I speak up.
“I didn’t call you liars.” I try to make my voice as warm as I can muster given how nervous I am. “What I said is that you can’t account for your whereabouts the night Chet Waters was killed.”
Gary’s fist hits the table.
“You bitch, what makes you think we’d have anythin’ to do with that?”
My heart pounds. I must be nuts confronting them like this. I can think of a few moments when I was a reporter that I got myself into a foolish situation but never a dangerous one. People warned me, but I clearly underestimated these two. I feel like I’ve just approached two rabid dogs.
“Hear me out, please, while I lay out the facts. A valuable shipment ends up at Chet’s junkyard. He finds out about it and shows it to his daughter. Maybe he figures out who it belongs to before the night of the fire. Maybe you didn’t break into the place a few days before the fire but that night. Do you get where I’m going with this?”
The two brothers give me death-ray stares. My heart continues to pump hard.
“If you can recall where you were that night and who you were with, it’d be easy to eliminate you. I’d just look somewhere else. Other people I questioned have told me exactly what they were doing.”
Gary’s lip is glued in a sneer.
“I can see it was a big mistake talkin’ with ya. Now you’re gonna blab your mouth about us.”
I raise my hands with the palms facing out.
“Nope, I promise.”
“Sure. A big, fuckin’ mistake.”
The mood in the room has slipped fast and deep to the ugly side. Gary and Larry mutter beneath their breath to each other. I bet they have guns in their house. This is great, Isabel. Annette is only paying you with free maintenance on your vehicles until you die, which could be any minute now. And you thought journalism paid poorly. Think fast.
“I should inform you that my boyfriend, Jack Smith, knows I’m here. I believe there’s no love lost between you and him.” I pause. “I’m supposed to call him at two o’clock. If he doesn’t hear from me, he’s sending the state cops here. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he doesn’t trust you guys one bit.”
Gary pounds the tabletop with his fist.
“Get the hell outta here,” he yells. “And if I hear one word about us comin’ from the likes of you, we’re gonna find you. I know you live in Conwell. It’d be easy.”
I raise my chin. I focus my eyes on them.
“Gary, Larry,” I say in the most confidant voice I can muster. “If you do recall anything more, especially about the night, you have my number.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Gary says.
Inside the car, I take a deep breath and let it out. The part about Jack was a big, fat lie, but frankly after that confrontation, I wish I had thought of it before I came here. But the bluff works, and I’m sure they’ll never call Jack to confirm it. As I back the car out of the driveway, I decide unless Gary and Larry can come up with alibis, they remain high on the list of suspects.
I drive about a mile down the road, checking the rearview mirror to see if they follow me. No, that’s not happening, so I stop the car. I dig in my purse for my phone, set up the recording app, and as I pull away, I begin.
“Today I interviewed Gary and Larry Beaumont about Chet Waters. I’m relieved to say I got outta there alive.”
Reporting for Duty
I show up for work twenty minutes early to get myself situated with the new cook, Carole, and her routine. Jack’s head swings up from the cash register, where he’s loading bills into the drawer.
Wiseass that I am, I salute and joke, “Isabel Long reporting for duty.”
He reaches beneath the counter and tosses me an apron.
“Here’s your uniform,” he says with that happy-to-see-you grin of his. “How are you, Isabel? Keepin’ out of trouble?”
“I had a close call today.”
“With the Beaumonts? You okay?” He tips his head toward the kitchen and mouths that Carole is a second cousin to the brothers. “Tell me all about it later.”
I nod.
“Who’s playing tonight?” I ask.
“The Lone Sums.”
“I thought they stunk up the place the last time they played.”
“One of the guys told me they’re a lot better. They’ve been practicin’ and playin’ a whole lot more.”
“I’ll believe it when I hear it.”
“Me, too.”
I go over Carole’s expectations. I know her from the Rooster and from casual run-ins at the general store, and when I was a reporter, at such events as truck pulls and the annual pig roast at the Conwell Rod and Gun Club. She’s country through and through with high hair, which she tames beneath a hairnet for the kitchen work, and a hard expression on her face. But she’s got a quick smile, and once I get her going, a pleasant laugh. She used to be my kids’ bus driver. I recall she held command on the bus without being a you-know-what about it.
