Other People's Baggage (9 page)

SWITCH BACK: FIVE

  

I didn't have a lot of time and even less to go on. If Bea wasn't going to inherit, and she had loved Austin since toddlerhood, then why would she kill him? Must be a reason. And if she was holding the deadly scissors while the body was still warm, and the county had enough to arrest her, then I was pretty sure she did it. Aside from every hillbilly stereotype on cable tv, most law folks know what they're doing. Sure, that sheriff looked sheepish, but also quite serious. And probably not the type to tolerate a meddling islander on a scooter.

But since he was driving Bea downtown, plus booking and all the accoutrements that followed, I probably had a good four hours to poke around. Take him all day before he'd even hear about me, and really, who would tell?

I pulled out my cell and dialed Tod Hayes, Ballantyne Administrator. He picked up on the third ring. He didn't even say hello.

“How is it you're there not one full day and trouble's already found you? Not sure that's what Mr. Ballantyne had in mind when he sent you as the welcome wagon.”

“I'm not a welcome wagon.”

“Clearly,” he said.

I could picture him in his tidy office beneath the stairs at the Ballantyne manse, sitting ramrod straight in a crisp white shirt in a room right out of the Addams Family.

“But wait, what trouble are you talking about?” I asked.

“The lawsuit, of course. Unless you're in more than one kind of trouble.”

How did he hear about the lawsuit already? They hadn't even drawn up the papers. “Who told you about that? I just found out not ten minutes ago.”

“Reporter out of Dallas called for a comment. Said there's a rumor ‘out-of-state carpetbaggers were swooping in like buzzards over roadkill.' I believe you are the buzzard in that scenario.”

“You are shitting me,” I said. I snatched the scooter helmet off the back with one hand while I balanced the phone with the other.

“I shit you not,” Tod said. “Mentioned Tate Keating's name, says they're working together.”

Tate Keating handled the social scene for the Islander Post on Sea Pine Island. And by social scene, I meant mostly Ballantyne events and how to make them sound scandalous.

“Better clean this up before nightfall,” Tod said. “I kept it from Mr. Ballantyne while he's out shooing turtles back into the sea, but you know someone will track him down.”

“I'm on it. Can you do me a favor? Find out—”

“No more favors. I've got three words for you: Mitzi's Baby Shower.”

Right. I'd actually forgotten that tiny favor. When one of the most-cherished and wealthy Ballantyne patrons asks you to host her highly anticipated baby shower, you smile and say you'd love to. But once I booked my flight to Dallas, Tod then inherited the not so enviable task of hosting the shower—for Mitzi the Labradoodle and fifteen of her best canine friends. Once Tod reminded me of that tidbit, I was kind of surprised he even took my call.

“Well, yes, there's that,” I said, “but you refused to go to Texas.”

“They kill people in Texas.”

After the casual conversation about the death penalty this morning, I couldn't argue with that one. “If you could find out anything on Austin Carter's death, I'd be forever in your debt. His murder created this salmagundi. From the Ballantyne inheriting the town to the Ballantyne stealing it.”

“I believe that's your specialty, and you better get cracking. Tate said he had something spectacular lined up for Sunday's edition. And you're already forever in my debt. I have little faith you'll live long enough to pay it off.”

“Oh calm down and help me already,” I said, but I was talking to myself.

I scrolled through the contact list on my phone and called the Islander Post. Tate didn't answer his extension, so I left him an urgent message to call me back. Then I strapped on my helmet and puttered down the drive. After being Director of the Ballantyne for over seven years, you'd think I'd be better prepared for reporters who can sniff out a scandal faster than a beagle searching for bacon.

Speaking of bacon, I got back into town right before lunch on Friday afternoon. And though I'd just had a platter of fresh baked scones, I decided to drop into the restaurant first. The best place to find locals who like to gossip. Plus, I'm not one to turn down an opportunity to eat a meal.

I tucked the scooter back in its spot as Rita poked her head out the front door of the Little Oak Inn. “Just put your suitcase up in your room. Took my girl a while to find it, but she finally plucked it out of the international bin. You do know they make them with wheels now?”

I thanked her and debated running up for a clothes swap, but the restaurant was only one door down. I was already out front and a hot mess, so I decided to wait until I got cleaned up for the Ball later that afternoon.

The interior décor of the Little Oak Grill matched the outside. All western and Texas and wood. A long bar made natural wood spanned the entire back wall with tree stumps for barstools. A dozen matching tables were scattered across the main floor which was covered in crushed peanut shells.

I ponied up to the bar, grateful to be in the air conditioned room, even if surrounded by more longhorns than at a UT football game.

“Howdy, little lady,” an older gent in a well-worn Stetson said. “Getcha some tea?”

“Pepsi would be better.”

