Murder Takes a Break (21 page)

It stood to reason that she would know Big Al.
 
Her father had known just about everyone involved in the shady side of Galveston life, and some of them had been his good friends.
 
Whether I wanted to talk to Cathy about one of those friends was the question I had to answer.

I drove west along Seawall Boulevard, which was practically deserted.
 
The tourists had gone home, and no one else wanted to get outside on such a gloomy day.
 
The S-10's headlights seemed to be absorbed into the wet black street.
 
The dark water of the Gulf slapped into the pilings of the Island Retreat and rolled up on the beach.
 

Cathy had inherited a motel from her father.
 
It was about the only thing of value he'd left to her, but she did a good business most of the time, especially considering that the location wasn't one of the best on The Island.
 
It was down on the west end, just past the area that had once been an Army post named Fort Crockett.
 
If you looked closely when you drove past, you could still identify some of the old Army buildings, but most people had forgotten the post was ever there.

Cathy's motel, the Seawall Courts, was designed to look like a tourist court out of the 1940s.
 
It was composed of individual stucco units on tall legs, and all the units stood in a low area behind the seawall.
 
I supposed that the people who stayed there got a cheap thrill from the idea that in case of a flood they would be stranded in their rooms until the water went down, but it didn't have much of an appeal to me.

I stopped the truck beside the stairs leading up to the manager's unit, where Cathy lived.
 
I hadn't called her in weeks, and I didn't know what to say to her.
 
I sat in the truck for a minute, trying to think of something, and while I was waiting, the clouds opened up.
 
The mist turned to a downpour that drummed on the Chevy's metal roof, and I could hardly see past end of the hood.
 
Just what I needed, I thought.
 
A flood.

I don't carry an umbrella in the truck.
 
I never use one. It just isn't worth the trouble.
 
Sure, an umbrella works pretty well when you're getting out of a vehicle if the wind doesn't turn it inside out within ten seconds, but when you're getting back in and trying to fold the umbrella down at the same time, you usually get as wet as you would have if you hadn't had any cover at all.

I got out of the truck and dashed up the stairs.
 
The rain plastered my hair to my head and soaked through my sweatshirt before I reached the top, where there was a covered landing.
 
I stood there feeling like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me and rang the bell.

Cathy came to the door.
 
Her eyes widened when she saw me, either because she'd been expecting a customer or because I looked like someone who'd just swum across the Gulf from the east coast of Florida.

"You'd better come in," she said, opening the door.

I stepped inside the office, which didn't really look like an office at all.
 
There was a desk with a computer on it, some potted plants that looked as if they might be slightly over-watered, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a small table that held a coffee maker and some Styrofoam cups.
 
That was about all.
 
You don't need much when you run a small operation.
 
I stood there dripping on the rug.

"I'll be back in a second," Cathy said.
 
She left the room and when she came back, she was carrying a large white towel.
 
She handed the towel to me, and I started drying off.

Cathy watched me with a bemused look.
 
She had dark hair with only a touch of gray in it and very blue eyes.
 
I was a sucker for blue eyes.
 
Among other things.

I dried my hair and face, but I couldn't do much about my clothes.
 
I handed her the towel and said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."
 
She draped the towel over the back of the chair at the computer desk.
 
"To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?"

"I guess I should have called," I said.

"You haven't been doing a lot of that lately."

"I know.
 
I —"

I stopped because I didn't have any idea what to say next.
 
My social skills seemed to have deteriorated seriously.

"I talked to Dino not long ago," she said.
 
"He told me that you'd had a little trouble with some old friends."

I hadn't known that Dino was discussing my personal life with Cathy.
 
But then he probably didn't know that I was discussing his personal life with Evelyn, either.

"It had to do with prairie chickens," I said.
 
"And some people I knew a long time ago."

"One of them was a woman."

I decided that I was definitely going to kill Dino.
 
He was becoming a real aggravation to me.

"She was someone I knew in high school," I said.
 
"She'd changed.
 
Or maybe she hadn't."

Cathy laughed.
 
"Haven't we all changed?" she said.

I wasn't sure, but I said, "I guess so.
 
Have you had lunch?"

"Yes, and I just happen to have a little something left over.
 
Would you like to eat?"

"Sure."
 
One of my problems was that I didn't eat regularly.
 
"That is, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind.
 
It'll be nice to have someone to talk to on a day like this."

She led the way to her small kitchen, with a wooden table big enough for only two chairs.
 
I sat in one of them while she rummaged around in the refrigerator.

"Cold Virginia ham, a little cheese, a few carrot sticks, and some homemade whole wheat bread," she said, setting a plate on the table in front of me.
 
"I don't have any Big Red, but I can offer you some wonderful tap water."

"Water is fine."
 
I looked at the bread.
 
"I didn't know you were a baker."

