Flash Memory: A Lost Hat, Texas, Mystery (The Lost Hat, Texas, Mystery Series Book 2)

by Anna Castle

  That made me so mad I got out the clippers and whacked away at the box hedges around the base of my front porch. Then I decided I didn’t like the dumb things anyway, so I got a shovel and dug them right out. Boring little old lady hedges. I wanted flowers—lush, wild, exuberant flowers.

  I worked until dark on Friday night and then got up early Saturday and started in again. Neighbors wandered over to see what I was up to and give me contradictory advice. It made me feel like a real home-owner, standing all sweaty in the yard yakking about caulk and how to keep skunks out of the crawlspace.

  I was fixing myself a peanut butter and peach sandwich for lunch when I suddenly realized I’d forgotten about Ty’s visiting hours. I used to think about him every hour; heck, I used to think about him every other minute. Could one night of believing him to be a killer have pushed him that far out of my mind?

  I licked peach juice off my fingers and called the jail. They said I could visit him Sunday at four. They couldn’t bring him to the phone right then, because he was teaching a class in Windows Basics to the other inmates.

  A model prisoner. Somehow that made me feel guiltier. Would our relationship survive this experience? Other people managed to get through bad patches and stay together, didn’t they? That revelation that peels the paint from your illusions, that shows you your lover wasn’t the man you thought he was. People adapt and go on.

  It could be worse. I could be finding out that Ty was a freelance art critic.

  I finished the prep work late in the afternoon. I had gotten wet and dirty from head to toe and still hadn’t decided which colors I wanted. Most of the neighbors liked the muted shades. Only Mr. Muelenbach, the retired high school English teacher who lived next door, voted for the turquoise and pink scheme. Marion, who dropped by to bring me a plate of health food cookies and critique my work, told me bright colors would compete with the landscaping, if I really ever planted flowers, which she very much doubted.

  I shared the cookies with Jake, who liked them more than I did. I decided to go to the studio where I could try on the colors in Photoshop, so I put away the ladder and the tools and got cleaned up.

  The studio was deliciously cool and dim with the front shades drawn. It felt like I’d been gone for a month. When I booted up the Power Mac and popped the flash card out of my camera, I remembered that I hadn’t yet uploaded the pictures from the car scene. Another whole card from Blackberry Day sat forgotten in its pocket in my camera bag.

  I started uploading the photos, but didn’t want to look at them quite yet. Thinking about the southeast pasture made me think of Hank and thinking about Hank made me paranoid. I got up to lock the front door. Then I went into the kitchen to check the back door. I had to fight the urge to go check upstairs. In a horror movie, that’s where old Hank would be, crouched in the shadows among the antiques, drooling while he licked his long hunting knife.

  Enough! I had a faithful watch dog; let him do the watching. I turned on all the lights and put on the one sure cure for the wiggins: Tito Puente’s Mucho Cha-Cha. I danced back to the computer, opened a picture of my house in Photoshop, and started trying on colors.

  Tito favored the hot tropical schemes.

  By seven-thirty, I’d moved on to Alejandro Escovedo and the contemporary yellows and grays. Jake reminded me that we hadn’t eaten anything but cookies, so we took a break and went to the Seven Sisters—Tillie’s mother’s restaurant—for enchiladas and refried beans.

  Somebody should have told me not to feed beans to a dog.

  I stepped out to the sidewalk for a breath of fresh air and a look at the sunset. The concrete still radiated the day’s heat, but a light breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees in the courthouse park. I could almost hear them sighing with relief. Another summer day survived; a warm, soft night for recovery.

  I put Jake on the leash and locked the front door. Might as well take him for a spin before knocking off for the night. We walked toward the Law Enforcement Center, since I figured that was the last place my arch-enemy would choose to spend a Saturday night. We were rounding the corner of the bank when a police siren bleeped behind me.

  I startled and pulled Jake back against the old bank building.

  Two—no, three—cop cars went whizzing past, lights flashing and sirens blaring. There was big trouble somewhere in Lost Hat tonight.

