Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) (31 page)

Meanwhile, in the last few minutes, seven more customers had entered the room. Fortunately, five of them took one glimpse at the crowd and returned to their vehicles, no doubt thinking the next time they showed up they'd be waited on instantly. Silly fools.

As Royce Chrisman, or whatever his real name was, called for number twenty-four, I went back to concentrating on my list.

Julio Sarcova: I considered him a highly unlikely suspect. Granted, he was irate about the mold issue in the home he'd purchased from MC Hammerheads. Who wouldn't be? He wanted the problem resolved, and once again, who wouldn't?      But would Sarcova kill the man he was counting on to eventually complete the job? It seemed to me to be a flimsy, illogical motive to commit cold-blooded murder. And, according to Detective Reeves, Sarcova's alibi had been verified, placing the barber in a Las Vegas hotel on the day of the murder. But that hadn't necessarily prevented him from putting a hit out on his nemesis.

Murder for hire was an option any one of the suspects on my list could have chosen, for that matter. I didn't think the mob still had a stronghold in Las Vegas, or much affiliation there whatsoever, but it was always possible the true reason behind Julio Sarcova's Vegas trip was to make arrangements or pay for services rendered.

Dr. Patrick O'Keefe was still on my list even though the detectives had cleared him as a viable suspect. It would not be a far-fetched notion that he might want to exact revenge on the man who stole his wife. A wife he still seemed to be carrying a torch for, at least in my opinion. And then there was the woman in the middle of the three-ring-circus, Avery Curry. What motive might she have to want her boyfriend dead? She seemed to be a very sweet lady when I interacted with her at Jugs 'n Mugs. But that takes us right back to Ted Bundy, who could charm the pants off one beautiful woman after another.

Could this feasibly be a crime involving more than one perpetrator?
I wondered.
After all, there are several possible scenarios involving twosomes
.

Lexie Starr had taught me to never overlook any conceivable possibility. I felt a tag-team type killing was one of those possibilities that shouldn't be overlooked.

Could Pinto and Royce Chrisman, who I still preferred to call Big Bob, have planned Cooper Claypool's murder together? Could it have been part of a devious scheme created by O'Keefe and Avery Curry to execute Cooper for personal, or even monetary, benefit?

And what were the odds that Mack Schilling, and/or his son, Trey, might have killed Cooper out of revenge for not being paid for their work? They'd been stiffed not once, but three times. Both Schillings also loathed the victim for his illegal and immoral fishing practices. When I had questioned Milo the previous evening, he'd told me Trey only helped out on odd jobs for his father when his work schedule as a game warden allowed. Milo also admitted that indeed it had been Trey who'd been responsible for the arrest that earned Cooper his lifetime ban from spear-fishing in Texas. Milo also stated he'd never personally been arrested or even ticketed by Trey.

Mack had said he would have turned Milo and Cooper in to a game warden if one had been in the vicinity when he spotted them poaching with his binoculars. So why did he not mention to Regina and me that his own son was a game warden and had arrested Claypool for serious offenses in the past?

I found it hard to believe either of the Schillings hated Cooper enough to kill him with his own spear-gun. A spear-gun, turned murder weapon, which had never been located despite, according to Detective Reeves, numerous attempts by the Coast Guard, homicide detectives, and scuba divers the police department had contracted. Branson Reeves had informed Rip that the spear itself, which had been extracted from Claypool's chest, had produced no clues to whom might have fired it.

But if killing Claypool out of anger at his penchant for poaching game fish
was
true, could Milo be next on either Schilling's list?

It was questions like the last one that convinced me we needed to find a way to get to the bottom of this "who killed Cooper?" conundrum as quickly as possible. We didn't want to give the other shoe the opportunity to drop. For if it did, it just might kill Milo and crush Regina in the process. And who knew for certain whether or not our grandchildren could be in danger, as well?

"Thirty-three," Chrisman said.