"I bought a bread machine.
 
I've probably gained five pounds in the last two weeks."

If she'd gained any weight at all, I couldn't tell it.
 
Her jeans seemed to fit her with rigorous precision.
 
When I began to eat, she sat in the chair opposite me, put her elbows on the table, and leaned forward.

"Now," she said, "tell me why you're here."

"I wanted to see you," I said.

"And I'm glad.
 
But somehow I think there's more to it than that."

The ham was tender and tasty, and the cheese was mellow.
 
The bread tasted like the loaves my grandmother used to bake in her oven when I was eight or ten years old.
 
I hated to spoil the food and the good feeling I had about being with Cathy again by talking about the case, but I didn't really have any choice.
 
So I just plunged right in.

"I'm working on something that involves Big Al Pugh and Henry J.," I said.

"I thought it must be something you were working on."

"It's not that I didn't want to call you or come by," I said.
 
"It's . . . well, it's sort of hard to explain."

"Look, Tru, you've told me all about your sister and how you think you didn't come through for her.
 
But that was a long time ago, and it's time you got over it.
 
Besides, you had no way of knowing that she was in any danger.
 
You can't save the world all by yourself."

I knew that.
 
It was why I'd quit trying.

"And you can't just hide yourself in that old house of Dino's, either," Cathy went on as if she'd read my mind.
 
"What good does it do you to bury yourself out there?"

I'd asked myself that question often enough, but I couldn't answer it.
 
It was easy for me to see that Dino needed to get a life.
 
It was a lot harder to realize that I needed one, too.
 
And on those days when I realized it, it was almost impossible to make myself want to do anything about it.

"Well?" Cathy said.

I held up what was left of the slice of whole wheat bread she'd given me.

"This is great bread," I told her.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her.
 
A bad sign.

"I'm not going to let you off that easily," she said.
 
"I'm not going to tell you what you want to know until you promise me you'll begin getting out more.
 
Maybe coming into town once a day.
 
You don't have to come by and see me.
 
You don't have to see me at all.
 
But you have to do
something
."

It would be an easy promise to make.
 
But it wouldn't be easy to keep.

"How about if we try something simpler?" I asked.
 
"I promise I'll come to see you at least once a week, maybe take you out to dinner or to a movie.
 
That is, if you want to see me that often."

She uncrossed her arms.
 
"Oh, I want to see you, Tru.
 
I want to see you very much.
 
I'm just not sure you want to see me."

"I do.
 
I just have trouble with my follow-through now and then."

"How do I know you're not just saying that because you want me to tell you something about Big Al?
 
Or because you like my whole wheat bread."

"I like the bread, all right," I said.
 
"I've eaten two slices."

"Don't joke about this, Tru."

"You're right.
 
I shouldn't joke.
 
I mean what I said, and I didn't say it just to get you to tell me something or just because I like your cooking.
 
I said it because I like you and because I want to see you more often."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me," I said.

She leaned forward onto the table again and her face relaxed into a smile.

"I guess I'll have to," she said.

B
ig Al had met Henry J. in high school, and they immediately knew they were soul mates.

"They both liked to work out," Cathy said.
 
"They both liked to pick on the kids that were smaller and weaker.
 
They both liked to sneak through the teachers' parking lot and key their cars."

"Just your normal teenagers," I said.

"Not exactly.
 
Did you know that Big Al started her career in high school?"

"No.
 
But it makes sense.
 
She's been on the shady side of the law for as long as anyone remembers."

"She sold dope on campus.
 
They never caught her, though."

"How did she get away with it?"

We'd moved from the kitchen to the living room, and we were sitting on the couch, halfway watching the football game while Cathy told me what she knew about Big Al.
 
I didn't pay much attention to football these days, but it appeared that the Dallas Cowboys were heading into the play-offs again if they could manage to keep the majority of their starters out of jail until after the season was over.

"Big Al got away with a lot of things because she was smart," Cathy said.
 
"And she got away with a lot more because Henry J. wasn't."

"That doesn't exactly make sense," I said.

Cathy disagreed.
 
"Of course it does.
 
Think about it."

I thought about it, but I didn't get anywhere.
 
Neither did the Cowboys, who had just run three notably unsuccessful plays, losing big yardage.
 
They were forced to punt from their own ten.
 
Maybe they weren't going to the play-offs after all.

"Are you thinking, or are you watching that game?" Cathy asked.

"Both," I said.
 
"But I can't come up with an answer."

"Big Al let Henry J. take the falls for her.
 
That's how.
 
He spent a lot of time in court and never graduated from high school.
 
But Big Al did."

"She must have stuck by him, though," I said.
 
"They're still together."

"Wouldn't you stick by someone who wasn't smart enough to figure out how he was being used?
 
You'd never know when you'd want to use him again."