Champagne for Buzzards (5 page)

“I thought I'd just go out for one quick drink. See, Pearl was at choir practice with our truck. She don't like me drinking.” He fell to studying the glass again.

“Let me get this straight. Pearl went out and you snuck over here and stole my pickup.”

“I didn't sneak over.”

“Howie, you were sitting outside under the oak, not fifty yards from the end of the lane, when we went into town. You saw us, we all waved, and you knew no one was here. You came over here and drove away in my truck. What do you call that?”

“I always have use of the farm trucks. Clay says.”

“It wasn't a farm truck. It was mine.”

“Didn't think you'd care.” Howie was petulant and sorry for himself at getting caught, trying to make me the one in the wrong.

“I wouldn't care except for the dead body you picked up. That was one hell of a hitchhiker.” An idea kicked in. “You didn't pick up anyone, did you?”

“Nope. And no one knew I was driving your truck either. I made sure no one saw me leaving in it and I parked it around back at the Gator Hole, only a few cars there.”

“Even though you didn't think there was anything wrong with taking my truck you took all those precautions?”

“Didn't want Pearl to know, did I?”

“Someone for sure saw you. A red pickup with a ton of chrome is pretty visible.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “And no one needs to know.”

“I know, and the sheriff needs to know.”

“No need to tell him.” His voice was whining and a fine haze of sweat shined on his bald head. “Can we wait and see if the sheriff figures out what happened before we say anything 'bout it?”

“How likely is that to happen? I'd be surprised if that guy can find his dick in the dark with both hands.” I saw the shock on his face. “Oh, sorry Howie. When I get upset all my manners go out the window.”

His face was beet red, his eyes wide with stunned surprise but he had the good sense not to lecture. The Sweets were upstanding members of the Baptist Church. Not only did Pearl sing in the choir but they went to church twice on Sunday and to Bible study every Wednesday. The word
dick
had never passed Howie's lips and I was guessing Pearl didn't even know the things existed. But if all that was true and they were the next best things to saints, what was Howie doing sneaking out to a bar?

“Someone's going to remember seeing you in the Gator Hole, Howie.”

Howie's scowl didn't lighten. “So? Long as no one tells Pearl it doesn't matter. And no one will tell her — they all know how it is.”

“The old boys' club at work. Was Percell there last night at the Gator Hole?”

“Yeah.”

“And everyone saw Lucan, he wasn't hiding?”

“No.”

“Who else was there?” I asked as I refilled his glass. My years as a bartender always win out. I hate an empty glass and besides, secrets don't stay secrets when you keep the glasses full.

“Everyone.”

“Well, that clears things up.” This conversation with Howie was like picking burrs from an Australian pine out of my feet, one little round bugger at a time. I waited a moment to see if he had anything to add before asking, “Exactly who was everyone?”

A list of people I didn't know followed before he added, “Oh yeah, Harland Breslau was there, don't remember ever seeing him in the Gator Hole before.” Something funny happened in his eyes, and a weird little smile lifted his lips. “He normally is too busy looking after his wife, Amanda. Must have come right in from the farm, had his work gloves in his back pocket.” He stroked his stomach, considering this oddity before adding, “He came in with Boomer, that's his son. Don't think they really get along. And then I saw them talking with Lucan. They were arguing with him.”

“So everyone heard. Now the sheriff will hear about it.”

“May not.”

“Why?”

“Sheriff and Breslaus are kin. People don't mess in their business.”

“Did you talk to Lucan?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Lucan and I never had anything to do with each other.”

“The sheriff is going to find out where he was last and place him in the bar and then they're going to look at everyone that was there. Are you sure you two didn't have a fight? Didn't exchange words? If you did you better tell the sheriff before someone else does.”

He looked as if his boxers were binding and he was too polite to work them loose. “Did you have words?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“I just said to stay off our land.”

Howard Sweet had never been man enough to stop Lucan Percell from taking anything he wanted — turtles from the river or Howie's own daughter, Lovey. From what Tully heard around town, Lucan Percell had had the run of Riverwood before Clay bought it. And it was useless to point out that it wasn't his land anymore.

“Well, looks like someone solved the problem of keeping Lucan off Riverwood,” I said. I looked out the window to the silver roof of the drive shed where the pickup had sat that morning. Likely Lucan Percell had been lying there in the bed of the truck while Tully and I watched the buzzards picking at his flesh.

“Orlin Breslau came into the Gator Hole too, just before Lucan left,” Howie volunteered. “Strange, isn't it, the one time that the whole Breslau clan was there, that's when Lucan died.”

“You trying to tell me something, Howie?”

