly swollen and bruised, looked at Opie, who gave him a more genuine smile this time.

“A letter? What kind of a letter?” I said.

“Either I don’t remember, or I never knew in the first place. That part’s not fuzzy; that part seems to be gone all the way.” He tapped lightly on the side of his head. “So maybe I never knew.”

“That’s definitely more than we had before. Thanks, Teddy,” I said. And I couldn’t help myself; I added, “You shouldn’t be out here, you know that don’t you? You should be home resting.”

“I had to get out of the house, Betts,” he repeated.

He and Opie could have just gone to Bunny’s if he needed to get out. The cowboy poets were an interesting crowd, but either they’d captured Teddy’s limited attention span in a way few other things could or there was another reason.

“Teddy, you’re not here to pick a fight, are you?” I said.

“Of course not. I couldn’t fight in this shape anyway,” he said.

No, he couldn’t, but he wouldn’t always be this messed up. He’d heal and be almost as good as new faster than it might take other, less stubborn people to heal. He’d always been physically resilient. In time, he’d be able to retaliate. Searching for the person or persons who’d hurt him might be why he’d come out this evening, even more than his newfound love of cowboy poetry.

I looked around a little, but the state of Teddy’s bruised face didn’t appear to faze anyone. It seemed that no one was paying attention to my brother or Opie. I’d try to keep a watch as the evening wore on.

He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from anyone, his big sister included. For now, he’d be safe in his lawn chair. Opie could be pretty ferocious if she was pushed. She wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

“I’ll be back by to check on you. Call me if you need anything,” I said.

Teddy and Opie gave me quick nods.

As I walked away, I was torn between wishing I hadn’t talked to Opie earlier and being glad that Teddy seemed to be happy that they might be back together. The torment.

I wove my way through the crowd. As I walked past people, some in small groups, some just standing by themselves with their attention toward the stage, I inspected faces and tried to listen in on conversations. And I learned nothing. No one looked or talked like they were a killer or someone who’d wanted to beat up my brother. Too bad it wasn’t that easy.

Toward the edge of the activity, I saw Joe and the horse again. It was dark enough that they were very filled out and dimensional. The campsite lights were bright but they didn’t illuminate the space that stretched over the old stagecoach tracks and to the station. The outside of the station was lit by one weak light above its front door, and a little inside light escaped out of the small windows, but none of it was enough to lessen Joe and the horse’s three-dimensional forms. Had someone—Jake maybe—decided to leave the station open and lit during the evenings through the convention? There was also someone else walking toward the station. It took only a second for me to recognize Esther. I watched to see if she somehow acknowledged the ghosts, but she didn’t. They watched her, though, intently.

I looked around but didn’t immediately see Gram, Jake, or Cliff—or Jerome, for that matter. The station was set back enough that I would have liked to take someone with me to see what Esther was up to, but no matter how mixed up everyone’s stories were, I truly didn’t sense that she was dangerous. She went through the front doorway as Joe dismounted. He didn’t follow her, but went to one of the small windows, pulled himself up, and peered inside.

“Curious,” I said. I hurried across to the station.

“Joe?” I said quietly as I got closer.

He turned and looked at me. Did I see tears in his eyes?

“You okay?” I said.

“Betts. I’m fine. Just wondering what the young woman is up to.”

I inspected him and decided that he probably hadn’t been tearing up, but I couldn’t be sure. I lifted myself up on my toes to see inside the window, just like Joe had done. Back when the station was a true station, it was mostly empty, except for the things that the station keepers needed to care for the horses and riders. In its replica state, the informational plaques told a condensed yet historic version of the Pony Express story and were fascinating even to me. Esther’s interest in the story made sense.

“Why?” I asked Joe. “Why were you curious what she was doing?”

He looked away from me and then back inside the building, up on his toes again. The way his eyes landed on Esther and then seemed to pinch with some sort of longing sat funny and, frankly, was a little creepy.

“I remember her from the cemetery,” he said. “And she was talking to your friend Jake in his big room. When she left him I wondered where she was going.”

Had Joe been tailing Esther?

“I’ll go in and talk to her. You want to come and listen?” I said.

“I do,” he said, but his words were threaded with pain.

I blinked and inspected his face again.

“You okay, Joe?”

“Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

What was it about his face that I couldn’t distinguish? My lack of sight bothered me. Why couldn’t I understand or process exactly what happening? Or was nothing happening and I was imagining things? It felt like my perceptive abilities were set to slow motion when his face did what it did, and they never caught up to the answer.

“All right,” I said. “Follow me.”

The door’s noisy hinges prevented me from entering covertly. At the squeaks, Esther turned and smiled.

“Hi, Betts.”

“Hi,” I said as Joe and I came through and joined her at the back corner of the space. It wasn’t huge, only about twenty by thirty feet. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” she said, but much less enthusiastically than if she meant it.

“Needed a break from the crowd?” I fished.

“Something like that.” She shrugged. “This seemed like a good place to get away for a second.”

“And learn something about what one of your ancestors was a part of.”

“Uh-huh,” she said absently.

“Esther, is something wrong? Is there something I can help with?” I asked, wondering if the station itself had been the cause of her melancholy. Maybe Joe’s too?

I sensed him standing behind me. He sniffed. There was something off-putting about the sound. It wasn’t the sniff so much as its tone, if such a thing was possible. I pretended to itch my earlobe so I could turn to see him. He was very transparent as he stood directly in the glow of a small ceiling spotlight. He seemed curious but not bothered.