“Just write your order so I can read it. I’ll ring the bell when the food is ready. You can set the dirty dishes on the counter next to the sink. If you can, scrape the plates into that bucket on the floor, but I’ll understand if you’re too busy.”
The system doesn’t appear too different from when Eleanor was here, except Carole actually speaks and doesn’t grunt or shoot me daggers with her eyes. And she didn’t kill anybody or try to do me in.
“Good to know.”
“We’ve got some new stuff on the menu. Check it out.”
The True Blue Regulars start showing up as soon as the Rooster opens. As expected, they comment about my return.
“It’s about time Jack smartened up,” one of the True Blues says loud enough for him to hear.
Jack gives me a wink.
Things get busy fast. Jack waits on tables. I man the cooler and tap. We take turns making the sweep for dirty dishes and empties. Of course, people offer their condolences about Eleanor to Jack, who accepts their kindness with fond comments about his sister. Of course, they all know his sister was a killer, but it’s more for Jack’s sake than any love for Eleanor. It’s just good country manners all around.
During a break in the action, Jack offers me a bit of news, “Fred’s movin’ in.”
“With you?”
“Nah, on Eleanor’s side as soon as I can clear her stuff outta there,” he says.
“Need any help?”
“I’d appreciate it. There’s an awful lot of stuff, and I’m not sure what to keep or give away.” His eyebrows make a playful rise. “There might be somethin’ in it for ya.”
“I don’t think your sister and I take the same size,” I say, and then I give him a playful pinch on the cheek. “Gotcha.”
“Yeah, you did for a second.”
The side door opens, sending a cold wind through the Rooster as the Lone Sums haul equipment through the door. Damn, this winter’s hanging tough.
Jack’s cousin, Fred, walks in between the musicians and right to the bar.
“I let those mutts out like you asked,” he says. “Where’s my pay?”
“Comin’ right up,” Jack says as he opens a Bud and pours Fred a shot of some rotgut whiskey.
“And I thought I worked cheap,” I say.
But Fred is happy for the free booze. He glances around to appraise the crowd and search for women who might be interested. He makes a beeline for a table near the dance floor for some floozies in training.
Speaking of floozies, Marsha shouts my name as she approaches the bar with Annette aka the Tough Cookie.
“How ya been?” the Floozy asks.
It appears Marsha and Annette have already imbibed. They’re joking and slapping each other’s arms. They’re waving and chatting up anybody who comes close.
Annette leans in.
“How’d it go? You know… ” She raises her eyebrows, expecting I will fill in the blank.
I lower my voice so only she can hear me.
“
Awfully scary there for a moment. But I found out some interesting stuff. And, yeah, they don’t have alibis.”
Annette slaps the bar top.
“Those little bastards,” she said.
I glance around to make sure Carole the cook is out of earshot.
“Yeah, but that’s not proof enough. I’ll talk with you later,” I say, and then in my best bartender’s voice I ask, “What can I get you two ladies?”
They both make snorting laughs.
“Ladies, eh?” Marsha says. “Make it the usual.”
I reach inside the cooler for two Buds when I notice Dancin’ Dave enter the side door. He appears to know most everybody because there are howdies and handshakes all around. Then he makes a beeline for the bar, and just my luck, there’s an empty stool.
“Hey, Jack, nice place you’ve got,” he says, and then he raises a finger. “Ma’am, could I trouble you for a Bud?”
“One Bud coming up,” I say.
Jack goes over to shake Dave’s hand. It’s the usual small talk and chuckles between guys.
“Hey, Dave, what brings you here tonight?” Jack asks.
“Why, I was hopin’ to see Isabel. She told me she works here Friday nights,” Dave says.
Jack purses his lips as he nods. He hums.
“She sure does.”
I try not to laugh as I place Dave’s bottle of Bud in front of him.