  We jogged down to the corner of 88 to look, but the trouble must be outside the central business district. We cut across the bank’s parking lot back to Pecan Street and bumped into Sid Matslar coming around the corner.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but it must be big. Half the sheriff’s department just raced past.”

  He looked at me with a boyish sparkle in his eyes. “Let’s follow ‘em.”

  What the hey. We country folks take our entertainment where we can find it.

  Sid’s car, a well-worn Kia Rio, was the only car left in the bank’s lot. He didn’t mind having a large dog drooling over his shoulder. Points to the loan officer in the wide suspenders.

  He gave me a sidelong look as he turned the key in the ignition. “You’re not afraid to get into a car with me? That must mean I’m not a suspect anymore.” He didn’t sound like he’d taken the notion very seriously.

  Neither had I; not him, anyway. “Well, I got my dog.”

  Jake chose that moment to give Sid an ear-washing.

  Sid groaned, then focused on speeding down 88 without hitting any of the other cars following the cops.

  The sirens ahead of us muted into random bleeps as the cop cars pulled into the parking lot of the Hat Trick Saloon. Being Saturday night, they had a full house. We pulled over at the edge of the lot and jumped out of the car, following the other sightseers to a spot near the door.

  “Let us through, please,” I said, edging my way through the bodies, “I’ve got a dog here.”

  People parted to let me through with Jake. This dog thing worked like magic! Sid followed us, mumbling, “I’m with them.”

  We made it to the front of the small crowd in time to see Dare coming through the front door with Hank Roeder in handcuffs, lecturing him in a low voice. I couldn’t hear the words, but I knew them from TV: “You have the right to remain silent…”

  He marched him to a county car, where another deputy had the back door open. Hank looked demented in the flashing colored lights: bony as a grasshopper, beady eyes glaring, that death’s head grin under the Confederate moustache. As they tucked him into the car, he spotted me in the crowd and bared his teeth like a wild beast.

  I bared my teeth right back at him, happy to be fear-free again. Also, of the two of us, which one would be spending Saturday night in jail?

  Chapter 23

  I presented myself at the desk at the Visitation Center promptly at four o’clock on Sunday afternoon. I’d spent the morning helping Mr. Muelenbach with his vegetable garden, hauling mulch and stacks of weeds. I’d also called the folks to ask Dad if he could find a way to confirm Dare’s alibi. He said he’d make a few calls, but recommended that I not hold my breath in the meantime.

  He hadn’t decided if he liked my getting involved in murder investigations. On the one hand, it brought me into regular communication with the peace-keeping authorities, in whose mission he wholeheartedly believed. On the other hand, it also brought me to the attention of people who considered violence an effective coping strategy.

  I took some pains with my appearance this morning, using the mirror time to try to resolve my feelings about Ty. I didn’t get any farther than I had with the color schemes yesterday. We’d moved past the hot, tropical phase of fresh romance, but were we ready for the muted tones of mature disillusion?

  Surely not. This trouble, once we got past it, would only strengthen our relationship. I pulled on my purple linen pants and a plain white T-shirt with a scoop neck that showed a little cleavage. I found a string of amber beads in Great-Aunt Sophia’s jewelry box and looped those aro
und my neck while I stepped into my dress-up sandals. I even polished my hair with an old silk scarf and left it loose. I decided against lipstick, for fear Ty would think I’d been possessed by an alien entity.

  The desk sergeant waved me through to the visitor’s room, saying “It’s a regular old home week in there.”

  I didn’t know what she meant until I walked in and found Carson sitting across from Hank and Ty. They had pushed their chairs back from the table so they could see each other over the fixed plastic dividers that were supposed to provide privacy for each visitor-prisoner pair. Ty sat in our usual bay near the visitor entrance; Carson and Hank sat at the opposite end. Dwayne, the guard, stood at the door to the jail corridor with his hands behind his back. He kept his eyes on Hank, with occasional glances at the other two.

  The three old friends lounged in the hard plastic chairs with the air of neighbors passing the time at a backyard barbecue. But tension hung in the air strong enough to prickle the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “Penny!” Ty showed me his businessman’s smile. “Look who’s here! My old pal Hank, come to keep me company, and my other old pal Carson, come to keep him company.”

