Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends (2 page)

Don’t misunderstand. I have nothing but the highest regard for her even though she is an anachronism, one of those
charming and gracious ladies of the South who went out of
date fifty years ago. She wears her naivete well, much too
well for a cretin such as myself.

She forced a shy smile. “Hello, Tony.”

“Debbie” I glanced over her shoulder, spotting her vehicle parked at the curb. “How-How are you?” It was an awkward remark, but her sudden appearance had surprised me.
She was the last person I expected to run in to, although we
had dated years ago when we were both teaching at Madison High School in Austin. I’d heard she’d married, and
then next thing I heard, they’d split the sheets.

With a terse nod, she dropped her gaze to the ground.
“Not so well.” She looked up, her brown eyes pleading.
“Can I come in? I need some help.”

Her words jerked me from my stupor. I pulled the door
wide open. I read the papers, and I watched the news, so I
knew instinctively why she had knocked on my door. “Sure,
sure. Come on in.” I indicated the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll
be right back” While I was wearing a full-length bathrobe
cinched in at the waist, I still felt undressed around her. She
was the kind that brought out those feelings of decorum
most guys have toward their maiden aunts.

Moments later I returned in slacks and polo shirt.

She was sitting on the edge of the couch wringing her
hands. From the grimace on her slender face, I knew she
had problems, and as much as I hoped against hope, I knew
the source of her problems.

A.B., my white cat I’d saved from being used as alligator
bait, perched on the back of the couch, eyeing Debbie’s
short brown hair curiously.

Shooing him away, I plopped down in an easy chair
across the coffee table. “Can I get you something: coffee,
soft drink?”

Debbie looked up at me, shaking her head. “No. No,
thanks” She hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip. “I-I
didn’t know who else to go to, Tony. I-I’ve never faced anything like this. This is worse than my divorce.”

I listened, hoping I would not hear what I was certain
she would say. Perhaps, I told myself, I’m wrong. She’s
here for another reason. Debbie was one of those sensitive
few who become upset by the least incident-a stray cat, a
missed dental appointment, a broken fingernail. And truthfully, when we were together years earlier, such concerns
were insignificant to me. Still were, in fact. To paraphrase
Mark Twain, “concern is an issue of mind over matter. If
you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” My philosophy indeed.

That had been only one of our problems. After only a
short time, I realized I felt nothing for her, at least not
what she wanted, not what I wanted. Dating her was like
dating my sister, if I had one. I wanted to break up, but she
was too decent, too trusting, and too sweet for me to hurt.
Fortunately, I left teaching at the end of the year, and we
drifted apart.

The few times she’d called, I made excuses about working overtime or being out of town. And yes, I felt like a heel
lying to her.

Leaning forward, I laid my hand on hers. “Anything I
can do, Debbie. You know that”

She smiled weakly. “It’s about my father.”

I wanted to close my eyes and groan, but I didn’t. Her father had been accused of masterminding an armored car robbery at the credit union of which he was a vice president and
disappearing with almost five hundred thousand dollars. I
grew somber, hoping against hope she would not ask what
I knew she had in mind. “I know. I read about it.” I didn’t
know what else to say. When I read the newspaper purporting him to be the brain behind the half-million-dollar heist, I
was stunned. I couldn’t believe that was the same Carl Edwards who had helped my mom get her job with the school
district over twenty years earlier and then showed her how to join the credit union. Though he was a slightly built man,
barely topping five-six, his compassion was that of a giant.

She cleared her throat. “So, you know.”

I shrugged, feeling her pain myself. I had my own account at the credit union, and over the years, Carl Edwards
and I had become friends, frequently lunching together at a
local deli. I’d often wished my old man had been more like
Carl. Hey, I’d often wished my old man had just been
around. “Yeah. I read the papers” I had a dozen other questions, but I kept quiet.

Her face crumpled and tears welled in her eyes. She
fought for control of her voice. “He-He’s missing. We
don’t know where he is. I know it looks bad, but I can’t
believe Father would do something like that”

In a soft voice, I replied, “The police seem to have a pretty
solid case. At least from what I’ve read in the papers”

Dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a lace handkerchief, she agreed. “But it isn’t like Father. He wouldn’t do
that. He wouldn’t steal from anyone, and he wouldn’t just
vanish without a word. He isn’t that kind of man. He’s decent, and caring, and honest. You know that”

I smiled sadly at the little girl struggling to defend the
man who had always been larger than life to her, who had
taken her everywhere with him, who catered to her wishes.
If my old man had done any of that with me, I might feel
differently about him. “I know. You sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed. “You can find
him for us, Tony. Mother is frantic. The doctor has her on
sedatives. I’m afraid she might do something to herself.”

While I hurt for her, I could do nothing to help. The armored car heist was an open case, and the police got their
noses out of joint when PIs butted in.

“I’ll have to talk to my boss, Debbie. I can’t do anything
on my own” While my remark was the truth, I felt as if I
were somehow betraying her.

She looked up at me hopefully and clasped her hands together in front of her. Her face beaming, she gushed, “Thank
you, Tony. Thank you. I told Mother we could count on you.
You’re a wonderful friend”

I felt even guiltier. “Don’t get your hopes up. Like I said,
I’ve got to talk to my boss, and he’s a stickler for playing by
the rules” The last bit stretched the truth, for the fact was
Marty Blevins had only one god, other than vodka, and that
was money.

