Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends (13 page)

I shook my head. “I wish I did too. I talked to the police
an hour ago. Nothing has turned up, but then they’ve only
been looking for a day”

Debbie sat on the couch and dropped her head to her
chest. She looked up at me, her eyes welling with tears.
“It’s just that I feel so helpless”

I sat beside her and put my arm about her shoulders. I’d
forgotten just how small she was. “We all feel like that, but
we shouldn’t. We-you and your mother-we’re doing all
we can”

Mrs. Edwards gasped. “Dear me, I forgot my manners.
Would you care for some coffee, Tony?”

I declined. “No, thanks, but I’ve got a couple of questions you might be able to answer.”

She sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair at the end of
the coffee table, hands folded demurely in her lap. “Certainly”

“First, did your husband ever mention a place called
Lost Lake? It’s a fishing village in New Mexico.”

She and Debbie frowned at each other, and she shook
her head. “No. Is it important?”

With a sheepish grin, I replied, “I don’t know yet. Now,
your husband’s investments. Are you familiar with them?”

She gave me an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid not. Carl handled all the money. But you might ask his CPA, Dillon
Packard of Packard and Packard Accounting. Carl and Dill
have worked together for years. He knows everything there
is to know about our financial situation”

I frowned. “All right, but tell me, with Mr. Edwards
gone, who takes care of the bills?”

Debbie spoke up. “Dill. Pop and Mom use credit cards on
everything. The bills go to the accountants, and they take care
of them. Pop gets-” She hesitated with a grimace. “Pop got
a monthly statement from them. You want their number?”

“No. They’re in the directory, right?”

“Yes”

“Just do me a favor and call Packard in the morning first
thing. Tell him I’m going to drop by”

“By all means,” replied Mrs. Edwards. “Is there anything else we can do?”

“One more thing. I’d like to look through your husband’s
personal effects that you brought home from his office”

She and Debbie exchanged puzzled looks, but she
smiled and replied, “Certainly, but what for?”

“On February 3, when your husband went to work, he
had a bad cold. You remember that?”

Debbie looked at her mother expectantly. Her mother
nodded. “Yes. Now that you remind me. Carl could barely
talk”

“That’s what I learned. One of his co-workers suggested
he go home, but he told them he couldn’t. He had a job he
had to take care of. Now, I’m hoping somewhere in his
effects is a hint of that job”

Debbie’s face blanched. “February 3? That’s the day the
armored car was robbed” Her eyes grew wide in alarm, and
she turned to her mother, her fists pressed against her lips.
“Mother! You don’t think-”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Edwards shot back. “Your father is
the most honest and decent man in this world. You should
be ashamed of yourself for even thinking such a horrible
thought” She pushed to her feet. “The items are in the den,
Tony. This way.”

I tagged after her, but my feelings were leaning in the
same direction as Debbie’s. Edwards’ remark could mean
anything, but presently it appeared to be another brick in
the ever-growing foundation for the wall of guilt building
up around him.

Stacked beside the desk were three boxes of odds and
ends, knickknacks, family pictures, and a pile of civic
awards from public service clubs such as Kiwanis, Rotary,
various churches, schools, and a dozen other organizations.

But nothing to suggest the importance of February 3.

Before I left, Debbie showed me a map spread on her
father’s desk. It was one of Austin and the surrounding
countryside. From the credit union, she had drawn a series
of pie-shaped wedges radiating to the county line.

“I know it might look silly to a professional like you,
Tony, but we’re out searching also. See this section right
here” She touched a manicured nail to a wedge that had
been yellowed in. “That’s where we searched today. We
drove all over, and every time we came to a gully or canyon
or anything like that, we searched it.”

I placed my hand on hers. “I think that’s a magnificent
idea” And it was. The search kept them busy, which was
much better than sitting home and moping.

She smiled up at me, and I felt her fingers entwine mine.
Her face grew serious. “Where did we go wrong, Tony?”

I stared at her. How do you tell someone the feeling is not
there, was never there? I couldn’t, so I did what I usually do in an awkward situation, I joked. “We didn’t go wrong. You
got lucky, Debbie, and got rid of me. I’m bad news. Always
have been, and always will be” I laughed and pulled away.

She forced a laugh. “Maybe so” But there was no conviction in her voice.

As I headed for Lake Austin Boulevard along the banks
of the Colorado River, I couldn’t get Debbie’s question out
of my mind.

We’d both started teaching English the same year at Madison High School, a school where administrators weren’t
too concerned with what was taught as long as the parents
were kept happy. The core curriculum of the school was
not English or math or science, but football, the report card
for every community in the great state of Texas.

Debbie was all any man could wish for, gracious, understanding, and compassionate. We had fun together, but being with her was like being with one of the boys.

After she and I drifted apart, I dated a little here and a
little there. My experience with my first marriage had provided enough trauma to last me until the chickens came
home to roost.

I shook my head in frustration. While a professional distance is essential in a PI/client relationship, I knew it would
be hard with Debbie. And I had no idea how I was going to
handle it.

Sandwiched between Bernie’s Crab Shack and Travis
County Canoe Trips, the Zuider Zee Bar and Grill perched
on the river side of Lake Austin Boulevard, looking down on
the black waters of the Colorado River a hundred feet below. The 1950s building was outlined with green neon, the same color as the flashing Zuider Zee sign above the
canopied entrance.

I drove past and pulled onto the shoulder. Climbing out,
I walked around the pickup, kicking the tires and checking
oncoming traffic. I paused by the tailgate, and when I spotted a break in traffic, I quickly removed the license plate,
leaving the fake one.

