Hot Enough to Kill

by Paula Boyd

  A telltale band of red crept up his bronzed neck and he tried to sputter out a denial.

  I didn't let him. "I could be misreading the signals you're sending--and let's just go with that--because, you see, we've got a killer on the loose. And you, Rick-the-big-city-detective, may be about the only chance we've got, under the circumstances, to catch him."

  He toyed with his pen, looking down, unsure what to do next.

  Since I am a sucker for salvaging male egos--and since he apparently had exquisite taste in women--I decided to play along. "Off the record, if I was five years younger and you were five years older, I'd zip you off to some plush hotel and give you something to tell your pals in the nursing home about fifty years from now."

  He looked up at me and grinned. "I bet could too."

  Before he started trying to convince me the age thing didn't matter, I said, "But there's a certain sheriff that might not find that amusing. And, since this is the first time we've wound up single at the same time in twenty-five years, I'd like to see what happens."

  Rick's eyes widened and his face fell. Apparently, there were a few dots he hadn't fully connected. "I…I…"

  "I'm flattered, Rick, really, and it's okay," I said, smiling. "Now, how about we forget out little fun flirtation and I entertain you with more local gossip?" I didn't wait for him to process and nod approval, I just leaped right on in. "I guess you know about Ethel Fossy, the geriatric stalker, also known as Bony Butt. Besides lurking outside my mother's house and following her around, little church lady Ethel also indulges in hang-up calls and hate mail."

  Rick's pallor had warmed to an embarrassed blushed, but he looked relieved to be back to business and quickly flipped through his notes to get himself back on track. "Isn't she a friend of Mrs. Bennett's?"

  "Yes, that's the one. She's also a big supporter of the late mayor, which muddies up the obvious motive. Fossy also went to the same church as the Bennetts, so there shouldn't be any "my church is better than your church" overtones or undertones, although Ethel's pretty firm on the fire and brimstone business."

  Detective Surfer Dude nodded and wrote. "She is kind of a character."

  "Aren't we all," I muttered.

  He smiled, an appreciative, but professional smile. "Anything else?"

  Well, yes, I could speculate all day, but I didn't want to. "I think that's about it."

  He pulled a business card from the side pocket of his notepad, jotted something on the back and slid it across the table to me. "My cell phone is on the back. If you think of anything else, give me a call." As he said the words, his face turned a little red. "Now, just because you have my number doesn't mean you can call me up and ask me out on a date. You're just going to have to understand this is strictly business."

  "Understood, Detective Rankin," I said, playing along. "I promise to control myself."

  With the awkwardness smoothed over, we stood and chatted for a few minutes. He promised to give old Bony Butt a good scolding and tell her it was not okay to harass people, even if she could find what she considered scriptural justification. He also said he'd check her activities against those of the Bennetts to see if anything looked suspicious. I doubted Rick would be able to scare Ethel straight, but it was at least something.

  "Thanks, Rick," I said, extending my hand. "I'll let you know if I think of anything else."

  Lucille burst into the kitchen, a strange look on her face. "Calhoon Fletcher! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner."

  Rick released my hand and turned toward Lucille. "Miz Jackson, are you referring to Commissioner Fletcher?"

  She nodded; her face pale. The Bing Cherry lipstick she'd so carefully painted on didn't help matters at all, the contrast making her face look all the whiter. "Oh, my, I just don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. Everybody knew Fletch was trying to get rid of BigJohn because of all the problems with the builders and water plant and what not. Well, just about everybody in town was thinking we needed a new mayor. But Fletch took it personal about trying to stick the city for those lots. He'd even gone so far as to tell BigJohn he was going to condemn those lots for the water plant rather than pay BigJohn's price. Personally, I think Fletch was just jealous he didn't think to buy the lots first."

  Rick flipped open his notepad and went back to work.

  "Okay," I said, trying to link this up with any of the other situations, issues or gunfire. Nothing jumped out at me. "So we add his name to BigJohn's hate list."

