Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) (5 page)

I hesitated, feeling this was not going to be easy. “He was killed this morning. Shot.”

He pouted and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, so?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could tell me more.”

“Don’t know no more.”

He was not cooperating, I had to approach this in another way. “I… I spoke to Catalina this morning.” The sound of her name accentuated the gentle curves at the end of his drooping lips. Was it a smile? I tried to look for any other signs, but he averted his eyes so it was hard to tell.

“She found the body,” I said, trying to build up a rapport.

“Catalina, she’s a brave girl,” he responded. This time the curve was only a fraction wider, but there was no mistaking the momentary glint of joy in his dark eyes.

“Yeah, well she said that you can… that you would be able to help me.”

“Maybe I can. Why you asking?”

“Well, Ryan is my friend and the police arrested him this morning. I don’t think he did it. I want to help him. Catalina and I, we both want to help him. Can you tell me what you know please?”

“All I know is that Mr. Walters was up to his eyeballs in shit,” he said.

“That is to say…?”

“He had a gambling problem.”

“He played poker?”

“Poker takes skill. He played right here on this table, every night, sometimes in the day.” He nodded his head and pushed out his lower lip. “Dumb man’s game if you ask me. He’s been at it for years.”

“Catalina said that his luck ran out last night. What did she mean?”

“He’s been coming here for a long time. He used to win some, but he had not won a roll in three nights straight. So last night he drank some more and talked some more and put more down, but nothing. He didn't win nothing.”

Then he lowered his voice and covered his mouth with his hand. I held my breath.

“When Bruno Burns came in, that’s when things got real bad. They started shouting and name calling. Frank followed Burns into the bar. I heard he broke Burns’ chin. Got his lucky ring broke in the fight.” He looked away and nodded his head and mumbled, “Dunno ’bout it being lucky in here; at least it kept him from being dead.”

“What happened next?” My heart pounded.

“Dunno. I was just minding my own business. Don’t wanna mess with the Burns sort,” he said, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Who is he? Burns I mean.”

His eyes grew wide and then darted upward toward a security camera. His right cheek twitched twice and he began to munch on the nail of his thumb. “I’m gonna say nothing no more.” He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and once against focused on the roulette wheel. He began to polish it with fierce concentration.

Our meeting was over.

Wisps of information that I had gathered floated about in my head. As they did, I tried to hold on to the nuggets that would help make sense of it all. It felt like I was unraveling a ball of twine; the more I unwound, the more knots I found. It had been three short hours since Ryan was arrested. In that time I had discovered at least three people who could have wanted him dead.

There was this Burns fellow. Had he killed Frank because of what happened in the bar last night? Was the match-fixing rumor that Earl spoke of true, and if so could it have led to Frank Walters’ murder? Perhaps it was his wife, whose earring Catalina discovered in Frank’s room. Had she been invited into Frank’s room or had she crept in without his knowledge, and if so why? In any case, how would they have been connected to Ryan?

My mind kept churning the possibilities around and around, and it made me quite dizzy. I saw Millie sitting in her usual spot in the lobby. She had an iPad on her lap and she called me over to her with her fingers and customary smile.

Millie seemed relaxed despite the chaos of the morning. She reached into a deep pocket that hung on the arm of her chair, pulled out a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and asked me to put them on. When I was ready, she tinkered with a remote control device. With a nod of her head and a lift of a brow toward the TV screen, she signaled me to watch.

Ryan’s image flashed on the 152-inch TV screen. Despite dominating the entire screen, his face was small. It seemed like the life had been sucked out of it. There were no tears now, though the trip down to the Police station had left his eyes bloodshot, eyelids swollen, and saddled with two puffy bags under them.

His nose quivered like a hare that had smelled a fox, and on occasion his lower lip trembled. Officer Flint shoved him through a crowd of reporters, who pounced on him and asked random questions.

Officer Ormond walked ahead through the crowd, his head lowered and arm raised in response to the reporters’ questions. He pushed a few unrelenting ones aside and made room for the other two.

Cameras flashed around them. Ryan blinked several times and squinted. Officer Flint walked behind him with his chest puffed out and his head held high. He stopped once to indulge the cameramen with a smile that showed off a blackish-silver second premolar.

A Channel 10 correspondent almost rammed a microphone into Ryan’s nose and asked, “Mr. Evans, why did you kill Frank Walters?”

“I tell you I didn’t. It’s all some kind of misunderstanding,” said Ryan. Once again his eyes filled with tears.

I groaned and hoped he wouldn't break down.
Tell them no comment or just say nothing, Ryan, you don’t want to stop to chat with those media monkeys.

With that, Channel 10 cut over to older footage. Frank Walters’ face flickered on the screen, then a long-angled shot featured him in a black tuxedo. The images were dull and grainy. Even then, Frank with his blond hair and deep blue eyes cut a dashing figure, and I could imagine him being quite a catch in his time.

By his side was a young Katherine Walters in a long white dress with an embroidered bodice that clung to her tall, willowy figure. Its sleeves were puffed and a full flared skirt bellowed around her delicate waist. A gust of wind could have carried her off had it not been for a bouquet of white arum lilies that was large enough to keep her grounded.

The clip featured the young couple on the steps of Saint Anne’s Catholic Church in Houston where they had been married twenty-eight years ago. Frank’s golfing superstar status had brought adoring fans to line the street in a show of support. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her toward him, and planted a kiss on her lips that were painted a soft shade of pink. Red-faced and out of breath, she gazed at Frank with adoring eyes then turned her head to the onlookers and together they waved to their supporters.