Moments later, I pulled into the parking lot, which was
sparsely filled with two or three medium-sized vehicles
that were probably Hondas or Toyotas, and a few larger
cars of American manufacture. Don’t ask me what makes.
They all look the same to me. The only one I recognized
was the angular lines of a Cadillac, and that was because
my pal Jack Edney had just purchased a new Cadillac convertible at the insistence of his wife, Diane, my ex.

Even though Diane ended up with all we had except
Oscar, an albino tiger barb fish with brain damage, our divorce for the most part was amicable. She was Jack’s handful now.

Inside, the decor smacked of the fifties. A dozen or so
customers sat in booths and at the bar. I slid onto a stool upholstered in black plastic, and I couldn’t help noticing that
the seat next to me had a slash in it from which some sort of
gray padding bulged.

I knew right then the decor was not architecturally retro
to the fifties, but from the actual fifties itself. Indirect lighting from valances at the top of the walls was the only illumination except for the red, green, and yellow strobe flashes
from the jukebox. At the far end of the room, planter boxes
containing broad-leafed exotic plants of plastic sat on two
half walls in front of the restrooms.

The bartender came up to me. “What’ll it be, pal” His
eyes drifted to the knot on my forehead.

“Draft beer. Miller Lite if you got it”

“Coming right up”

I studied him as he drew the Miller. Average looking,
about fifty. He parted his thinning hair in the middle. I
couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something
about his face that made me believe those fifty-plus years
had been pretty rugged, like he’d been stomped on, tossed
about, and finally kicked out.

To my left, a few stools away, sat a couple. He wore a suit,
and his hair was slicked back. Wearing a low-cut floral
dress, she sat staring blankly at him, one leg crossed over the
other, a cigarette dangling from between her fingers.

The bartender slid the beer in front of me, and I laid
down a fiver. I would allow myself this one. While he made
change, I peered into the mirror over the highboy behind
the bar.

Only two of the dozen or so booths around the wall were
occupied, both by couples.

Hymie Weinshank was not here. I wasn’t surprised. I’d
figured I might have to hang out several nights before I spotted him. I just hoped no one who knew me showed up.
Seems like I always run into an acquaintance when I’m
somewhere or with someone I shouldn’t be. That’s why I’ve
never gone to Hooter’s.

The bartender slid my change on the bar. “Thanks,” I
said, leaving the change where it was.

He studied me a few moments while he dried a couple of
beer mugs. “Ain’t seen you around”

My hand wrapped around the draft. There was ice around
the rim. “Just got in. Insurance. Might be around a few days”

Nodding slowly, he cut his eyes in one direction and then the other. In a conspiratorial tone, he whispered, “You
looking for any action?” He gestured with curled fingers
as if he were rolling craps.

With a laugh, I shook my head. “Nope. Married. The
little lady would kill me if I lost any money” I hooked my
thumb over my shoulder. “I started to get a bite next door at
the Crab Shack, but decided to wet my whistle first”

He grinned. “Glad to have you. Need anything, give me
a yell. Name’s Harlon” He pointed to a door to the left of
the restrooms. “We have a balcony out there overlooking
the river. Kinda nice on a night like this with the stars out.
Might have to watch out if you’re allergic to cats. We got a
bunch hanging around here”

I laughed. “Well, if I had my wife here, I’d take you up
on it.”

At that moment, the man to my left signaled the bartender.

I glanced at the clock above the highboy. 10:30. I figured
I’d hang around until midnight, and then cut out.

I didn’t have to wait. At that moment, the door swung
open and a man with an acne-scarred face came inside.

Hymie Weinshank!

Ataller man tagged behind Hymie.

Hymie was wearing the black leather jacket I had seen
on him at Wichie’s. The man with him wore a Houston
Texans Windbreaker, a red one. He had a hatchet face and a
hooked nose.

As Hymie passed the bar, the bartender nodded. “Hey,
Hymie, Alex. How’s it going?”

The two grunted and continued to the rear where they
disappeared through a door on the right side of the restrooms.

I glanced at the door through which they had disappeared. I stretched my arms over my head and pushed the
mug away. Leaving the change from the fiver on the bar, I
slid off the stool. “Thanks, Harlon”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That was a short visit. You didn’t
drink your beer.”

Patting my stomach, I laughed. “I’m starving. Hey, can
I leave my pickup out front while I step next door?”

“Sure. We ain’t that busy tonight” He slid the change
into his hand and wiped the bar with a towel. “No problem
at all”

Privet hedges separated the two businesses. I circled the
hedge, peering at the rear of the Zuider Zee. The glow of its green neon lights eerily illumined the front and a portion of the side of the building. In the darkness beyond the
glow, light shone from a window, and as close as I could
figure, that was the room into which Hymie and Alex had
disappeared.

I slipped into the darkness.

The building sat on a massive concrete slab cantilevered
over the sloping bluff and supported by oversize concrete
piers sunk in the limestone rock.

Walks with rails ran along the side of the building to the
balcony. I grimaced. If I got caught out at the end of the balcony, there was nowhere to go except down. It was a hundred foot drop to the river, and I had never been any good
at high diving.

Still, my curiosity nagged at me to peek in the window.

The glow of the neon lit the first few feet of the walk, so
I stayed behind the hedge until I was beyond the neon
glow. The sidewalk was a couple of feet above my head.
Somehow, I managed to haul my aging body up and over
the railing.

I crouched in the darkness, looking one way and then another with sweat pouring off my face and my breath coming in ragged gasps. A dim green light glowed from the
balcony at the far end of the walk. As long as I remained in
the dark, I was safe.

Easing down the walk, I crouched beneath the window.
Venetian blinds covered it, but one of the slats had hung up
on the lines, leaving a tiny gap though which I could peer.
The window was opened slightly at the bottom, allowing
muted voices to squeeze out. I looked both ways again.
Laughter came from the balcony around the corner. I hoped
no one decided to take a stroll.