Oh dear
, I thought. I'd been concentrating on my suspect list and hadn't realized my number was coming up. I was the next to be called and it seemed clear I was going to be waited on by the older clerk who was just finishing up with her current customer. Thinking fast, I scanned the room for the chubby gentleman who had entered the building just after I had. His number would have to be thirty-five, I reasoned. If I could convince him to trade numbered tags, Chrisman would have to wait on me.

I darted across the floor, making the target of my sprint a bit uneasy. Seeing me hurdle two fussy toddlers and a decrepit old man was probably his first clue I was someone to be leery of. As I drew near, the man took a step back in a defensive manner. It didn't help I was having one of my bad hair days, which usually fall on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and/or random weekend days, with an occasional Tuesday or Friday thrown in for good measure. My curly salt and pepper hair was even more of a mess today than usual because I hadn't taken the time to check it out in a mirror, much less comb it.

Just as I reached the gentleman, I tripped over an invisible obstacle on the tile floor. At this stage, I'm reasonably certain I appeared to be a lunatic who'd managed to escape from an institute for the mentally insane by crawling through the drainage pipes of the local sewer system. Breathlessly, I said, "Excuse me, sir. Could you do me a teeny, weenie favor?"

The overweight man opened his mouth but did not respond. Fixated on me, his eyes never blinked or lost contact with mine. Trying to act less panicky, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, and said, "I'm sorry. I just realized I left a document in my vehicle that I'll need if I'm to get my license renewed today. Would you mind trading numbers with me? It'll give me time to retrieve the item and will put you next in line to be called up, which I'm sure you'll be grateful for after such a lengthy wait."

His mouth still agape, he silently extended his arm, offering me his number thirty-five paper tag. He'd yet to bat an eyelash. With a trembling hand, I took the tag from his fingers and handed him mine.

"Thirty four," a familiar deep male voice called out from behind the counter.

Crap,
I thought. Customers were being sent home right and left to obtain required, but missing, documents. Chrisman's last customer must have fallen into that category and been quickly dismissed. Many irate customers had left the room in varying degrees of wrath. One Vietnamese gentleman cussed the elderly female clerk all the way to the door, causing quite a stir among the waiting crowd that was growing more restless and infuriated with each minute that passed.

Although the man spoke in his native language, his message had been clear to everyone in the room. The angry fellow switched over to broken English as he hollered over his shoulder, "Why you no tell me I need 'official' birth
carnificate
, not 'record of
borthe
' last time I here?"

"Because you didn't ask!" The lady hollered back. Who'd have thought the geriatric employee would be so feisty? I would have applauded her spunk had I not been more in favor of knocking her off her stool.

I can't repeat what the Asian said as the door was closing behind him. Suffice it to say, it was a graphic expletive, pronounced perfectly, that had all the women in the room blushing. Despite the nature of his remark, the agitated crowd cheered in response. And now I was on the verge of losing my opportunity to speak to Royce Chrisman. I didn't have a moment to waste.

"Changed my mind," I said, snatching my original tag out of the portly man's hand and dropping his on the floor in my haste to reach the counter before another number was called. As I turned to race to the counter, I apologized to the dumbfounded man, "Oops! Sorry. Just realized I have everything I need, after all."

Royce Chrisman was angry when he looked up to observe my face. He asked, "What's up with you, anyway?"

"Small world, huh?"

"It ain't
that
small, lady. You got a problem with me or something?"

"No, of course not. I need to renew my driver's license and you pulled my number. It was purely the luck of the draw. As a matter of fact, I was quite surprised to discover you worked here." I set my documents down on the counter to validate the reason I was standing in front of him at that moment.

"Yeah, lucky me. And even luckier for the gentleman you nearly bowled over to make sure I called your number. Purely the luck of the draw, of course." His sarcasm was uncalled for as he picked the documents up off the counter in front of him. And as if spotting the ghost of his late grandmother in the back of the room, he blanched at my next remarks.