The TV station then cut across to more recent footage. According to the coverage, the couple’s happiness had been short-lived. Two known infidelities on Frank’s part and a plethora of speculation had torn their marriage apart. The Walters’ divorce proceedings, which began two months ago, were as colorful as their marriage, and had been on-going headlines in celebrity magazines and gossip columns.

This time they were featured on the steps of the courthouse leaving one of their many court proceedings. Frank wore a dark blue business suit with electric blue pin stripes. His youthful good looks were a thing of the past, but he was just as flamboyant and his smile was as charming.

Katherine moved fast keeping ahead of Frank. She wore a form-fitting, two-toned business suit of black and gray. She held on to a string of white pearls which she rolled about between her fingers. Her lips were painted a deep shade of red and were sealed shut in an unyielding line. The light had long gone from her eyes and her aged face revealed the scars of a lifetime of battling an incorrigible womanizer.

Frank, with the agility of a school boy and the merriment to match, ran down the steps toward Katherine. Although attired in business suits, their conversation looked anything but business like. He pulled her arm toward him, and she pushed it off. He then leaned in toward and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes became wide, face turned scarlet, and her mouth fell open. She turned toward Frank and slapped him hard across his left cheek. He ran his fingers over his face and stood with a triumphant smirk plastered across it. She screamed, “I’m gonna kill you, Frank Walters. You will burn in hell!”

The TV zapped off.

“That’s all, Tracy. They keep that clip on a loop,” said Millie. Then after a pause she added, “You see, my dear, Frank Walters was not the loveable sweetheart that everybody thought he was.”

“Yes, that’s what I have been discovering all morning. A gambler and womanizer. The list goes on. I thought people are supposed to have only one major vice. Guess I was wrong.”

“Nonsense, dear. A man or a woman for that matter can have many despicable habits. I know quite a lot who do. The trick here is to find out who hated Frank enough to kill him.”

“Catalina also told me that she had found one of Katherine’s earrings in Frank’s room. Perhaps there is a link between Frank’s killing and the divorce. At least the media suspects so.”

“The media sure knows how to spin a yarn, and they do it faster than you can say
Columbo
.”

“The point is, they don’t always get it right,” I said.

“That’s true, but it’s a start.”

Then I took out my iPad and recounted what I had learned that morning from Catalina, Earl, and Joseph. When Millie heard about what happened between Frank and Bruno at the casino, she puckered her lips.

“I told that boy no good will come from that place,” said Millie, holding her temples between her thumb and fingers. “I don’t know where this will end.” She sighed deeply. “Anyway, I spoke to the resort’s attorney, Colin Faraday, about getting a lawyer for Ryan. He told me that he couldn’t take on the case because there would be a conflict of interest.”

I was disappointed that Millie didn't arrange the best lawyer she knew for Ryan, but I suppose that’s the way things worked in the business world.

“Don’t worry, dear. Colin recommended a young lawyer who would take on the case, so that is all sorted out.”

“Okay, thanks, Milllie,” I said in an even tone and hoped that it would be enough.

The TV report refreshed my suspicions of Katherine as Frank’s killer. She also knew Ryan. After all, they had been coming to the resort for many years. Perhaps my initial suspicions had been right.

“Tracy, did you hear me?”

“What was that?”

“I want this sorted out before it becomes a media circus. They have set up camp outside already,” said Millie.

I nodded.

“It’s time for out meeting with Brett Cooper. Let’s go, Tracy, and see what our security expert has to add.”

I glanced over the paperwork that I had picked up at the police station. Being back there reminded me of the old days that I thought I had left behind. The job at the resort was a fresh start that was supposed to be free of murder and mayhem. The pay was good and it was a cushy role. Nothing really big happened here, or that was what I thought until this morning. It didn't look like Ryan had anything to do with this; twenty years in crime fighting gave a person an instinct for that sort of thing.

Millie wanted me to meet with Tracy to talk about the case and I smiled at the thought of the redheaded busy body. I had only seen her around the resort, but nobody had made me feel this way in quite a while. Tracy, Ryan, and Millie seemed tight, and there was the other girl from the salon, but with me she was always aloof and unapproachable. Generally, though, she smiled a lot and I liked that.

According to her file she was twenty-six, so there was a gap of twelve years between us. Maybe she wouldn't be interested in dating someone as old as me. The premature grays ran on my father’s side of the family and it didn't do me any favors.

I spied Millie and Tracy coming toward me from the foyer and heading to the poolside where we had agreed to meet. Millie stopped and had a word with one of the waiters. As always, Tracy carried a brown bag that looked like a satchel across her shoulder. An iPad in a shocking pink case stuck out of it.

She was in uniform: a light blue cotton shirt and a dark blue skirt. Her form-fitting shirt highlighted her slim but curvaceous figure. Her brownish red hair was tied up into a pony tail that swished along behind her. Her naturally tanned legs seemed long for someone so tiny, and her high heels accentuated the rippling curves of her calves.

Millie leaned over to her and whispered something in Tracy’s ear. She pointed at me and Tracy looked in my direction, frowned, and nodded. Millie patted her arm, turned around, and limped away.

Tracy approached and I averted my eyes away from her body and focused on her face. I wondered why Millie left. Was it so that I could spend time alone with Tracy? I should not over analyze it. Working out motives was what I did every day and it had become a habit that had crept into my personal life. Jenny tolerated it, but the women I dated since her passing didn’t like it.

“I’m Brett.” I stood up and extended my hand toward her. She hesitated and took it; her hand felt tiny in mine.

“Tracy Turner… PR and…” She gulped her words back, laughed, and said, “of course you already know that.”