He opened an old-fashioned Coke bottle and set it in front of me. “This here is Coke country. Hope it'll do.”

Of course it is. I nodded and smiled and tried to look charming even though my hair stuck to my forehead in a most unattractive manner. And I'm pretty sure I had a small pool of sweat on my upper lip. “Kind of quiet around Coke country. Where did all the shopkeeps go?”

“Town's in a bit of flux. But we've still got the best burger in the state.”

“I'll take it. Medium rare with cheddar and a splash of barbeque sauce if you've got it.”

“My sauce is homemade,” Gilda said as she slid onto the stool next to mine. “It's taken first place at the State Fair three years running.”

“Your sauce?” I asked, while the old cowboy went in back, presumably to cook up my lunch.

“Yep. The Grill's been in my family some sixty years now. I bought the gift shop on the other side of the inn when the owner retired, oh, I'd say fifteen years ago, I guess. I run the gift shop most mornings and spend my afternoon's over here.” She patted her plump thighs and laughed. “Should probably consider putting more salads on the menu, but this here is Texas, and I do love my barbeque.”

“I met the Carter sisters this morning,” I said and took a deep swig of my Coke. “Seems they aren't all that happy about the Ballantyne inheriting the town.

“Those girls have been squabbling like territorial hens, pecking each other until their feathers fly off. And it's gotten even uglier since poor Austin passed away. Sin versus redemption. Half the town wants the sin, the other half the redemption.”

“And no one minded giving up their businesses?” I asked. “Seems like that might create animosity toward Austin.” And give nearly every Little Oak resident a motive to kill him. Those left, anyway.

“Austin was a gentleman and a businessman,” Gilda said. “Offered most of us a nice deal. Bought out the leases and a guaranteed job at the new venture.” She leaned forward, even though we were alone at the bar. “A hundred thousand dollars. And if they wanted to move, he'd buy their house. Can't beat that.”

“Not in this economy,” I said.

Gilda went into the kitchen and emerged with my lunch platter: a juicy burger and a mound of skinny fries. It took all my willpower to eat slowly.

“Folks took those deals before Austin could even sign the contracts,” she said.

“That's a whole lot of money going around,” I said. “But still. Might be tough to be forced to give up your life's dream to work in a church. Or deal cards at a casino. Certainly someone wasn't happy.”

“Well, sure. Miss Rita didn't quite like it,” Gilda said. “Thought they were missing a big opportunity to keep her landmark hotel, which fits with either the church or casino.”

Seems Gilda herself might fall into that same landmark category, since her gift shop and restaurant were part of the same landmark building as the hotel. Her businesses also fit with either a church or a casino. I noticed Gilda said Austin offered “most” a great deal and if “they” wanted to move.

“Gilda, you mentioned something about a revival?”

“Oh sure, Reverend Kincaid's holding a tent revival tomorrow to get folks excited for the Light of the Rock. Everyone's coming out for it and the ribbon cutting's supposed to be this weekend. Unless they're headed to Chief Fannin's Broken Spoke Casino Rally. I guess just as many folks happy to cut that ribbon as well.”

Gilda grabbed a Coke for herself. “But enough about the town, what happened with Bea?”

I started to fill her in on all things Bea and the Sheriff, when Zibby came through the door, breathless as if she ran all the way from the ranch.

“Oh, Elliott! You have to go down to the Town Hall,” she said. “It's all gone to hell in a picnic basket!”

SWITCH BACK: SIX

  

I took one last longing bite of my burger and followed Gilda and Zibby out the door. They hurried through town, oblivious to the dry heat baking the street like a gigantic pizza oven.

I, on the other hand, was not oblivious. The poly fifty-fifty tee I wore neither breathed nor wicked away. But it did do a nice job of insulating my body heat. On the bright side, I probably lost a solid five pounds on the way to the Town Hall.

We walked into a very packed square room set up with about a hundred metal folding chairs. Nearly every seat was filled, and it seemed as if each person had something to say. All at the same time. A stage at the front of the room held a wood podium where two men stood, one on each side.

Easy to figure out who they were. The Reverend Kincaid, a tall white man with a perfect tan and movie star teeth, wore a beautifully tailored suit, a bright sash across his shoulders, and held an oversized white bible in his hand. Chief Fannin, an equally tall man but with dark skin and jet black hair in two long braids, wore jeans and a plaid shirt with a suede vest with feathers dangling from the fringe.

Gilda went straight to Jolene at the front of the room, gave her a big hug and took a seat on the right side of the room, the Reverend's side. I noticed my hotel host, Rita, next to Kathy Lee, front row on the other side. I slid into a seat in the back with Zibby.

