Nuts and Buried (21 page)

Nobody in the small bank recognized the man in the sketch. The bank manager wished us good luck with finding anybody who'd remember the man from a couple of years ago and suggested we go over to Good Ole Boys Barbecue. “Waitresses have long memories. Especially if the man was a good tipper. Or a bad tipper. They'd know. If I was you, I'd head right over there.”

Knowing good advice when we heard it, Hunter and I walked down to the barbecue restaurant on the east end of town, where a huge plaster bull stood outside and inside were hung posters like
WE DON'T CA
LL 911
with a picture of a pistol staring at you. The place had a low ceiling with everything imaginable, having to do with nothing in particular, hanging from it. There were shiny wooden tables with stools to sit on. Lots of flags draped the walls—U.S. and Texas, with the Lone Star flag winning out by about ten to one—if I counted right.

The girl who came over with menus had on blue shorts and a yellow blouse open at the neck, where she'd tied a red scarf. She was young and said her name was Margie and what could she get for us on this fine day.

I showed Margie the sketch of Henry Wade and she shook her head when she learned this was about an incident going back a few years. “I've only been working here six months.”

She went back for an older waitress who'd been around longer.

This one was heavier. Wearing shorts just as short as Margie's. She had the kind of lined face that told you right off she'd seen some doings in her life.

“Carol,” she said and folded her hands in front of her, order pad hanging over her fingers, “you asking questions about somebody?”

We told her why we were there. Hunter asked her to sit a minute, see if she could help us out. I showed her the picture of Wade. She took the sketch in her hands and stared hard at it awhile.

“Why are you asking about this man?” She narrowed her eyes and turned to me, giving me the once-over, then to Hunter. “Since you're a cop, must be serious. He missing or something?”

Hunter shook his head. “The man's dead. We know where he is. It's what he did in the past that concerns us.”

“Why?” Carol was in no hurry to give out information.

“Because we already know he killed a man in Riverville. We're here to see if we can connect him to another killing.”

“Who got killed in Riverville? And what's that got to do with us, here in Ralston?”

“The man and his wife were up here on a hunt when the wife was shot. The man was shot in Riverville.”

She shrugged. “Happens. I mean, the one killed at the game ranch.”

“Nobody's gun matched the bullet that killed her.”

“So you're talking two murders?”

Hunter nodded.

You had to give it to Carol. She wasn't going to get herself tied up in anything that might come back to bite her.

She sighed. “If that's the case, and this man's dead . . .” She tapped the sketch with a long, red fingernail. “I'll tell ya. I remember that face. Mean looking. I didn't want to wait on him, but neither did the other girl who worked here then. Sat a long time after he finished eating, like he was waiting for somebody. Went out looking mad as a wet hen, checking his watch, and stuff like that. Then he was back the next evening. Again, I had to wait on the bastard even though he didn't bother to tip me the night before. I can tell you I wasn't too friendly and shook off some of his fries into the garbage before I brought them out. Same thing. Barbecue with onions
and pickles, fries, Sam Adams. Ate. Sat there waiting again. And then this woman walks in and over to his table. She didn't sit down long. Waved me away when I tried to hand her a menu even though this is a restaurant and I'm not just standing around 'cause I got nothing better to do. Waved me away like I was nothing.” She closed her eyes and blew out her lips. When her eyes opened again, I could see she was holding in a lot of anger, whether at Henry Wade and this woman or at all the people, throughout all her years as a waitress, who treated her as if she could just be waved away.

“What'd they do? The two of them,” Hunter asked.

“He paid his bill and they left. No tip again. That's the last time I saw the man. Good riddance.”

“What about the woman?”

She shook her head. “Never saw her again either.”

“You remember what she looked like?”

Carol shook her head slowly. “You're askin' a couple of years ago. I only saw her the once. The only reason I remember was because she treated me like I was dirt.”

“Can you give it a try? How old, would you say?”

“I don't know. Maybe thirties. Maybe forties. Had on jeans and a suede jacket over the jeans—if I remember right. Big, dark sunglasses. A lotta gold. Long earrings, necklaces. You know how they do. Still, I could be mixin' her up with lots of other women.”

“How tall?”

“'Bout like me. Five feet six and a half, I'd say.”

“That's pretty good.” Hunter was admiring her memory though she claimed she could barely think back that far.

“Brown hair, I'd say. Nothing much else about her. Kind of deep voice. That's it.”

“Color of eyes? Anything she said that you remember?”

She shook her head slowly. “I told ya, she had on sunglasses and didn't take 'em off the whole time she was in here.”

That was all we got out of the Good Ole Boys Barbecue. It felt like plenty.

Back in my truck, Hunter turned to give a tight shake of his fist. “So he was here.”

“And with a woman. Maybe one of the friends on the trip—”

“And what do you want to bet it's going to show the bullet that killed Sally came from Henry Wade's gun.” Hunter was feeling pretty good about then. In true Hunter fashion, he wanted to go back out to the game ranch. He had more questions. That made me mad and I dug my heels in.

I was tired and said it was too late to go back out there, the way Hunter wanted to do. He wanted to talk to Earl James about the woman who came into the barbecue place. See if he could identify her as one of the women on the Wheatley hunt. We had that suede jacket. Lots of gold jewelry. Low voice.

“He's out on that other hunt. Remember? We'll just be spinning our wheels,” I complained, then went on complaining. “I'm tired. This morning I didn't even know I'd be spending the day here in Ralston. Let's go get supper and see this hotel you booked.”