  Lucille nodded again then sighed heavily. "You may as well put Fletch on my hate list, too."

  Rick looked up, brushed a blond lock from his forehead. "Why is that, Miz Jackson?"

  "I suppose you know about that recall petition against Fletch. Well, it was my idea, and I started it going around the day before BigJohn was killed." Rick didn't look aware at all but that did not deter Lucille. "I'd just had enough of his picking on BigJohn, not that the old goat didn't need it, mind you. But Fletch's hands were just as dirty as anybody's, and I didn't think it was fair that he got off scot-free."

  My mother had started a petition? My mother? Spouting off was one thing, but doing something official about it was quite another. I was highly impressed. "Wow, Mom, that must have taken some effort."

  She looked at me, obviously missing the point that I was proud of her activist activities. "Well, Jolene, I'm not helpless. Granted, it wasn't an easy thing to do, what with getting all the I's dotted and T's crossed so the petition would be official, but it was something that had to be done, and I did it."

  "May I see a copy of the petition?" Rick asked.

  Lucille pulled a folded paper from her pocket. "I hadn't gotten but a dozen or so signatures, but everybody in town knew about it. It was just a matter of time before I had what I needed for a recall. After the shooting, of course, I didn't keep up with getting people to sign."

  I'd heard Lucille say Fletch was dirty before, but I didn't catch any specifics. Condemning land is legal, if exceptionally unpleasant for the owners, so that couldn't be the main issue. "What were your specific reasons for the recall?"

  Lucille patted her hair. "There were plenty of them. Fletch had pulled so many shenanigans it was hard to know where to start. There were a lot of things that we couldn't prove, but it wasn't for lack of working at it, I'll tell you for sure."

  I have to admit that I was completely and totally shocked at my mother's involvement in politics and her resulting activism. When I was growing up, the closest she came to caring about politics was voting for president simply to cancel whoever my father voted for.

  "Did you find something illegal going on?" Rick asked.

  "You're mighty right we did. Merline and I had been snooping into some of the deals going on in Bowman County for quite a while. We began to piece things together and figured out that Fletch had set up a planning and zoning board that was supposed to manage the so-called growth in the county. Supposedly it was to make sure some big, smelly plant didn't get built in the smack dab middle of a neighborhood, that sort of thing."

  Rick pulled out a chair, sat back down and motioned us to do the same. I debated leaving him with Lucille, but her story was getting a mite intriguing, if I did say so myself, and I definitely needed more details to add to my own theories.

  "The zoning board, you see," Lucille continued, "was just a front. BigJohn learned about it first somehow, but Merline and I confirmed it kind of sneaky-like. Anyway, the way Fletch set it up, if you wanted to put in a building in this county, you had to get it approved by this board first, which was easy to do as long as you greased the right palm. Darn near impossible if you didn't. We knew this for a fact because Merline's daughter and son-in-law wanted to build a house out on the road to the lake and it took almost six months to get approval." She blinked at the detective. "Dewayne Schuman got approved for six houses all in the same day. Now what do you think of that?"

  "Is that so," I muttered, trying to link Dewayne to Fletch. I could, but only through Ler
oy or maybe Gifford and neither of those roads were paved with any real facts. "Interesting."

  "Now, this is a different permit program than what the mayor instituted, correct?" Rick asked.

  Lucille nodded. "BigJohn had a city permit. This was through the county, and it started up maybe a year ago. Like I said, dirty, dirty. It's like there's this big old bucket of mud and every one of them is seeing who can get their hands in the deepest. It seems to me they were all just trying to out-do one another."

  "If you don't mind, Miz Jackson," Rick said to Lucille. "I'd like to go back over some of your statements and make sure I have a clear picture of the various situations you're familiar with."

  "Why, of course, young man," Mother said sweetly. "That'll be just fine. I'm happy to help."

