The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter 38

Rusty drove to Gloria’s house. He could not see a single light on inside and her Land Cruiser wasn’t there. He didn’t bother getting out. He turned his truck around and drove straight home.

              Then he went through the routine of climbing over his fence and a bunch of fifty-five barrel drums, moving them with the hand forklift, driving his truck through, stopping, putting the barrels back. He was tired of this shit.

              Right before he climbed the steps to his front porch, he saw some fireworks go off in the distance, downriver a ways. Another stream of light went up, then burst into a globe of blue, then red, then white. It was followed by another one.

              He walked down to his dock and watched. It must have been coming from the marina. Now, he heard the noise. Faint music.

              Something was going on at the marina. But the Catfish Rodeo wasn’t over until tomorrow. More fireworks went up. The music stopped, then went on again, louder.

              The grabblers must be raising hell, partying, and that’s where Gloria was.

              Rusty got in his skiff, cranked the Johnson, and headed up in the dark for the marina. When he came around the bend, he could see the marina all lit up. The place and the parking lot were full of people, partying.

              He taxied on in to his slip.

              The café was still open. The bait shop was open. People were walking in empty-handed. People walked out, carrying beer and ice and potato chips.

              A sound system on the tailgate of a pickup truck blasted and a bunch of young women with large breasts had them a line dance going.

              Two big men arm-wrestled on top of a fifty-five gallon drum and they had their own audience of men gambling on the outcome.

              Groups of party-goers crammed the parking lot. A crowd cleared back and a greasy-haired looking teenager set off some bottle rockets.

              Rusty stood on the dock. He saw Gloria and Glenda walk down from the café and into the bait shop. He couldn’t have missed them. Glenda had on a neon lime green dress.

              Glenda, Gloria’s younger sister, looked a frailer version of Gloria. Once, Rusty thought them twins. They looked pretty much alike and their names rhymed, or alliterated as Gloria called it--Gloria and Glenda.

              Gloria had said the same thing about Rusty and Ray. She once thought them brothers because their names both started with R.

              Rusty walked straight over to the bait shop. He stepped in and looked around. The smell of minnow pools and crickets and cigarette smoke hit his nose. Nothing like a bait shop.

              Clifford Clanton’s nephew stood behind the counter ringing up beer and cigarettes as fast as he could. Old man Clanton leaned on the counter, talking to Gloria.

              Glenda spotted Rusty and strolled over. She had an empty wine glass in one hand and an open half bottle of wine in the other. She hugged Rusty. “It’s great to see you, Rusty. You want a glass of wine?”

              “No thanks, Glenda.”

              She was sort of hanging on to him. What was it with women this month? Rusty wished he could even them out over a lifetime. A little more consistency would help a fellow’s moments.

              “I’m glad to see you, Rusty,” Glenda said.

              “Thanks. I’m glad to see you got over the McAllister affair.”

              “I didn’t have any affair with a McAllister.”

              “I meant the McAllister wedding.”

              “Oh, yeah. That moonshine you gave us. Thanks. But I would never have an affair with a McAllister. I would never have an affair with my cousins. But you…”

              “What, you’re kin to the McAllister’s?”

              “My daddy’s mother was a McAllister.”

              Gloria came over and took Glenda’s hand off Rusty and said, “Go wait in the car before you make a fool out of yourself, Glenda.”

              “Bye, Rusty. See you later.”

              “Bye, Glenda.”

              She always did as her sister told her.

              Rusty turned to Gloria. “You’re a McAllister?!”

              “Yeah. Daddy’s mother was a McAllister.”

              “I never knew that!”

              “You probably did and it didn’t mean anything to you at the time, so you forgot it.”

              “I would never forget something like that!” Rusty should have rephrased--I would never forget that! The Clay’s and McAllister’s had themselves a five generation love-hate relationship going. If Rusty did something like get a Mercury outboard instead of a Johnson, his Daddy would say, ‘Got a Mercury? What’s wrong with you? That’s something like a sorry-ass harum skarum McAllister would do.’

              Rusty took Gloria by the hand and led her over out of the way of the beer customers. He took her over by the popping bug display. She put her hand on his arm. “What’s up, handsome?”

              “You never told me Al’s mother was from Winston County.” It came out as an accusation.

              Gloria just looked at him. “She wasn’t. She was from Bermuda.” So Gloria didn’t know.

              “She might have lived in Bermuda after she was a junior in high school. But I just saw her picture in a Haleyville yearbook 1966. What was her name?”

              “Kate.”

              “Well, in the yearbook her name was Katrina Matthews. She must have simplified and sophisticated her name to Kate.”

              “That makes no sense.”

              “She was too pretty and too unique-looking. It is the same picture as Al has on his desk. There’s no mistaking it. Did you ever know her?”

              “No. She died young. Before Al and I ever met.”

              “How did she die?”

              “On an operating table in New York City.”

              “What was she being operated on for?”

              “A ruptured spleen I believe.”

              “Oh, my God!”

              “What’s this all about, Rusty?”