“You're hungry? After all those tacos on top of seafood?”

“That was hours ago.”

“Geez, Lindy. I'll have to start driving you around in a tank pretty soon, you don't cut back on the calories.”

“You think I'm fat?” I used the outrage all women used expressing “fat” anger.

He turned from behind the wheel to grin. He always knew the places to poke to get me mad. “Wouldn't call it fat. I'd call it nice and curvy.”

“Then don't say things like that. Hurts my feelings.”

“You and those feelings of yours. Heard about them since you was six years old.”

I made a noise and nodded fast. “Still got 'em, Hunter. And you better watch yourself or I'll be telling folks about the time you—”

“Okay! Okay! Truce.” Now he was the one bothered. “We'll head toward Austin and come back tomorrow morning early. The sheriff should know about the cartridge by then and we can take a run out to the game ranch. Have one more go at Earl James.”

*   *   *

Austin was Austin and we were just on the outskirts anyway, so I didn't see too much and Hunter didn't want to go to the entertainment district to hear music.

The Hidalgo was a beautiful hotel. A lot better than I expected Hunter would have booked. Our room was spacious. A huge colorful mural hung on the wall behind the bed. This was luxury, but I'd bet anything Hunter had gotten a good price for the night. The thing about Hunter was that he wasn't a cheap, or even frugal, man. He was careful, was all. Liked to get his money's worth. I could have bet anything he'd asked around to a lot of his friends about a place to stay near Austin. He hadn't let me down.

We had supper in their dining room though neither of us was really hungry. I'd been lying earlier, to get my own way and save the ranch for morning. Trouble was we drank a couple of beers—both not used to drinking much—and almost fell asleep at the dining room table. Getting upstairs was a lot of fun, both yawning and making faces. I think I got into my pajamas. He never made it into anything beyond his shorts. Still, it was kind of a night to remember. If for nothing else, for how late we slept the next morning.

Hunter was reaching for me the next morning then looking over my shoulder at the bedside clock. He let me go and gave a “Whoop.”

“Ten thirty!” he yelled and almost bounced me off the bed. “Can't be. No way!”

He ran to the chair where he'd laid his pants, fumbled around in the pocket, and called Sheriff Homer.

“Been checking things out,” he sputtered. “Be right out there. Oh. Good. Give me an hour.”

I was headed for the shower. I'd spotted nice little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a nice body lotion. This was going to be a great shower. Then maybe breakfast in the dining room. I was thinking a kolache—if they had them. Apple or cheese. And a big pot of tea . . .

Hunter read my mind. “No time, Lindy. Sorry. Got to get back to Ralston. The sheriff's calling for the results now. Promised we'd be right out.”

Of course. What was I thinking? Sometimes, I swear, I get off track and just want nice times to keep going.

We were back to Ralston in forty minutes flat. When we walked in, it was like we were already old timers in town. The deputy behind a desk up front smiled wide and bade us “Mornin'.”

“Sheriff said to tell you to go on in. He's out getting some kolache and coffee. Be right back.”

So I had half my breakfast wish though by now I was back on track and just wanted to hear what the forensics people found.

“Got news.” The sheriff bustled into his office and set rolls and coffee in front of both me and Hunter.

Hunter ignored everything else. “What'd he come up with?”

“A match. You got your gun that killed Sally Wheatley. No doubt about it. That cartridge that killed your Wade guy—no match. Different gun. Either you got a man with a lot of guns or you've got two killers.”

Hunter leaned forward and whistled. “That's something. Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Welcome,” the big man said. “What more can I help you with?”

He made a motion with his hand as if pushing the coffee and kolaches at us. I was ready to celebrate and found an apple roll in the bag.

Hunter was thinking. I knew that meant trouble ahead. Maybe a trip to Dallas to find those guests on the Wheatley hunt or something else he'd come up with. What I wanted to do most was call Meemaw, tell her what we'd found, and see what she had to say.

“All I need now is a motive for killing both Wheatleys,” Hunter said.

“From your killer's shot, he was a good marksman. Had to come from up on one of the hills, behind a boulder, I'd say.”

“A Marine,” Hunter told him. “Sharpshooter.”

“And the shot that took out your Marine?”

“Straight through the heart. Looks like it could've been a hundred yards or more. No powder burns. Kill shot.”

“Whew. And here I thought Riverville, Texas, was a quiet little town.”

“Was, until we got these two.”

“From the looks of things,” the sheriff said, “you'd better find that other killer pretty fast. Sounds like a professional hit to me. Not something you want in Riverville or anyplace else. Still, you don't want him gettin' away.”

The sheriff sipped at his hot coffee and set it down to take a big bite of his sweet roll. “To tell you the truth, I'm just as glad to hear the guy who murdered that Wheatley woman is dead. I can close the books on that one now. Don't like loose ends hanging around to devil me for years. Not like we get much in the way of killings here in Ralston. Once in a while. Mostly a husband. Sometimes a wife. But no hired killers.”

Hunter turned to me. “Let's get back out to that game ranch. Ask Earl about that woman—see if he recognizes the description the waitress gave us.”

I nodded. That was agreed on.

“Then maybe I'll have to go into Dallas. Talk to people at Eugene's office. Could be this is all connected to his oil business.”

The sheriff nodded. I mumbled something. I wasn't going to Dallas or anywhere else after we got out of here. I had to get home to my own work.

We thanked the sheriff for his hospitality and help and left, though I did take one more roll—in case I didn't get to eat again that day.