“Here you go. We don’t mind glass bottles here at the Rooster.”
Dave chuckles.
“Thank you, ma’am. I heard Jack likes to keep his clientele in line.”
Jack speaks for me.
“Sure do,” he says.
The band takes a break, and I’m grateful for the rush in orders for beer. I haven’t a chance to talk with Dancin’ Dave, who is big into staring, or Jack, who brings those empties back faster than I recall. He doesn’t make much chitchat at the tables. He’s all business tonight.
On one of his runs, he says, “Isabel, did I tell you I like your hair that way? It looks pretty up like that.”
Uh, no.
I’m about to answer one of Dave’s questions, when Jack clangs that cowbell and announces the bar is closed for the next song. I had lost track of Jack for a few minutes, but now I’m supposing he went to the Lone Sums to make a request because he’s got a shit-eating grin when the band plays the opening chords to “Good Hearted Woman.” He holds out his hand.
“Isabel? Here you go.”
I giggle, yes, giggle, as he grabs my hand. He leads me onto the floor. It’s been a while, but I catch onto his moves fast. He’s smiling. I’m smiling. Yeah, Jack’s back.
But about halfway through the song, Dancin’ Dave comes beside Jack and taps his shoulder.
“I’d like to cut in, if you don’t mind, buddy,” he says.
Jack, who’s been intent on twirling me around the floor, stares at the man as if he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His face is blank, but then, being the country gentleman he is, he grins and nods as he passes my hand to Dancin’ Dave. He steps back a few feet out of the way of the other dancers as Dave gets me going. It takes me a few moves to catch onto his style, which is a bit more aggressive than Jack’s. I try not to smile too hard, for Jack’s sake, and I follow every step, for Dave’s. I aim to have a good time, but not too good a time, if you get what I mean. This is a bit awkward, but what choice do I have?
And just when I think things will roll along with Dancin’ Dave, Jack steps forward and taps the man’s shoulder.
“Okay, I’ll have her back,” he says.
Dancin’ Dave tips his head and hands me off just in time for the end of the song. As we walk back to the bar, people stare. I smile at Dave and say, “Thanks for the spin,” before Jack cranks up the cowbell and yells the bar is back open. Dave returns to his stool. He shakes what’s left in his bottle of beer.
“Ma’am, I’ll have another and a shot of tequila. Make it top shelf please.”
Behind me, Jack says, “I’ll get it, Isabel. Why don’t you shag empties? Watch out for Joe though. It looks like he’s losing control of his feet on the dance floor.”
I smile at his joke.
“Sure enough, boss.”
I wander through the Rooster picking up empties and gabbing with the drinkers. Of course, I know most of them since most of them live here in Conwell, but there are outsiders, too, who by their gear came here by snowmobile, including I discover at my next table, Pete and Barbie Woodrell.
“Didn’t know you worked here at the Rooster,” Pete greets me.
“Just Fridays. Jack gets swamped when there’s a band.” I eye their drinks. Pete’s drinking something hard. Barbie’s got something pink. I remember the order Jack gave me: cranberry and vodka. “Looks like you’re still working on those.”
Behind me, the band strikes up something lively by Buddy Holly. This is the first time I can remember any band’s played “That’ll Be the Day” at the Rooster. The Lone Sums and the dancers are getting into this old rockabilly tune when a guy bumps me from behind. After a quick apology, one of the True Blue Regulars leans across the table and asks Barbie to dance.
Barbie checks in with her stone-faced hubby.
“No, no, I can’t,” she says.
“Sure, you can. You don’t mind, Pete, do ya?”
The True Blue Regular doesn’t wait for Pete’s response. He takes Barbie’s hand and pulls her onto the dance floor.
But from the way Pete’s mouth is set, I believe he does mind. His brow forms a hard ridge. Barbie makes a tinkling little laugh as she dances. I think about Annette calling Pete a dick and about Barbie’s black eye, now almost gone. I shake my head before I move on. I’ve got empties to clear.