              “I don’t know yet. So, how did Al’s father die?”

              “He died of a heart attack. Young also, but he was about ten years older than Al’s mother. But that makes no sense. If either of his parents were from Alabama he would have told me I think.”

              “You’re right.”

              “About what?”

              “It makes no sense.”

              Rusty stood there thinking a moment. And that moment was long enough for old man Clanton to come over and start asking Gloria if she was going to bring barbeque down to the bait shop tomorrow for him to sell or if she was only going to sell it at the café.

              Rusty broke in, told Gloria he would be going. Gloria pecked him on the cheek and Rusty went back out to his boat. He got in just as an impromptu wet T-shirt contest was starting. He didn’t need to see that.

              Rusty went home and sat at the kitchen table with the yearbook.

              Katrina Matthews was no slouch. Besides looking like some Grace Kelley movie star, she was the class secretary, played the flute in the school band, played the cello in the school orchestra, starred with the drama club, inductee in the National Honor Society and the Beta Club, some honor club that had been Rusty Clay’s daddy’s pride.

              ‘I might just be a raggedy ass river rat, but this Clay made it into the Beta Club,’ his father was fond of saying.

              Rusty would get up bright and early. He was going to pay a visit to Dr. Vargas Preston and question him about this Katrina Matthews, about her relationship with Robert Compton and Elmore King. When did she move off to Bermuda?

              The black phone rang.

              Rusty looked at his watch. After ten o’clock. Nobody in Travertine County called after ten o’clock, unless it was an emergency. Ray or Gloria or Sammy would have called on the cell.

              Rusty went over and picked the receiver up. “Hello.”

              “Man, Rusty. Please forgive me for calling so late. This is Edsel McCormick. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

              “No, sir.”

              “Listen, tomorrow night we have our ceremony at the marina.”

              “I know.”

              “It’s going to be the biggest year yet.”

              “That’s obvious.”

              “It is even going to be filmed. Some guys at the film school in Tuscaloosa are doing a documentary.”

              Could they put a little more into the mix? “That’s good.”

              “Yes. I was wondering if you would honor us by attending and accepting an award.”

              “For what?”

              “A lifetime achievement award.”

              “For what?”

              “Grabbling.”

              “I don’t grabble anymore. I don’t see how grabbling fits into a lifetime.”

              “Well, when you were ten you grabbled a catfish more than your body weight. That’s plenty more than enough for a lifetime achievement in my book.”

              “This is a little embarrassing, Edsel.”

              “Humility is what it is. A virtue befitting a lifetime achievement recipient.”

              “I’ve been in the media a bit too much lately,” Rusty argued.

              “All the better.”

              “What the hell. I’ve never received an award before. Might as well be for grabbling. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

              Rusty hung up. He was spinning vortex of shit. A lifetime achievement award. Al Bolton never told Gloria his mother was from Winston County. Had lied about it actually. She, Compton, and King all knew each other. She died from a ruptured spleen.

              And Gloria Davenport had McAllister blood!

              Could life get any weirder?

              Rusty had this thing he did. When life got too crazy. When the odds got against him. When life came at him from all angles. When he needed to step back and regroup, he had this thing he did.

              He got out a VHS tape of
The African Queen
. A man. A woman. A small boat. Going down a river.

              You just couldn’t get more pure than that.

Chapter 39

The morning was early summer cool with lower humidity. Rusty had his front door open. A slight breeze blew through the house. Summer had taken the middle of the days and soon it would take the early mornings and the nights.

              Rusty sat at his table, eating breakfast, formulating a rough plan of the day in his mind. First, he’d go question Vargas, then he’d take everything he knew to Sammy, then he’d go see Melvin about Jenny.

              He could hear the distant hum of outboards going up and down the river. Somehow the steady sound was calming, and a shiver went down his spine. He suddenly envisioned his own death. Yes, he would die alone in this very house with only the sound of a distant outboard to keep him company.

              In his early twenties off in a foreign country, before marrying Jenny, living alone had been romantic and adventuresome. But now in his mid-fifties he felt a finality to living alone.

              A knock at the door brought Rusty out of his reverie. He stood up and leaned around the edge of the kitchen to get a clear look at his front door.

              Vivian stood on the other side of the screen door.

              As Rusty approached the door, he could see she held something. A newspaper.

              “Morning, Rusty.”

              “Good morning, Vivian.” When he opened the door back, Rusty noticed two things simultaneously. She held
The Dolopia Democrat
with his picture on the front page. And Al was down at the dock, tying up his boat.

              It gave Rusty the willies.

              She held the newspaper up so that Rusty could see it good. Then he took note that it was the same picture, his mug shot, but a different headline.

              This morning’s paper announced: Dolopia Gets Its First Detective Agency.

              He took the paper and read aloud, “Russell “Rusty” Clay, resident of Clear Springs and recent local media figure has the doors of his River Clay Detective Agency open for business…”

              “I see you took the plunge,” Al said.

              Al stepped up onto the front porch.