The Reverend pounded the podium with an oversized gavel. “Folks, let's simmer down. No sense getting worked up when we need to get this worked out. The Light of the Rock teaches toleration with those who need our guidance to lead them away from sin. Shall we pray?”

“I mean no disrespect, Reverend Kincaid, but the Big Spring Choctaw tribe does not promote sin,” the Chief said. “We offer a way to bring a new life to our people, and to yours.”

“No way the Lord or the state will allow it,” Jolene said, standing to address the room. “Those God-fearing folk shut down Speaking Rock lickety-split, and they stand with us in this battle. Y'all are wasting breath doing the devil's work.”

Kathy Lee jumped to her feet. “Stop preaching as if the good Lord is only on the right side of the room, for Pete's sake. We've got the votes to pass the casino bill, and we'll be next in line to open after Speaking Rock. So sit down and let us get on with it.”

“Yeah, sit down, Jolene,” a woman in the crowd shouted. “You're not the only God-fearing woman in this town. Stop acting like it.”

“You watch your mouth, supporting that sin wagon hitching its way into town,” another voice called out.

That didn't even make sense. I leaned over to speak to Zibby. “Why are they arguing when the Ballantyne owns Little Oak now?”

The man in front of me stood so fast, his chair pushed back and cracked into my knee. “Hold on. What do you mean someone else owns this town?”

“Who? Town's been in the Carter family since they pulled up in a stagecoach. Someone swooping in now Austin's dead and gone?”

“Indeed,” another voice added. “City folk with their fancy private jets and money bags, I bet.”

Private jet? I remembered circling Waco for two hours just last night, and based on the meal for purchase option, I'm pretty sure I was flying commercial.

“We did not steal anything,” I said, stepping into the aisle. I smoothed my Texas tee and tried to look friendlier. “We're not city folk. We're a reputable charity on Sea Pine Island, South Carolina. We help children, the underprivileged. We're spiritual people. I'm a spiritual person. Austin Carter generously donated this lovely town to us in his will.”

“We'll see about that, red-headed woman,” the Chief said. “We do not take kindly to strangers stealing land that does not belong to them. Our history has taught us to fight harder for what is ours. This land belongs to the Choctaw.”

“You want to build a casino, not a reservation,” someone piped up on the church side of the room. “And Big Spring isn't even a real tribe. We're building a church and you can't stop us.”

“Like hell,” someone from the tribe side said.

“Friends, you're forgetting about the Ballantyne,” Gilda said. “Seems they may not want either one.”

“I don't think Edward Ballantyne gambles much,” Zibby said. Her hands gripped her purse strap so tight, I feared her knuckles might snap right off.

“We've got that covered,” the Chief said. “Filing an injunction first thing Monday.”

“A joint injunction,” Kathy Lee added. “Followed by a lawsuit against the Ballantyne for fraud. Throwing in collusion and coercion as well.”

“About time somebody did something,” the man in front of me said. “My store's been closed nearly three months, I'm ready to move on already. Can't sit around all day every day counting weeds, now can I?”

I put my head in my hands and tried to breathe slowly. This was not what I envisioned for my quick trip to Texas. And certainly not what Mr. Ballantyne expected. More lawsuits and jail time being bandied about than a Law and Order episode.

“Something illegal going on? Maybe this town needs a watchdog,” a man said as he walked down the aisle, toward the podium. He looked casual, but nicely tailored, in slacks and a sport coat. And cowboy boots instead of dress shoes.

“Bobby Wainwright, how dare you show your face,” Kathy Lee said. “You get the hell out of here.”

“Language, Kathy Lee,” Jolene said in a stern but syrupy drawl. “The Lord's listening.”

“And He isn't afraid of the word ‘hell,'” Kathy Lee snapped back.

Jolene ignored her. “Good to see you, Bobby. Been awhile.”

He tipped his gray cowboy hat. “Jolene, always a pleasure.”

I started rubbing my temples to ease the tension that arrived with one Bobby Wainwright, county prosecutor and Carter nemesis.

“You can't be here,” Kathy Lee said with such intensity, I thought she might actually stomp her foot. “This is private.”

“Sign out front says meeting's open to the public,” Bobby said.

“It sure as shit doesn't mean you,” Kathy Lee said.

Chief Fannin moved closer to Kathy Lee in the front row to form a united front. “I must agree with Miss Carter, prosecutor. This is a town meeting and you are not a resident.”

“Neither are you, Timothy Fannin,” Bobby said. “Not sure how you weaseled into Miss Carter's good graces, but makes me wonder.”

“My graces are none of your business,” Kathy Lee said.

“They used to be,” Bobby said. “Some habits are hard to break, like watching out for you. I may think your brother hasn't got a lick of sense when it comes to most things, no offense, Jolene, but I agree with him on this casino idea.”