“Nope, just saying.” He was clearly taking pleasure in some secret knowledge.

“I'm sure the sheriff will be interested in hearing what you have to say.”

He snorted. “Don't be too sure. Told you, the sheriff and Orlin Breslau are cousins, been real close their whole lives, and if anything bad comes Orlin's way,” he gave a shrug, “well, the sheriff will make sure Orlin's protected.”

“Even to covering up a murder?”

“Don't know about that, but there are only certain people in Independence that the law applies to. Some it don't apply to at all and out here, well, the sheriff never stopped Orlin from stealing my water or kept Lucan off my land.”

Suddenly I didn't want to hear anymore. I dumped my Jack Daniel's in the sink, sorry I'd pushed Howie to tell me what he knew about Percell. My inclination was to get in Big Red and get out of there, but then I didn't have Big Red and this mess wasn't going to go away.

And in one week seventy-five people were arriving for a party, a party I hoped would be my social debut on Clay's arm. I didn't like to admit even to myself how important this party was to me.

How would Lucan's murder impact Clay and Riverwood? Come to that, what did it mean to me? Bottom line, I didn't want a whole lot of hassle myself. The sheriff had to know I was not responsible for Lucan's body being in my truck and he needed to know the murder had nothing to do with Clay or Riverwood. I just wanted all of this gone so I could get on with my life.

But the problem had been delivered to me in the back of my truck. It didn't get more personal than that.

Was there anything in what Howie had said to me that I needed to pass on to the authorities? I've never been big on helping the police do their jobs or landing people in the stinky stuff, and if I repeated our conversation, was Howie going to tell the police just what he'd told me?

Could Howie have killed Lucan at the Gator Hole and stuffed him in Big Red? Not even this sorry-ass loser could be that dumb, could he?

“If you want to tell Deputy Quinn right now where the truck was last night, that's fine with me, but if you want to wait 'til tomorrow, until you tell Pearl, that's fine with me too.”

“Don't want to tell Pearl.” His agitated hands smoothed his shirt down over his stomach. “I'll tell the sheriff but not Pearl. Why do I have to?”

Why had I never been able to control a man the way Pearl controlled Howie? “I need to get a bigger whip,” I muttered. Howie's face wrinkled in confusion. Well that made two of us. Who would want a wimp like Howie?

Marley's arrival was dramatic.

When Deputy Quinn stepped out in front of her blue Neon to stop her from coming any farther, she threw open the car door and took off like a cat exiting a tub of scalding water.

Marley and the deputy exchanged words. He reached out for her and she landed a foot on his shin, then Marley slipped around him and headed for my truck where all the technicians were working. It was my bet she was thinking one of us was dead.

But give the big guy credit, he may have been wearing cowboy boots, but he turned like a high school quarterback heading for the goal line with the ball, catching her before she was five steps away from him. The cop picked her up with one long arm, lifted her right off her feet and swung her around like they'd just invented some new square-dance step. When he set her down she swung to face him, trying to deke around him. He had her again and there they stood, waiting for the other's next move.

He didn't know Marley. It was going to end badly. When Marley gets an idea into her head, nothing is going to stop her. That deputy was about to get injured so I hustled down off the porch to cut in on their little hoedown.

“She's with me,” I told the cop. Nothing happened. She may be skinny, and since she and David broke up she's lost even more weight, but there must be something on that bag of bones he was liking 'cause he was holding her real close.

“She belongs here,” I said, a little louder in case he had a hearing problem.

He frowned but stepped back a little, reluctantly loosening his hands. Like a shot Marley was around him and holding onto me. This girl just was way into grabbing anything she could. She was sobbing and babbling, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” I asked. I looked at the cop over her shoulder. He stood with his hands on his hips, heaving and puffing and watching us close, maybe hoping for a second round.

“What's the sheriff's guy doing here then?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Somebody died.”

Her nails bit into my arm. “Tully?”

She was voicing my worst fears. “No, no one you know.” With a great intake of breath, she looked back over her shoulder at the cop and leaned in real close, so close her breath tickled my ear when she whispered, “Laura Kemp?”

I pulled her towards the porch, out of earshot, and replied, “Unfortunately not, but someone just as deserving.”

“Why are they messing about with Jimmy's truck?” she asked as she sank down into a chair.

I hitched my behind up on the railing. “Because there's a dead body in the back.”

“Oh Jesus, Sherri, did you hit someone with the truck?”

“Man your brain is really full of interesting ideas, isn't it? What do you think happened?”

“I just wondered if you maybe—” her hands made uncertain circles. “Well, I wondered if you ran over someone and then put him in your truck.” She frowned, maybe already seeing how weird it sounded.

