Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (19 page)

“What a nice place to be, though,” I said. “Big spread of land out here on the peninsula…”

“I’m a waterman by nature,” he said. “I’d rather be out there fishing it than standing here lookin’ at it.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Anyway,” he added, “I’d like to thank you again for going to all this trouble. ’Specially since we’ve never even met. That was right nice of you.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all,” I said. “Always good to help a neighbor in need.”

“Yep.”

My mind scrambled for something else to say, for some way to stall time. Finally, I decided that perhaps a bit of honesty was in order.

“To tell you the truth,” I said, “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a private investigator,” I said. “I’m working on behalf of Shayna Greer.”

He blinked, stared at me, and then nodded.

“That’s too bad about what happened,” he said finally. “Shayna’s a nice girl. I hate to see her in trouble.”

“So do I,” I replied. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if I could.”

“Sure,” he said. “But I’ve got the generator going out back with lights up for working on the fence. Can I work as we talk?”

“Of course.”

He led the way, and I followed as we crossed the lawn and went around to the back of the barn. Sure enough, two big bright lights were mounted on sawhorses, aimed at a gaping hole in a wire fence. Russell picked up some tools with his free hand, dropped the wire next to a fence post, and went to work.

“So what did you need to know?” he asked, unrolling the wire.

“First of all, tell me about Eddie Ray. How long were you acquainted with him?”

“Well, we started first grade together, in Kawshek. We were buddies, off and on, our whole lives.”

“I understand he moved away at seventeen.”

“He couldn’t wait to get out of here. Hated it. Dropped out of high school and said he was off to make his fortune dealing blackjack in Las Vegas.”

“From what I understand, he tried to make his fortune running drugs out of Mexico.”

Russell was quiet for a moment.

“Shayna told you that?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded.

“Eddie Ray was an odd fellow,” he said. “Grew up dirt poor, without a daddy or a lot of friends. Money was everything to him. It don’t surprise me to hear he was running drugs. Although everything I ever saw him get involved in was legitimate.”

“He tried to start a business with you, didn’t he?”

“After his mama died. She left him the house and a little money, so he came back and tried to turn it into something bigger.”

“And Shayna came with him.”

“Yep. I believe that’s when she first moved here.”

“What was your business involvement with him?”

“We wanted to start a water taxi. Blue crabs were getting too scarce for me to make a living as a waterman, especially since I didn’t have my own rig, but I wasn’t ready to give up going out on the bay. So I let Eddie Ray talk me into buying a tourist boat. He said we could run tours out of Osprey Cove or even St. Michael’s, maybe head up the Choptank to Denton. He made the down payment on the boat, but then we couldn’t seem to get the business off the ground. There was already too much competition. Plus, Eddie Ray had lots of other things going at once, and I didn’t have the wherewithal to finance a new business all by myself. The whole thing folded within a month.”

“But you still have the boat?”

“Yeah, I took a job down at the menhaden plant, refinanced the boat, and took over the payments myself. At least I could still get out on the water, though it’s not the same as working the crabs. I really miss that.”

“And now you’re a farmer.”

He stretched the wire across a wooden fence post and clipped it into place with loud blasts from a staple gun. When he was finished, he looked up at me.

“Yep. ’Bout the only time I get out on the water any more is when I head over to Kawshek for a gallon of milk or an evening of pool. Most of the fishing I do these days is at night, and only after a full day’s work on the farm.”

“That must be difficult for you.”

He shrugged before slamming in a few more staples.

“We get by,” he said. “Can’t complain.”

I reached out to help with the final stapling, since the wire kept curling away from the post. Together, we got it hooked on properly, and then he stapled it tight.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So what was the argument about that you had with Eddie Ray last week?”

He looked at me sideways as he rolled the wire out to the next post.

“How’d you know about that?”

“I’m an investigator,” I smiled. “I investigate.”

“Probably big mouth Murdock. He doesn’t miss a trick around here.”

I didn’t comment.

“Our fight last week. What can I say? Eddie Ray was back, looking for money. Said I owed him the three thousand dollars from the down payment he originally made on the boat.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No way! He owed me that much, at least.”

“How do you figure?”

“When we went into that business together, he had big plans, big words. ‘Gonna make a nice color brochure for us,’ he said. ‘Gonna get tourist contracts with the hotel. Gonna make a name for ourselves.’ My job was driving the boat. His job was to fill that boat with people.”

“You sound angry.”

“’Course I’m angry! When things went sour, old Eddie Ray hadn’t done a single thing he promised. Meanwhile, I had quit my job on a crabbing rig, co-signed the boat loan that put my credit in jeopardy, got all ready for this big new business—and then I didn’t have a thing to show for it! The way I see it,
he
owed me.”

“You must’ve been mad.”

“I already said I was mad!”

“Mad enough to kill him?”

Russell stood up straight and glared at me.

“I’m not accusing you,” I said evenly. “But you know that’s what the police are going to ask you, if they haven’t already.”

He grunted, and then he knelt and took his anger out on the next fence post, pounding in more than enough staples to hold the wire in place. I reached over and helped again, wondering how much more information I could get out of this man before he physically removed me from the premises.

“Tell me about your affair with Shayna,” I said finally.

“Good grief, lady!” he exclaimed, throwing the staple gun to the ground. “Is there anything you don’t know? You’ll be telling me next what I had for breakfast or what brand of cigarettes my wife smokes.”

“Virginia Slims Menthol Lights,” I replied.

For a moment there was a dead silence between us. Then Russell surprised me by throwing his head back and heartily laughing.