The tray is half full when I come to Marsha and Annette’s table. Bobby Collins, Marsha’s beau, and another guy I don’t know sit beside them. Marsha grabs my arm. She makes a full-bodied laugh.
“That was some show on the dance floor, Isabel.” The Floozy doesn’t hold back on the volume. “Two guys fightin’ over you like that.”
“You’re making that up,” I say. “Hey, Bobby, how’ve you been?”
But Marsha isn’t going to let Bobby talk. She’s over full with mischief.
“You’re shittin’ me, Isabel. Dave Baxter came all this way to another guy’s bar? He can drink for free at his own. He wanted to see ya.”
I set the tray on the table. Whoa, what did the Floozy just say?
“Dave owns Baxter’s? That biker bar?”
“I thought you knew that,” Marsha says.
“No, I didn’t have a clue.” I glance back toward the bar where Jack and Dancin’ Dave are talking. I reach for the empties on their table. “I’ll take these for you.”
Annette laughs. She slaps the arm of lover boy beside her. These gals like grabbing and slapping people.
“Isabel, you crack me up.” Her head tips back. “You ready to bring your Subaru in for that oil change? I noticed it’s gettin’ close the last time you were at my place.”
“How’d you know?”
“I saw the sticker on your windshield, and then I checked the mileage. I’m no charity case.” Her head swivels around. “Besides, we need to talk. Come around noon tomorrow.” She gives the guy she’s with a shove. “I need my beauty sleep.”
“Sure enough.”
I return to the bar with the tray of empties, but Dancin’ Dave is gone. I think about teasing Jack that he scared him off. He’s making change for a customer although I catch him peeking at me out of the corner of his eye.
I reach for the empty and shot glass from Dave’s spot. Beneath the bottle, he left a folded five-dollar bill, which is an excessively large tip for the Rooster. A torn piece of a matchbook tucked inside the bill falls onto the counter. The handwriting says: Call me soon. Chet Waters. There’s a phone number.
Shoot, I casually stuff the paper in the front pocket of my jeans as I throw the five into the tip jar behind the bar.
; “That’s a mighty generous tip,” Jack says. “You must’ve given him great service.”
I study Jack’s face to test his mood. I never thought he would be the jealous type, but I guess I’m wrong.
“No more than any other customer. Guess he’s just a generous guy.” I slide over beside Jack and give him a playful hip-bump. “But he’s not as good a dancer as you.”
He laughs.
“All right then.”
Last Call and Then Some
I stay until the end because so many people do. Jack has to practically kick out the stragglers.
“Don’t you all have a home to go to?” he asks one True Blue Regular.
“Yeah, but it’s more fun here,” he answers.
Carole left after she cleaned the kitchen and had her official drink, a Long Island Iced Tea, which has a heckuva a lot of booze. Jack won’t let just anybody order that drink, but Carole’s hubby was here to give her a ride home. Plus, Jack’s pleased the new menu items, which includes a beef stew, sold out fast.
Jack shuts off the neon beer signs. The Rooster is as clean as we can make it tonight. I already called my mother, who’s watching a good movie. She told me not to rush home, but then again, she wants to hear everything about tonight. I bet she will be amused about Dancin’ Dave’s appearance. She’s feeling a lot better.
“Glad to hear it,” I told her.
Jack and I sit side by side at the counter with our beers. Right off, he asks about the Beaumonts and not Dancin’ Dave, which I find amusing.
“I’ll bet a hundred bucks your visit to the Beaumonts wasn’t a lot of fun,” Jack says.
“You’d win that wager.”
Jack listens closely as I give him a blow by blow about my meeting with the brothers. I skip the parts about the drugs found in the Corolla or their former business arrangement with the Sinclair boys. It’s not that I don’t trust Jack, but a promise is a promise even to a couple of bums like the Beaumonts.
“That was a foolhardy thing you did, Isabel. Be careful.”
“Foolhardy. That’s a good word.” I reach for the bottle. “I was glad my mother didn’t come. It might’ve been too much for her.”
Jack shakes his head and clicks his tongue.
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