“Nope. Besides, he'd have to be sleeping on the road for me to run over his head.”

She joined me on the railing. With our eyes on the activity in the yard, I told her about my passenger from hell and how he came to be in Big Red.

“Man,” Marley said, “you have crappy luck.”

“Don't stand too close,” I advised her. “Never know what might drop on me next and you don't want to get splattered.”

We watched for the best part of an hour as people wandered around doing things we could only speculate about. We did a lot of that. Some people left but not many. Mostly they just seemed to come and stand around talking in low voices, looking up at us sitting on the porch like they were looking at exhibit “A.” A long black hearse from the local undertaker pulled slowly into the circle of vehicles. They got a stretcher out of the back.

And then a flatbed truck broke from the trees along the drive and came towards us. Right behind it the sheriff sped back in.

The “A One” towing truck pulled up towards the bunkhouse and then back into the turnaround.

The sheriff marched towards the porch. “We're taking your truck into the lab to do the forensics, testing for prints and such,” the sheriff said from the bottom of the stairs. “And we'll need to get samples of your prints to rule them out. Probably be a while before you get the truck back.”

“Not sure if I want it back.”

Sheriff Hozen shrugged. “Well, it will take some time,” he said and turned to leave. “Wait,” I called.

He swiveled around and frowned at me.

“How is—” I started to say “Lucan's wife” but changed it to, “How is April?”

His frown didn't improve. “A little upset. Didn't believe me.” He turned away.

When I heard about Jimmy's death I hadn't believed it either. Hearing about April brought back that pain. “Is anyone with her?”

“Nope,” he said. He didn't even stop walking.

We watched the technicians going about their work. Spreading out from the truck, eyes down, they searched the ground for clues.

“What are they looking for?” Marley wondered.

“Maybe they're looking for blood,” I suggested. “Or the weapon. Or even signs of someone dragging Lucan to the shed.”

“Shouldn't you tell them how the body got in the truck?”

“They're having fun, and they'd probably do it anyway. Besides, no one listens to me.”

The technicians were starting to pack up when something caught Marley's eye. “What are all the flowers for?” Marley pointed down to the bedding plants sitting under the tree.

“I was going to plant them for the party.”

“You were really going all out for this party, weren't you?”

“Seems like it.”

“You can't have it now, can you?”

“Maybe they'll find the murderer real quick. It would be all right then to have a party, wouldn't it, if they solved it?”

Marley shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Not like we knew him real well. I never met him. And none of us were involved, didn't even happen here, so it has nothing to do with us really.” “I just love the way you wiggle, girl.”

“'Sides,” I said, “everyone is coming from Jacaranda. They won't know a thing about it.”

Marley pointed at the plants. “Those flowers are looking a little worse for wear, aren't they? They need to get in the ground or they'll die too.” She hopped down from the railing. “Let's do it now.”

I said, “I just don't think this is the time to be planting flowers.”

She picked up a plant in each hand. “If I don't do something I'm going to jump out of my skin. Besides, the dead guy will be planted soon too.”

I followed Marley reluctantly down the steps. For Marley a dead body in my truck was horrible but now it was over and she was back to important matters, like the flowers.

But I was never going to forget a buzzard holding down Lucan's hand with its talons while it pulled off his flesh, never forget the naked bones and death dropping into my life again.

Even though I'd never known Lucan Percell, our lives had intersected hideously, and his death brought back my past, a past haunted by violence. My memories were like a wound that had scabbed over but hadn't quite healed, and this new death peeled away the protective covering from my wound. Maybe I was never going to heal completely; maybe I was always going to have an open sore that life could rub raw at any moment. I felt alone and caught in a dark whirlpool that no one understood or could see but me.

I sat on the bottom step and watched Marley spreading out the flowers in the bed under the tree until she had them in a pattern she liked, making order out of chaos, and then beginning to dig them in while I sat there asking myself questions to which there were no answers, but it never stops me from asking them anyway.

Slowly the searchers were ebbing away, slamming doors and starting engines, going back to their own reality.

Tully opened the screen door and said, “You girls better come in an' have a bite.” He looked down at me and smiled. “Food will make you feel better.”

“I don't think so.” The thought of eating made my stomach do a funny little dance.

“Then come in and at least have a coffee.” Tully went back inside, letting the screen slam behind him.

Marley stood up, a plant in each hand and whispered, “Your father cooking is a novel idea and more than a little worrying.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Hopefully, whatever he's serving up has come out of a package or the freezer, not something he's liberated from a stretch of highway.”

“Oh, shit,” Marley said. “I'd forgotten about that.”

But the changes in Tully were nothing to the surprise I awoke to.