"However, now that I think of it, I
do
have something I wanted to ask you, Bob. Or should I say, Royce?"

The solidly built man, whose hairline had receded prematurely, nodded in obvious disbelief. When he didn't reply verbally, I preceded to grill him like a slab of ribs.

"You aren't fooling me, Mr. Chrisman. I'm not the airhead you may think I am. I know you were involved in Cooper Claypool's death. So, exactly what part did you play in the murder of the man? My son-in-law is being unfairly scrutinized by the detectives and had absolutely nothing to do with his partner's death. I want to put an end to that nonsense and see the real killer brought to justice."

"I had nothing to do with his death either, lady. And I'm under no obligation to answer to you, anyhow. You're no more in law enforcement than I am."

"Uh. Well, I was, uh..." I was at a loss for words, uncertain how to respond to a statement that was unarguable. Then, an inspiration hit me and I played my ace in the hole. "Are you aware my husband was better known in these parts for years as Sheriff Ripple?"

"Lady, I don't care if your husband was better known as Queen Latifah. Did you happen to notice how many people are waiting in line behind you? I have no time to chat with you about a crime I know nothing about. And my supervisor is already upset with me for being two hours late to work. Dental appointment delayed me this morning, as you are keenly aware."

"Yeah. Did they gouge you as blatantly as they did me? The cost of dental work these days is atrocious." I was getting off track and needed to veer back toward the subject at hand before I was tossed out on my behind.

"Man, you can say that again." Unconsciously, Royce flashed a quick smile as he picked up my little pile of paperwork and handed it to me. "Now take your stuff and go so I can wait on people who sincerely do need to be assisted."

"I really do need to renew my license, Mr. Chrisman. These are my actual documents to take care of that matter." I grabbed my fistful of paperwork from his outstretched hand and waved them in his face. "I spoke to Ms. Congeniality over there on the phone before I drove over here, to see what I needed to bring with me. So, while you're assisting me with the matter, you can explain your involvement with Cooper Claypool."

Chrisman shook his head in disgust. His increasing displeasure with me was reaching the boiling point. "Ain't happening, lady. I've got a job to do. This room is full to the rafters already, and I don't need to make the situation worse by spending all day talking to someone to whom I have nothing to say."

"Hey now. It's plum rude and unprofessional for a civic employee to speak to a customer that way!"

"Good. Glad you noticed. Listen, lady. I couldn't have killed Claypool. I spent my entire Saturday at the Sunset Acres nursing home visiting my grandmother. Every nurse in the facility could vouch for me."

"So did they?"

With a sheepish expression, Royce lowered his head and replied. "It hasn't been necessary. I haven't been questioned by the police and don't feel as if I have much to offer that'd help them in their investigation. I'm practically as clueless as you are, ma'am."

Not thrilled about being labeled "clueless", I asked, "So why didn't you volunteer a statement and your easy-to-verify alibi just in case it might prove beneficial in some way?"

"Let me briefly explain what happened. Cooper and I were classmates in high school. In fact, we were good friends until he stole my girl right before the senior prom. Our relationship has been very contentious ever since." Royce stopped talking and glanced over at the old lady who was busy spitting nails at her current customer and oblivious of Royce's conversation with me.

"Go on," I prompted.

"I ran into him at the boat launch the evening before he was killed. He sucker-punched me in the mouth when I made a comment about his girlfriend, Avery Curry. Incidentally, she was the homecoming queen our senior year."

"You made a disparaging comment, I assume?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Not disparaging enough to knock my teeth out, though."

"So, what about the name 'Bob'? Why the alias?"

"Listen, lady. I have to get to work before I get fired and have another problem to deal with."

A couple of minutes later it was my turn to complain as I was departing, "Why didn't anyone tell me I needed
two
items to serve as proof of residency when I called this morning to see what I needed to bring?"