“None taken,” Jolene said. She smiled a real charmer and sidled closer to the middle of the aisle. “You boys fighting doesn't bother me one bit. And it's encouraging to hear you taking up our cause against these sin wagers.”

“We are not waging sin, Miss Jolene,” Chief Fannin said. “We bring jobs to your town, and help our own people, a solid boost to both economical structures. We've long been in this region and our survival is pivotal to this program, thanks to Jolene and Austin Jr.”

“But not Austin Sr., right?” Bobby asked. “Word is he didn't take to you very well. Was doing a bit of research on your ‘Big Spring Choctaw' band and the results weren't coming in favorable.”

Now there's an interesting tidbit. I made a note to do my own research on the Chief. While the Reverend Kincaid had salesman written all over his fancy religious sash, I hadn't thought about a wolf in Chief's clothing.

“None of this concerns you, Bobby,” Kathy Lee said, her face as red as her dress.

“With both your parents, um, gone, I guess, someone needs to keep an eye on the family,” Bobby said.

“Well, it sure as hell won't be you,” Kathy Lee said. “Now where's my mama and why are you here?”

“Getting booked about now, I imagine. I came down to see what else I could find out.”

Kathy Lee looked as if she'd been slapped at the mention of him booking her mother for murder. “You mean what else you can make up.”

He surveyed the crowd, slowly making eye contact with nearly everyone in the first two rows. “If anyone has information on what happened to Austin, or anything else funny, you call me anytime.”

“What do you mean?” Gilda asked. “I thought you had all the evidence you needed to arrest Bea.”

“I do have plenty, ma'am. But there's always more. You hear me talking about the underworkings of this casino, and you've got this church project. Now I hear about a charity. Seems something's going on in Little Oak.”

“Stop digging up trouble where none exists,” Rita said, putting her arm on Kathy Lee's for reassurance. “You've done enough to this family.”

He stared at Kathy Lee and their eyes locked for what seemed like a full thirty seconds. “You know where to find me.” He strolled back down the aisle casually, not a care in the world. He slowed slightly when he reached me standing near the back row. “I'll be waiting to see the lawsuit filed against you. Might be some action the law needs to take.” He tipped his hat and walked out.

“Oh Elli, what will happen to the Ballantyne if Edward goes to jail?” Zibby said. She put her hand against her pale cheek, and looked faint. “I just can't stand it. First Bea, now Edward. Do you think I'll be next?”

I stepped back to my seat and hugged Zibby. “It'll be fine, Zibby. I promise. No one's going to jail. Bea will be out sometime today, you heard the sheriff this morning.”

“You're right,” she said. “Supposed to be out by the time the shrimp cocktail makes its rounds at the ball tonight.”

“See, we'll celebrate with cocktails,” I said. “And I'll take mine without the shrimp.”

“Sweetie, this town's dry,” a woman next to me said.

“Dry?”

“Yep. No alcohol sold or consumed.”

“Heaven help me,” I said just as my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID: Mr. Ballantyne.

“Heaven indeed,” the woman said.

“Just knock it off like you're the only folks getting in…” another woman said.

I quickly slipped outside and answered the call. “Mr. Ballantyne, sir. So good to hear from you.”

“Howdy, Elliott! How's things down on the ranch?” He asked in a booming voice. “You getting a big Texas welcome? Folks in Texas do things big, I hear.”

“Yes, sir. A mighty big Texas greeting.”

“I'm hearing grumbles about trouble with Bea Carter. I'm worried over Zibby, you know she loves Bea like a sister. I'm afraid she shouldn't have made the trip. You watching over her? Her heart isn't what it used to be.”

“One slight tiny hiccup with Bea Carter. I've got Zibby, sir.” I walked down the street at a pretty quick clip, hoping he couldn't hear the hollers from the hall.

“What I wanted to hear. You take good care of her. I'm leaving for Mumbai tomorrow. Want to make sure this is wrapped up tight before I go.”

“Zibby's great. The town's great. It's all great.”

“Keep up the good work, my dear Elliott!”

“Yes, sir,” I said, but he was already gone.

I looked around the abandoned street. It felt like a western town right off a Hollywood set. Ranch fencing made from wooden posts fronted the sidewalks as if you might tie up your horse while you shopped. Each storefront unique, some with pitched roofs, some with mock saloon doors. I walked up the sidewalk and wondered what made the Carter clan ditch their lively town after all these years.

And why wasn't anyone worried about Bea Carter? Did she really kill her husband? She seemed nice enough, and evidence or not, I couldn't see any motive. She just didn't have a horse in this rodeo. Unless that was her plan. She knew about the Ballantyne clause. So she kills Austin so neither child got their way, basically washes her hands of the whole thing. Might be pretty darn clever.