“If you don’t beat all,” he said finally, wiping his eyes. “I give up. Anything you wanna know. You’ve obviously done your homework.”

“Tell me about your affair with Shayna.”

“What can I say? It was short but sweet. We had a few good times. Then one night we got caught, so we gave it up. End of story.”

“Was Eddie Ray still living here at the time?”

“Yeah, he was. But Shayna was mad at him for all the stupid business decisions and for taking a mortgage out on the house. I guess she was getting even.”

“How about you?”

He rolled out the wire to the final fence post. It just reached, with only a few inches to spare. I held it while he stapled, neatly securing it from top to bottom.

“I was kind of messed up then,” he said finally. “My dad had passed away, and I was trying to get over that, plus we’d had the move here, and I was feeling my way as a farmer. I was lonely. I
was mad at my wife because she hated it out here and spent all her time back in Kawshek with her mama and them. It was a tough time. Shayna was a warm body, willing and able. That’s all.”

Russell stood and dusted his hands on his pants. He took a board the width and height of the fence post and lined it flush with the sides. Then he began nailing it to the post as extra security for the stapled wire. When he was finished, he turned to me, the expression on his face earnest.

“That’s the only affair I ever had,” he said. “My wife loves me. She forgave me and let it go. It’s all water under the bridge now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go stirring all that up again.”

I nodded.

“I respect your honesty and your privacy,” I said. “I can’t see any reason why this would have to go further unless it relates to Eddie Ray’s murder. Of course, don’t be surprised if the police come around asking you the same questions.”

He went to the next post and nailed on another board.

“Eddie Ray was a real character,” he said after he had finished. “But he was my friend. It tears me up that he’s dead, especially considering how he went. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.”

I looked at Russell and wondered if he was a killer. There was some hostility in him, of course, but also a streak of decency. Either way, I thought my questions here tonight had been answered more than adequately.

“Did you see Eddie Ray the night he died?”

“No, I went to bed fairly early that night,” he said. “I saw him that afternoon, though, when I took the boat over to Kawshek for some bait. He was there in the store, chewing the fat. We said hello, but I didn’t hang around to chat. I wanted to get out on the water and do some fishing.”

“Do you think Shayna killed Eddie Ray?” I asked. He hammered the last board to the last post and then slowly and deliberately put away his tools, turned off the lights, and took
them down. He was quiet for a while. Then he turned to me in the moonlit darkness and spoke.

“For her sake, I hope not,” he said. “But I can’t imagine why anyone else would want him dead. I mean, he could be a big pain sometimes, sure, but he was mostly hot air. Never any real threat to anyone, far as I know.”

Twenty-Two

According to the clock in the kitchen, I made it home with eight minutes to spare. Tom was usually quite punctual, so I expected the phone to ring any moment. In the meantime, I changed into sweatpants and a warm sweater. I made myself a cup of tea, and then I took the portable phone into the living room, started up the fire, and settled down on the sofa. Like clockwork, the phone began to ring the moment I swung my legs up under me and got comfortable.

“Tom?” I answered.

“Callie,” he said, and suddenly I was transported to a place somewhere else, a place that was safe and warm and close to the man at the other end of the phone. “I’m so glad I finally reached you.”

“Me, too,” I said, wondering if he had missed hearing my voice as much as I had missed his. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so often. I’ve been volunteering.”

“That’s okay,” he replied. “This is a good time. My mom’s asleep and my sister’s kids are down eating in the cafeteria.”

“Where are you?”

“I found an empty waiting room on the first floor where I could talk without being intrusive. Otherwise, I’m keeping my phone off. Except for the beeps and hums of all those machines, the ICU is actually a pretty quiet place.”

“What happened, Tom?”

He proceeded to give me the whole story, how his mother had stepped out on her front porch yesterday morning to pick up the paper and crumpled to the ground, unable to speak or to move her right side. Fortunately, she lived on a busy street; and a pedestrian saw it happen and called 911.

“The neighbors contacted my sister first because she lives here in the city, and then she called me. At that point, I was already packed and ready to go to the airport anyway, so I took a look at the schedules and decided I could make the very next flight to New Orleans if I hurried. Of course, that meant I wouldn’t be able to meet up with you after all, but I knew you would understand. I’m just glad that Janine was able to pull a few strings to rearrange my Singapore trip, not to mention deliver my message to you in the club.”

I hesitated, wanting to know more about the blonde with the big engagement ring, but I was afraid it would be tacky to come right out and ask. Instead, I focused on the matter at hand, asking Tom how his mother was doing now. He launched into a detailed description of her condition, talking of things that were foreign to me like ischemia and heparin and embolisms. According to her doctors, she had a better than 50 percent chance of recovery, mainly because they were able to respond so quickly to the stroke by starting her IV medications well within the three-hour limit.

“How does she seem to you now?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. They only let me in every few hours for just five minutes at a time. She’s way out of it, kind of dazed and confused.”

“Can she speak?”

“Not yet. Mostly, she just looks around. It feels like she’s struggling for words, but nothing comes out.”

I let him tell me everything, every detail, knowing that sometimes the best thing we can do for someone in a crisis is
simply to let them recount it—again and again, if necessary—until they are able to get a handle on it. Certainly, I had needed to share my story after Bryan first died with anyone and everyone who was willing to listen.

Tom talked about the hospital and how impressed he had been with everyone on staff there. He described some of the nurses and the doctors, going on about all of the things they had done for her. I let him talk until finally he seemed to have talked it through.