The Puzzle of Piri Reis (22 page)

Little feller? Jefferson Davis was six feet long if he
were an inch. Besides, I couldn't have made a sudden
move if I'd wanted to but I did manage to down the rest
of my bourbon in one gulp. I glanced around at Janice
who was also knocking down her drink, dingy tumbler or not. If I could have stilled my shaking hand, I would
have poured myself another drink.

Without bothering to look at us, the black snake
paused at the saucer, then began slurping at the whiskey.

Jake reached down and stroked the snake. "I got
more in the bedroom. You folks want to see them?"

Eyes fixed on the rat snake, Janice and I rose and
slowly backed away. "No, thanks, Jake. I appreciate your
help. And don't get up. We can show ourselves out"

Back in the car, we gulped down our cups of wine
and refilled them once again.

Janice groaned and shivered. "Snakes! Ughh! Can
you imagine living with snakes?"

We headed back to Devil's Backbone, ready to get
back to San Antonio. I glanced at my watch. Almost
three. Yep, I told myself, I could eliminate Cobb from
the murder of Lamia Sue. First, he was up here all afternoon, and second, he couldn't possess the map, for
that was the reason he had driven to Devil's Backbone.

Just as we reached the narrow stretch of road on the
crest of Devil's Backbone, a bright red off-roader sitting about three feet off the ground roared out of a side
road heading directly for us.

Janice screamed. "Tony!"

One of the advantages of the Miata is instant, and
I mean instant, acceleration. I tromped the pedal, and
the small car shot forward. Behind us, tires squealed. I
glanced in the rearview to see the large Ford pickup
bounce off a guardrail, then back up and take after us.
By now, we were almost half a mile ahead.

Janice looked at me in alarm. "Tony! What's going
on? What was that all about?"

I shook my head, keeping my attention focused on
the road ahead. The little twin-cam, four-cylinder engine put out a hundred and forty horsepower, and I was
whipping every one of those horses as hard as I could,
but slowly the big off-roader drew closer.

We were lucky. Most of the traffic on the narrow
road was coming our way. After-work traffic, I guessed.
Ahead, I spotted an S-curve. I glanced in the rearview
and my heart jumped into my throat. The sneering grill
of the off-roader was snarling down at us. Then we hit
the curve.

The Miata swept through it like it was tied to the
road. When we hit the straightaway, the Ford pickup
was a hundred yards back. Even as I watched, the
pickup leaped forward. I noticed there was no front
license plate. Through the windshield of the offroader, I spotted a rectangular shape on the rear window. A dealer's plate.

That's when I remembered the eighteen-wheeler
the previous Tuesday that ran me off the road. It also
had a dealer's license on its rear window.

Janice was gripping the dash so hard, her knuckles
were white. My brain raced. Once we left the S-curves,
we were dead meat.

We sped through a couple more S-curves, picking
up distance, then quickly losing it. As we came out of
the last curve, I spotted a pickup at a three-way intersection waiting for us to pass.

And then I had a crazy idea as we flashed past a
road sign indicating another three-way intersection a
mile ahead. The Miata couldn't outrun the big Ford, but
it could outmaneuver it.

"Hold on," I muttered through clenched teeth.

Janice looked at me in alarm.

"We're turning left up ahead" I began slowly to
back off the accelerator.

She cut her eyes at the rapidly approaching pickup.
"Hurry, Tony. He's catching us. Don't slow down!"

Slowing still more, I muttered, "That's what I want."

Her eyes grew wide. "You what?"

Teeth clenched, I flexed my fingers about the wheel.
"You'll see. Just hold on"

By now, the Ford pickup was less than thirty yards
back. I could have sworn the chrome grill was leering in
anticipation. The turnoff loomed ahead. I slowed more.
In the rearview, I saw the driver's snarling grin.

I figured all he wanted to do was nudge us with those
overgrown tires, but he was the one in for a surprise.

Fortunately, the intersection was empty. We were
less than a hundred yards from it. Moments later, we
reached it. At the last moment, I tapped the brakes and turned the wheel. As if fastened to the end of a chain,
the little roadster whipped around the corner, tires
squealing slightly, the rear end threatening to break
loose. Quickly, I corrected for the slide.

Behind us, we heard an ear-splitting screech of rubber. I was too busy getting the Miata back in the right
lane to pay attention to what was taking place behind.

Janice gasped. "Tony!"

Then I heard a load thump, and the chilling shriek
of metal against asphalt and gravel ripped through the
wind buffeting my ears. I glanced into the rearview
mirror to see the off-roader sliding to a halt on its side
off the shoulder of the road. I blew out through my
lips. "That was close," I muttered.

Sagging back in her seat, Janice groaned. "Don't
tell me. That had something to do with the case you're
working on?"

With a sheepish grin, I nodded. "Having second
thoughts about coming down here?"

She studied me for a moment, a wry expression drawing tiny lines in her forehead. She glanced at the floorboard for the cup she had dropped when the off-roader
jumped us. Without a word, she filled it with Zinfandel,
and offered it to me. "Not a bit," she replied with a broad
smile.

Throughout the remainder of the drive into San Antonio, the dealer's license on both the off-roader and the
eighteen-wheeler nagged at me. Obviously, the same individual was behind both attempts to scare me off.

Now, I'm not too swift, but one name leaped into my head. There was only one person among the suspects who I knew might have the contacts for the offroader and the eighteen-wheeler-Joe Hogg.

