Two Bits Four Bits (3 page)

It turned out I didn’t
need the saucepans I’d brought with me after all. There were two
large steel dog food bowls already there, one half-full of water
and the other with leftover crumbs of cat food. I’d have to
remember to ask Roberto if he’d been putting out food and water for
the cats.

I dumped the fresh cat
food in the food bowl and filled the water bowl from a nearby
spigot. McMurtry dug in hungrily and I walked back up to the house,
sensing little movements out of the corners of my eyes as I went.
By the time I reached the back door and turned around, there were
four more cats approaching the food bowl tentatively. There was an
obvious pecking order that allowed the more aggressive cats to
march right up and eat their fill while the timid ones sat and
waited for them to finish. I stepped back onto the porch and
scooped another tub of cat food and carried the two extra saucepans
back out to the feeding grounds. Everyone except McMurtry scattered
as I approached, placing the saucepans a dozen feet from the main
feeding bowl and filling them with cat food. By the time I walked
back up to the porch they had all emerged from hiding and there
seemed to be enough feeding places for all of them to eat at the
same time.

* * * *

CHAPTER FOUR

I was sitting at a table
inside Lita’s Little Mexico Restaurant, looking at a menu and
waiting for John Donnelly and the other attorney that he was
bringing to lunch with us.

Lita’s had been one of the
most popular restaurants in Elmore for as long as I could remember.
Seven days a week, oilfield trucks and cars with Oil Company logos
painted on the doors occupied most of the parking spaces on the
street and Lita’s parking lot was almost always full. Apparently
the oilfield still depended on a good burrito or plate of huevos
rancheros as much as it had when I spent my high school summers
working on a casing crew.

Lita’s was the kind of
place that would be hugely popular in Austin. If it were located in
Austin, the tables would be crowded with a mix of young
professionals and new age hippies, and there would be the faint,
lingering scent of marijuana smoke brought in on the clothing of
the patrons. In Elmore, the scent carried on the coveralls and
steel-toed boots worn by the patrons was likely to be a mixture of
crude oil and stale cigarette smoke. The most prevalent topic of
conversation around the tables in Lita’s was likely to be the
latest exploits of the Dallas Cowboys instead of global warming or
local politics.

Lita’s was the central
gathering place for Elmore, where rumors were started and quashed
and where local politicians came to press the flesh during campaign
season. But, it was the food that really kept people coming back,
and I couldn’t wait to try it again.

Donnelly entered a few
minutes later with an attractive woman in her thirties dressed in
what people tend to describe as business casual. Donnelly
introduced the woman as Angie Robbins and explained that she was
the oil and gas attorney he had mentioned on the phone.

I felt a little flash of
guilt for assuming that the brilliant young attorney he had
described would be a man, but when we shook hands and I saw her
smile I forgot all about that.

After quietly discussing
the murder of Russell Chilton for a few minutes, we each went to
work on our respective enchilada plates as Donnelly described
Angie’s background and qualifications, leading her into a
discussion of my parent’s portfolio of oil and gas royalties. She
explained how values of oil properties were calculated and
suggested we might consider hiring a petroleum engineer to prepare
formal appraisals to tell us what we had. I was aware that my
father had gotten into a few partnerships on wells over the years
and had also accumulated some royalties at various times in a long
career in the oilfield, but apparently I had underestimated the
scope of his holdings.

Despite growing up in the
middle of the oil patch, I had little idea how royalties and oil
partnerships worked. I wondered out loud if it was best to sell the
royalties immediately, or possibly hold onto them for the income
they could produce in the future.

Watching Angie talk was
like discovering something new, alive and interesting. Learning the
cadence of her voice and laugh and seeing the change in her facial
expressions was all so distracting that I only followed about half
of what she said. I felt like a teenager experiencing a first crush
and unable to concentrate on anything but the object of my
fixation.

We were nearing the end of
our lunch and I suddenly had more questions than time would allow.
I asked if we might continue the discussion over lunch the
following Monday. Donnelly said he had a prior commitment, but
Angie agreed, without even checking her calendar. And, while I like
John Donnelly, I can’t say I was disappointed that he wouldn’t be
able to make the lunch. In my time as a police officer I met a lot
of women, but few so quickly gave me the sense of attraction I felt
for Angie Robbins. I was hopeful we could find more in common than
oil and gas properties.

* * * *

CHAPTER FIVE

When I arrived at the
reunion dinner and dance that night, the atmosphere was subdued.
News of Russell Chilton’s death was still spreading word-of-mouth
throughout the attendees, most of whom had skipped the daytime
activities of golf and a picnic on the grounds of the Elmore High
School campus.

But, as the cocktail hour
before dinner progressed, talk returned to favorite teachers and
high school sweethearts, and the din of conversation grew louder.
When people did discuss the murder, it was generally expressing
sympathy for Kandy, who won the title of most popular among our
classmates.

I spent most of the time
listening to what the others were saying, and didn’t volunteer any
information about my visit to her home earlier in the day. As much
as I appreciated all of Donnelly’s help on my parent’s legal work,
I wasn’t going to be any part of a smear campaign against a dead
man. If Russell Chilton had been as big a prick as people were
saying, Donnelly wouldn’t need my help promoting the jealous
husband theory for his murder.

Ray and Melba arrived at
the dinner well after I did, coming straight from the wedding of
Melba’s niece. Ray nodded at me from the doorway to the club lobby
and then followed Melba to the buffet line. Ray couldn’t even wait
until he put his food down on the table before starting in on the
murder.