  “Penny, what a delightful surprise,” Carson said, half-standing until I got myself seated opposite Ty. “I’m checking up on Hank and taking the chance to visit Ty. I should have come sooner, but with the campaign on top of everything else…” He produced his politician’s smile.

  Hank did not smile. The loose jumpsuit made him look scrawny, like a blond monkey with a scraggly moustache. The pink fabric accentuated his bloodshot eyes and the grayish tinge of his skin. He looked thoroughly miserable, but he managed to pull himself together enough to bare his teeth at me again.

  “Oh, stop,” I said. “You can’t scare me anymore.”

  “I’ll be out on bail Monday morning. Then you’d best watch yourself, Missy.” His voice sounded like he’d been gargling spackle.

  “Are you threatening me?” I glanced at Dwayne, who stood up straight and looked as authoritative as a twenty-year-old with freckles and jug-sized ears could.

  Carson made a pacifying gesture at me and gave Hank a stern look. “Now, now. Of course he’s not threatening you. We’re all friends here.”

  Hank rolled his eyes and stretched his thin lips into an unnatural smile far less pleasant than the sneer.

  Carson shrugged at me. “Manners are not Hank’s long suit. He really is all bark though. He thinks it’s funny to tease the girls.”

  Very funny. I was laughing so hard it almost showed.

  “It appears Hank has been up to no good in our old club house,” Ty said. He gave him a cold smile. “It’s hard to believe he could have been cooking his messes right under our noses, so to speak. I’m surprised you never noticed it, Carson.”

  “It’s no surprise, Tyler,” Carson said. “My spread is a lot bigger than yours, remember. And I have staff to work the fences. I rarely get out that way myself.”

  The two men sat and grinned at each other. I sensed treacherous undercurrents, but had no clue what drove them. Were they old friends or old enemies?

  “Besides,” Carson said, “the Raider is innocent until proven guilty, isn’t that right, Dwayne?”

  Ty said, “Like me, right, Dwayne?”

  Dwayne didn’t answer. Wise kid.

  Ty said, “I heard they caught old Hankerino red-handed last night, selling meth out at the Hat Trick.”

  Both Ty and Carson gazed at old Hankerino as if considering a hound that refused to go hunting. I expected the next words to be, “What are we going to do about that dad-blame dog?”

  “A friend wanted a few hits,” Hank grumbled. “A little two-bit dealing. That’s all they got on me.”

  “Oh, I think they’ve got more than that.” Ty’s voice thrummed with menace.

  The tone penetrated Hank’s foggy condition. He twisted in his chair to face Ty squarely. “I did not kill that guy.” He put a hand over his heart. “I swear by the arrow.”

  The old boyhood oath. Ty held Hank’s eyes for a long time. “Huh,” he said at last. “I almost believe you, Raider.”

  “I don’t.” I glared at Ty. Hank was far and away our best suspect and I personally wanted to see him locked him up in a high-security prison in another part of the state.

  Hank rolled his bloodshot eyes at me. Then he gave a rasping cough. “I want a beer.”

  “They don’t give us beer, old son,” Ty said. “But you’ve got a scoop of chicken salad, two slices of wheat bread, and canned fruit cocktail to look forward to for lunch.”

  Hank made a gagging gesture. “I’ll be out on Monday, right, Boss?” He gave Carson a hard look.

  “Do my best.” Carson’s tone was neutral, not promising anything. A good sign for my team.

  “Dealing less than an ounce,” Hank said. “That’s nothing. You’ll bail me out, a little bargaining, I’ll get what, three-to-five? Good behavior, I’m out in half that.”

  “What bargaining?” I asked. “Once they get into that old stone house, they’ll have everything they need for both charges. They’re probably out there right now.”

  “Not without my knowledge,” Carson said. “I haven’t seen a warrant yet. And nobody has said anything about charging Hank with Bainbridge’s murder.”

  “Manslaughter,” Ty said. “That’s the charge against me, anyway. But now we’ve got my old pal Hank to rearrange that picture.”

  “I honestly don’t think Hank did it.” Carson looked at me as he spoke. “It’s too sophisticated, especially that bit about the email messages. And I should hope I’d be the last person he would try to implicate.”