But why? Just so he could have some university
name a building after him? He might be crass and crude
and coarse, but he was sharp enough not to take a
chance on riding the needle by murdering two people.

Still, I planned on another talk with Mr. Hogg.

After dinner, we headed back to the Grand Isle Inn
where the tenth annual Bracero Festival was in full
swing. And we were swept up in the gala festivities until just after ten when Janice's cell phone rang.

Her aunt had been taken back to the hospital.

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the inn, staring
at the taillights of her Miata disappearing into the traffic. Part of me was relieved she had mentioned nothing
about marriage, but curiously enough, another part of
me was disappointed. Had I done something to make
her change her mind?

Puzzled at my own feelings, I turned back to the hotel.
And I had always thought women were hard to figure.

Instead of basking in the wonderful afterglow of an
unforgettable night with Janice, I spent the morning
with a pot of coffee and two bagels trying to nail down
exactly where I stood on the case, since, in my thickheaded opinion, it had escalated from theft to murder.

Leo Cobb, who had been one of my main suspects,
I put on the back burner. Of course there was always the possibility he had an accomplice, and the Devil's
Backbone was nothing more than an elaborate alibi.
But I didn't think so. I could be wrong but Cobb didn't
strike me as being that inventive.

Of course, he was at Odom's the night of the old
man's death. That he admitted. He didn't have to, for
no one had seen him. If he had killed Odom, the last
thing he would admit was being there.

Ervin Maddox had the opportunity. His whereabouts
were unaccounted for around the time of the murder.
Motive? Jealously initiates many regrettable and foolish acts. I figured he was a good prospect, depending on
just where he was after disappearing from the museum.
I checked my notes. From around a little after eight
to nine o'clock, he was missing. I paused, peering into
space and wondering if the cab driver, Casey, had turned
up. I jotted a note to call him that afternoon to identify
Ervin Maddox as his fare that night at 2112 Fairchild.

Then there was Hogg. With him it was ego, a drive,
a desire to possess that which very few could. The map
was simply a means to an end, his name immemorial
on some brick-and-glass edifice on a university campus. And he was, by his own admission, outside the
mansion. I doubted if he went inside, for Edna would
have noticed him.

And speaking of Edna, I had several questions for
her. First, why didn't she tell us of Cobb's threat to
Odom? Second, was Lamia Odom getting additional
money from Odom? Third, why was she climbing into
Hogg's Rolls Royce that night?

And then there was Ted Odom. He had both opportunity and motive. From what I had learned, he stayed
current with his bookies, so he wasn't faced with the
prospect of coming up with unmanageable amounts of
money.

And then the good father-Papa Poggy. He had reason, but unless Veronica Kinton was a much more accomplished liar than I thought, he had no opportunity.

Lamia Sue was dead, and I was left with Cobb, Maddox, Hogg, and Ted Odom.

At that moment, my cell rang. It was Casey the cab
driver. When I questioned him about his fare the night of
October second, he muttered, "Yeah, I think I remember."

I detected a devious note in his tone. "Think?"

"Yeah, but sometimes driving around, things get
clearer."

With a chuckle, I asked. "How much driving
around?"

"Oh," he drawled, "maybe twenty bucks' worth."

"Tell you what, Casey. Give me fifteen minutes, and
I' 11 meet you out front of Grand Isle Inn."

"You got it."

Casey arrived ten minutes later. He hooked his thumb
at the back door. "Hop in."

I opened the front door and offered his twenty bucks.
"I'm not much in a mood for a drive. How's this?"

He arched an eyebrow and deftly pulled the bill
from my fingers. His face lit in animation. "Yep,
picked this dude up in front of that spooky old house at 8:40 or so. Dropped him off at the museum around
nine."

"What did he look like?"

His face froze in a frown. He scratched his head.
"Well, let's see..."

I handed him another twenty. A big smile played over
his weathered face. "Slick looking. Like some college
professor, you know, wearing one of them tweed coats
with leather elbows. White hair smoothed back. A real
high-class dude" He shrugged. "Suppose that's what he
is. Going to that museum and all."

I grinned. Tweed jacket and leather elbows. Exactly
what Maddox was wearing that night.

After Casey drove away, I headed for the garagenext stop, Ervin Maddox.

If Ervin Maddox was surprised to see me, he hid it
well. He arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Ah, Mr.
Boudreaux. This is an unexpected pleasure." Dressed in
a Polo shirt, running pants and shoes, he stepped back
from the door. "Please excuse my dress. I wasn't expecting guests. Won't you come in?"

I stepped into the foyer. "I won't take long, Ervin."

He shook his head emphatically. "Take your time. I
was watching the ballgame" He gestured to the den.
"We can go in there"

"That isn't necessary. We can talk here"

A frown wrinkled his pale forehead. "If you wish."

Pulling out my note cards, I read aloud. "On October second, the Alamo Cab Company picked up a fare
in front of the Wingate Museum of Art just after eight
and took him to 2112 Fairchild. Around 8:40, the San Antonio Cab Company picked up a fare at 2112
Fairchild and dropped him off at the museum at nine.
The fare wore a tweed jacket with leather elbows" I
glanced at Maddox whose face had frozen in alarm. "I
know for a fact you left the lecture room at eight
o'clock and did not return until around nine. The driver
gave a description that is a perfect fit for you. I've no
doubt when I show him your picture, he can identify
you."