After Debbie left, I went online to learn what I could
about the heist.

There wasn’t much, a couple of articles from the local
newspapers. And what I learned was not much more than I
had picked up from TV.

The facts alleged that Edwards, accompanied by two
men, all wearing gorilla masks, hit the half-million-dollar
shipment as the armored car was making its weekly delivery to the Tri-District Credit Union. During the robbery, the
second vice president of the credit union, Frank Cooper, was
shot by Edwards. Cooper was the one who identified Edwards.

The three vanished. Edwards’ car, a new Impala, was
never found. Law agencies scoured the city, the county, and
the state, but no sign of the three or the vehicle surfaced.

Later, as I lay in bed with A.B. purring away on the next
pillow, I couldn’t help wondering just what it was that
prompted Carl Edwards into such a bizarre scheme. I
couldn’t argue with Debbie. The Carl Edwards I knew was incapable of such an act. Always smiling, he had an upbeat
outlook on life.

Except, I reminded myself, that one time at the end of
January when we had lunch together at Lamar Deli. He
seemed preoccupied that day even when the waitress served
his favorite barbecue, chipped pork. When I asked if something was bothering him, he shrugged. “No. Not really” He
shook his head. “A couple problems. One could be-” He
shrugged. “Never mind. They’ll straighten out” He paused
and added, “At least, I hope so” Then he went on to tell me
about a fishing trip planned for next month. He gave me a
sly grin. “I haven’t mentioned it to anyone until I talk to my
wife, Margaret, next week. I want to try fly-fishing for bass
on Falcon Reservoir on the border. I’m going to talk her
into going. Teach her to fly-fish” He studied me for a moment. “You fly-fish? It would be a grand trip”

I’d backed away. I enjoy a relaxing fishing trip, but I
can’t see anything relaxing about spending a bundle to
travel a few hundred miles when I can catch fish within ten
miles of where I live.

When I heard of the robbery, I found Edwards’ role difficult, no, almost impossible to believe. And even now,
when just about everything pointed to him, I still found it
hard to accept. Fortunately, I knew Blevins’ Security could
not get involved in the case.

I sighed with relief, rolled over, and pulled the covers up
about my neck, ready for a good night’s sleep. Had I known
what the next day would bring, I wouldn’t have slept at all.

Before leaving the next morning, I nuked some milk for
A.B. and, as usual, left a couple of windows open so the little
guy could watch the world go by and let the fresh air tickle
his whiskers.

I ducked into my garage and hooked up the battery
charger to the 1925 Model T Runabout I’d picked up over
in Vicksburg a couple of years back. There was a car show
the coming weekend, and Janice Coffman-Morrison, my
significant other, who had fallen in love with the Model T,
wanted to attend.

Outside, I climbed into my pickup and headed for work at
Blevins’ Security. I made it a habit of leaving early to beat
the traffic, if such is possible in Austin.

The city, a burgeoning metropolis, is well on its way to
becoming known as the City with Twenty-Four-Hour Traffic Jams.

I grinned as I thought of Janice.

Her aunt, Beatrice Morrison, CEO of Chalk Hills Distillery, one of Texas’ largest producers of fine whiskies, adopted
Janice when her parents died in a car crash when she was just
a child. Sooner or later, Janice would inherit enough money
to pay off half the United States’ debt. Well, maybe not half,
but a chunk.

We had met a few years earlier when I was working for an insurance company. I helped her out of a jam, and we
became friends.

We dated on occasion, and over the years, sort of began
to feel really comfortable around each other. It was a relationship we both preferred until last fall when she brought up
the subject of marriage.

About that time, her aunt had a couple of medical problems, and when she healed, she suggested to Janice they
take a vacation to the gambling casinos at Monte Carlo.
That was the last I’d heard of marriage.

And that was fine with me. I’d been through one divorce
and had no inclination for another. And strangely enough,
Beatrice Morrison’s money did not interest me.

I don’t know if fate was playing tricks on me or simply
leading me along, but just before I reached the office, Janice
called.

As always, she was pleasant and upbeat. Of course, who
wouldn’t be pleasant and upbeat sitting on one of Texas’
largest fortunes? She invited me on a dinner date the next
night at the Starlight Room, a newly remodeled Mediterranean restaurant on the top floor of the Commodore Arms,
an upscale hotel with a dining and dancing venue overlooking the Colorado River and catering to the very rich in
Austin.

“Great,” I replied. “What time do you want me to pick
you up?”

Her voice bubbling, she replied, “How about nine? That’ll
give us time to talk”

Time to talk? A cold chill ran up my spine. I managed to
croak, “Sounds good. See you then” I punched END, and
my life flashed before my eyes.

Marty had not arrived, which was no surprise. Unless he
knew money was waiting, he didn’t lumber in until ninethirty or ten.

I struggled to put Janice out of my mind as I put coffee
on the perk and popped down behind my computer to get a
head start on the day’s mundane task of tailing a joker
cheating on his wife.

To my surprise, Marty waddled in fifteen minutes later,
informing me he had a nine o’clock appointment that could
mean a nice jump in cash flow for the month. His lightweight
suit, as usual, was rumpled, as if he’d worn it a week. He
hadn’t, because the cleaners had delivered it the day before.