  “My lawyer told me about the stuff they found in the car,” Ty said. “That doesn’t sound sophisticated to me. In fact, Hank is the person most likely to salvage those alligator boots. Anyone who knows me would know I prefer ostrich.”

  He flicked a glance at me and I bravely looked down at my hands. He knew, I could feel it. He knew I’d given up on him after we found the car.

  I took a breath and met his eyes. “I believed it was you for one night. One long, terrible, sleepless night. I don’t believe it anymore and I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  He smiled that lopsided smile that turned my insides to mush. “It would have worried me more if you hadn’t.”

  Hot, tropical feelings washed over me like warm paint. We beamed at each other, telepathically crossing the plastic divider in a big, smooshy hug.

  Hank groaned. “Oh, spare me.”

  Carson said, “That’s so touching, really. Except that I’m the one that you were trying to frame, Tyler, which I must say I resent.”

  Ty leveled his gaze at Carson. “You really think I did it, don’t you?”

  “Put all the pieces together and yours is the only picture that emerges.”

  “I can’t believe you think I’m capable of hitting a man hard enough to kill him. I’ve never hit anybody in my life.”

  “You hit me,” Hank said.

  “What? When?”

  “That time I put that hog snake in Diana’s backpack.”

  “You scared the shit out of her! She was in tears, you asshole!”

  I chuckled.

  “See,” Hank said. “It’s funny.”

  “I’m laughing at you, not with you, moron. The more you try to defend yourself, the deeper you dig the hole. I can’t wait to see you on the witness stand.”

  “She’s got a point,” Ty said.

  “No, she’s proving my point,” Carson said. “Hank doesn’t have the smarts, except when it comes to hunting, which must be some kind of idiot savant characteristic.”

  “Hey!” Hank said.

  “Idiot savant is better than just plain idiot,” I explained helpfully. Hank glared at me and I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “Children, please,” Carson said. “I am presenting a considered argument. Hank isn’t capable of sending those misleading messages or of setting up the false story wit
h the car and the call to my campaign line. Even if he were, he wouldn’t hide the thing right downhill from his meth lab.” He winced—one step too far.

  “Got that part right,” Hank said, missing the point. “That car’s a beaut. Brand new Cadillac Escalade with leather interior and chrome detailing? Must’ve cost a boatload.” Hank jerked his chin at Ty. “It’d been me, I’d’ve took that car and sold it, and then they would’ve found it, and then they would’ve got me. Case closed.” He sat back with his arms folded and a satisfied sneer on his face.

  We stared at him, silent for a long moment.

  I broke first. “So your defense is basically ‘Not guilty by reason of stupidity?’”

  Ty and Carson frowned at him for a long moment, then traded nods. “That ought to do it,” Carson said.

  “Pretty much,” Ty agreed.

  I stared at him, flabbergasted. “That’s the most unreasonable line of reasoning I’ve ever heard!”

  He shrugged at me. “We’ve got other suspects, right? On that list of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on the list,” Carson said, as though it were some kind of local honor. “Unfortunately for you, I have an alibi. Quite a good one.”

  “Aren’t you the clever jinx,” Ty said.

  Carson smiled thinly. “I’m a busy guy with a good secretary. I could probably provide an alibi for any time last month. Between the campaigning, the bank business, the ranch…”

  “You’re turning into your grandfather.” A spark glimmered deep in Ty’s green eyes. I didn’t get the joke, but Carson plainly didn’t like it.

  Hank laid his forehead on the table with a long, croaking groan. “I’d give my right nut for a smoke.”

  Carson clucked his tongue. “You’ll live. It’s less than twenty-four hours.”

  “If he makes bail,” Ty said, “which he won’t, if my lawyer does her job. Hank’s a menace to the community, whether he killed Bainbridge or not.” Ty looked at me. “You should meet with her when she comes back out and go over your list of suspects.”

  “I will,” I said. “I’ll keep at it right up to the trial, if necessary.” Although I was eighty-five percent certain that the man who’d killed Roger Bainbridge was sitting right here, moaning for a cigarette.