  Since when? Lucille was being entirely too gracious, and that worried me. I wasn't exactly sure why, but it did. Maybe it was because it had taken Jerry three "chats" to get to the truth about where she was the night BigJohn was killed, or maybe it was just because Lucille was involved in general. Whatever the case, when she started animatedly retelling everything she knew about Dewayne and the garage/carport thing as well as the water scandal, I knew it was time to leave and stood.

  "Jolene, honey, don't run off. I know you must be hungry." Lucille pointed to the refrigerator. "I believe there's some pimento cheese spread in the icebox and a whole fresh loaf of bread in the cupboard. How many deputies and police people do you suppose are out on the porch?"

  I didn't know how many official types we still had lurking about, but I knew darned well I wasn't going to be making pimento cheese sandwiches for them, and that was exactly where Lucille was headed. My mother was about a nail click away from saying, "Jolene, honey, why don't you fix these nice men a sandwich?" And she didn't intend for me to answer the "why don't" part either. Besides the fact that I'm not the Betty Crocker type, her beloved pimento cheese is not my favorite sandwich--spread or otherwise. "Thanks, Mother, but I'm not really hungry," I said, then scurried from the kitchen and into my room before she could catch me.

  I actually hated to miss learning any new details on the cases that Lucille might impart, but I had heard these stories before and sometimes you just have to make hard choices. Besides, I had another source of information that could update me on the shootings and then make me forget I even cared. In fact, he had a lovely way of making me forget about almost everything but the sound of his voice.

  After settling myself on my old bed with two pillows propped behind me, I relaxed a little. I couldn't help the smile that curved my lips as I grabbed the phone, dialed up the Redwater Falls General Hospital and asked for Jerry Don Parker's room.

  In the old days, two hours on the phone was just getting started. I hoped he felt like talking even a little more today. I was still smiling when he came on the line.

  When he said my name, I was pretty sure he was smiling, too.

  Chapter 13

  After a long and pleasant chat with Jerry, I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling. There was no way this could work out--no way--but darned if it wasn't fun pretending it could.

  The phone rang, jumping me out of my musings and my skin. By the fourth ring, I had to assume that Lucille was still enthralled in storytelling and couldn't be bothered, so I picked up the receiver. "Hello."

  "Is this Jolene Jackson?" a steady feminine voice said.

  I didn't recognize the voice, but I scooted up in bed to clear my ears, my voice and my fantasies. "Yes, this is Jolene."

  "You don't know me, but I'm Amy Parker's friend."

  She paused and let that information sink in. It did, like a floating fifty-five-gallon oil drum shot full of holes. As various interesting thoughts and questions trickled in, the biggest one bubbling to the top was: Why would Amy's lover be calling me?

  "My name is Susan Miller, and I take it you've heard about me."

  "Well, yes," I said, always quick with the clever replies. I mentally stuttered for a few seconds, but nothing tactful leapt to my tongue, so I just blurted out, "Why are you calling me?"

  "I realize this seems odd, but there's something I hope you can help me with."

  Odd? You think? And why did she think I could help her--or would? Getting involved in the personal affairs of Jerry Don's ex-wife's girlfriend did not seem like a good plan, and more than a little weird on any level.

  "Amy said you'd be the best person to contact," Susan said, unperturbed by my silence. "I couldn't very well ask Jerry Don for help, even if he wasn't in the hospital. Under the circumstances, I don't have too many options."

  I mumbled in a noncommittal way and waited for her to get to the point.

  "I know this is awkward," she said, stating the obvious yet again. "But I'd like to meet you in person and talk about a few things."

  This was becoming stranger by the second. I certainly didn't want to meet Amy's girlfriend, but what was I supposed to say, "No, go away and leave me alone" or "Sure, I'm happy to do whatever I can for the woman who broke up my best friend's marriage, not that I'm all that sorry he's divorced?" Geez.

  "I really don't know what else to do," she said. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."

  Now? She wanted to come now? "Well, I'm not sure the guard dogs out front would let you in. This place is swarming with cops at the moment."

  "Really? Did something else happen?"