“I been trying to call
you, bro’. What happened over there? I heard the pool was full of
blood. How’s Kandy doing?”

On the opposite side of
the large table where we were sitting, a woman who had been a
varsity cheerleader with Kandy perked up and focused on me, alert
to the fact that I might have some unknown tidbit of information
about the murder.

“Kandy’s doing okay,” I
said. “I’ll tell you about it after you eat.”

He glanced over and saw
the ex-cheerleader eyeing us.

“Hey, howya doin’, Donna?”
he said. “How did the picnic go?”

After Ray inhaled his food
and whispered something in Melba’s ear, we excused ourselves from
the table and walked out to the club lobby. I related the details
of my visit to Kandy’s house, leaving out Donnelly’s comments about
Russell Chilton’s marital infidelities.

“So, his pecker finally
got him killed,” Ray commented. “Ramona’s probably lucky she never
got him in bed. She might be on the list of likely
suspects.”

A door on the opposite
side of the lobby opened up and a waiter exited a small private
room with several dinner tables occupied by well-dressed diners. As
the door was slowly swinging shut, I noticed Angie Robbins,
Donnelly’s associate, sitting at one of the tables eating. She
looked up, recognized me, gave a smile and a small wave just as the
door was closing.

“Ramona came over to the
house this afternoon,” Ray continued. “She said talk around the cop
shop is that Russell wasn’t the only one in the family getting some
on the side. I say good for Kandy. It ain’t fair for him to be
stepping out on a fine looking woman like that without her finding
somebody else too.”

“Did Ramona say who she
was fooling around with?”

“Well, let’s just say
she’s been spending a lot of time with her personal trainer, but I
don’t think she’s the one doing the push-ups.”

“Did Ramona have a name
for the trainer?”

“No, but it’s probably
that young stud over at Hard Bodies. One of those guys who spends
most of his time showing the young girls the proper way to use the
butterfly machine while he watches to make sure their pecs are
working right.”

“Who’s Ramona hearing this
from? The detectives on the case?”

“Shit, no. They don’t tell
Ramona nothing. I think it’s mostly her and the other dispatchers
that come up with this stuff. Maybe a couple of the patrol cops.
You wouldn’t believe how much cops like to gossip.”

“Oh, really?” I asked,
giving him a blank look.

“Yeah, well most cops.
You’re the exception to the rule. You’re about as much fun to talk
to as that Joe Friday guy on Dragnet. I gotta get back inside
before Melba comes looking for me.”

As Ray headed back into
the main ballroom, the door to the private dining room opened again
and I saw that the people inside were mostly standing around
talking. A waiter propped the door open and members of the group
began drifting out into the lobby, stopping to shake hands with
people they saw on their way to the front door of the club. Angie
Robbins finally emerged, walking with an older couple who were in
the midst of telling a story. She glanced at me and gave a slight
nod, then excused herself and walked over.

“John said I might see you
here tonight,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s our high
school reunion weekend.”

“I guess the murder must
have put a damper on things,” she said.

“Everybody’s pretty
shocked. Kandy and Russell were here with us last night, so a lot
of people got to meet him.”

“So, do you still want to
get together for lunch on Monday? I understand if something comes
up and you need to cancel, with all that’s going on.”

“Oh, no need to cancel.
I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good,” she said, flashing
me that smile that I was beginning to enjoy seeing. “I’ll see you
then.”

“Good night,” I
said.

“Good night.”

* * * *

CHAPTER SIX

I lay in bed listening to
the quiet of the morning. There were birds chirping and the
occasional whoosh of a car passing by on the highway, but little
else. The hot water heater rumbled now and then, and I could hear
Mom’s eight-day clock that I had wound the night before, ticking
away on the dresser.

Morning in my parent’s
house was nothing like my apartment in Austin. Quiet was hard to
come by there, even early in the morning, with the nearby traffic,
planes roaring overhead and a constant flow of people creating
sounds. The noise had never bothered me much before I retired, but
that was probably because I was at my desk early most mornings,
finishing my coffee while I reviewed coroner’s reports or re-read
suspect interview transcripts.

Capitol Security, where I
had been working since retiring, didn’t even open their doors until
9:00 a.m. and the truth was that the background checks and security
consulting work they paid me for wasn’t something I leapt out of
bed each day eager to begin. It was dull. I was used to dealing
with people who tried and often succeeded at murdering each other.
The only thing in mortal danger at Capitol Security was my sense of
ambition.

I had taken the job to
keep from going nuts or starting to drink too much, which were the
two most likely scenarios for retired homicide cops, at least in my
experience. A guy I met when he worked for the APD had started
Capital Security and the salary he offered me was too good to turn
down. I only planned to work for him long enough to figure out what
I wanted to do with the next part of my life. Most cops I worked
with spent most of their time dreaming about what they were going
to do after putting in the twenty-three years required for full
retirement and turning in their badge. I’d just never been one of
those cops. I had actually enjoyed my job.

When they assigned me to
the Homicide Division twelve years earlier, I had fallen headlong
into a constant preoccupation with whatever cases I was working,
often to the detriment of my personal life and relationships, never
giving a moment’s consideration to my post-retirement existence.
So, when I finished my twenty-three and had the chance to do
something different, it caught me unprepared. I was exhausted from
year upon year of mounting caseloads and long hours, so I was eager
for a break. But after a few weeks of inactivity, I began to wonder
if I’d made a mistake by putting in for retirement.

I was working on my second
cup of coffee and sorting through a box of my Dad’s old legal
papers when my cell phone rang. It was Ray.