  "Well, it seems--" I caught myself. The shootings were common knowledge now, but the reappearing shotgun was not. "It seems the deputies and other law officer types just can't get enough of us over here. I've answered the same questions at least thirty-five times, and yet they keep asking."

  "I know you've been through a lot, but I really do need your help. Do you think they'll be leaving soon?"

  I leaned over to the window by the bed and pulled back the curtain. Most of the Redwater officers were already gone or in the process thereof, including Rick, who was just pulling away. Two deputy cruisers were all I could see left in the area, one blocked by Lucille's car, the other out front. Another stellar investigation finished in record time, I supposed. "Looks like things are calming down, only one or two deputies left. Nevertheless, I can't leave the house without an escort, and nobody gets in without being frisked and fingerprinted."

  "I'll be right over. Just tell them I'm a friend."

  She hung up before I could say anything, specifically that I didn't want her heading right over now or ever, but it was too late. She was coming to chat about something, whether I wanted her to or not.

  I slid my feet over the edge of the bed and into my sandals, figuring I'd better warn my mother and the deputy of her arrival.

  Lucille's frown deepened with every sketchy detail of the impending visit I relayed. "That's just plain odd, her calling you out of the blue like that and then inviting herself over. Why on earth would that woman want to come out here and talk to you? She has to know about you and Jerry Don, not that I can see how that matters to her, she's got Amy...." Her voice trailed off, obviously as confused as I was about the whole thing.

  "I can't make any sense of it either. I guess we'll just have to wait until she gets here and see what she wants."

  "I just don't know about this, Jolene." Mother shook her head and rubbed her bandaged arm. "I just don't know about this at all. You really think we ought to let her just come barging in over here?"

  No, I really didn't, but for different reasons than what were probably flitting through Lucille's mind, such as if lesbianism was contagious. "Granted, this is weird, but I'll just meet her outside, let her say whatever is she wants to say and be done with it."

  Lucille looked highly relieved. "That would probably be best."

  "I guess I'll go inform our latest guard. Do you know who's been assigned to watch over us this time?"

  "No, but Stalker Bob and that Deputy Marshall woman both left. I don't know who's out there and don't much care," she said, wandering to the living room.

  I didn't much care either
. I also wasn't so eager to leave my little air-conditioned haven. I opened the fridge, pushed aside the Dr Peppers, grabbed a jug of water and poured myself a cool glass of Ozark spring water, which Mother purchases by the case as she now refuses to drink what flows from the tap. After chugging the water, I decided to treat myself to another small inoculation against the god-awful heat and stuck my head in the freezer until my nose froze. Blinking frosty lashes, I marched outside into the furnace to look for the guard.

  Only one official vehicle remained so I suspected my selection of deputies was limited as well. It took me a minute, but I finally spotted a lawn chair in the shade of the big pecan tree by the garage. And in the chair sat a sweaty deputy in an equally sweaty brown uniform, sipping on an extra large drink from the DQ and looking less than pleased with his assigned duty. As I walked toward him, the face began to look familiar--in a sickening sort of way. Then it registered. It was a Harper face parked under that tree in the lawn chair--but not the most familiar one. This had to be Leroy's younger brother Larry. Great, there were two of them with guns and power.

  "Hi, Larry," I said, rather chipper-like, considering the person, the heat and the mission. "Didn't know you were a deputy, too."

  "Off and on," he said, not bothering to stand. "Leroy called me in since they were short-handed. Most of the time I'm out in the oil field."

  Which might explain why he looked like such a grease ball--or not. I smiled and mentally chastised myself for my ugly thoughts. "Well, I figured I should let you know that I have a friend coming over in just a few minutes. Nothing you need to worry about. We're just going to have a quick chat out here and then she'll leave."

  Larry Harper grinned, his brown teeth stained as badly as Leroy's although there were definitely fewer of them. He had a big wad of chewing tobacco stuffed inside his lower lip, which made him look like a slobbery old bulldog.