Totally Buzzed

by Gale Borger

  “What the hell,” I’m certainly not going back to Mexico. I guess my questions about Martinez knowing about it are answered. That was why he would not return my calls.” Speaking of cell phones, he pulled his out and made a call to Donny Ray. He left a message.

  “Donny Ray? Alejandro Montoya. Check for drugs. Illegal drugs.” He flipped his phone closed and plugged it into the cigarette lighter to charge.

  He crumpled the wrappers from his breakfast and stuffed them into the bag. Throwing the map on the passenger’s seat, he pulled back onto the Interstate before he could change his mind.

  “What was the name of the sheriff down there? J.R.? R.J.? J.J? That’s right, J.J.” The last name? Weasel? No, that’s what the copper in Illinois called him. Copper…his name was a color! He went through the entire rainbow and still could not remember the last name.

  He saw the exit for White Bass Lake and had a moment of weakness. He almost drove past, but came to his senses at the last second. He heard someone lay on the horn when he cut them off trying to make the ramp. Gravel flew when he hit the shoulder and then righted the truck. He skidded to a stop and dropped his head on the wheel. He took a deep breath. Confirming his resolve, he turned right and headed toward White Bass Lake.

  17

  Alejandro drove into the pretty little town of White Bass Lake a little after six in the morning. He was sweaty and dusty from the previous evening’s nightmare, and couldn’t find a motel closer than the Interstate. He checked into a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town. Fresh from the shower, he went back out the door.

  He set out looking for the police department, and after going a couple of blocks, came to what was obviously the local hangout. There were more cars in the parking lot of the local diner than there were on the streets, so Alejandro pulled in and parked. He hoped the people in the diner were friendlier than the Midwesterners he had met thus far.

  The bell on the door tinkled as he stepped into the diner. The talk around him stopped: Here I go again. He looked at the floor as he walked to the counter and sat. The crowd noise resumed.

  A hand slapped his shoulder. Alejandro jumped out of his skin and yelped.

  “¡Hola amigo,” Sal shouted in his ear. “Welcome to White Bass Lake! You look like a Bear fan. You don’t like those Packers, do you?”

  About a third of the crowd yelled “Go Bears!” and the rest booed.

  Swallowing his heart, Alejandro looked up A small Latino man looked him in the eye, even though Alejandro was sitting and the man was standing. The man grabbed his hand and pumped it, grinning like they were long lost brothers. He continued to shake Alejandro’s hand, waited for him to respond.

  “Uh, I’m Alejandro Montoya. It’s very nice to meet a friendly face.”

  “Sal Garcia.” He nodded toward the crowded diner now hotly debating football, and chuckled. “I like to get them going in the morning. Hey, just a warning: watch out for her.”

  He winked and pointed to the waitress closing in on Alejandro. “I fired her this morning, but she won’t go away.” He smiled as he turned back toward the grill, whistling.

  Donna stopped by Alejandro’s right shoulder and slammed down a coffee cup in front of him. She poured him a cup even though he hadn’t asked for one. Of average height, she was big busted and showed off her ‘Sal’s Diner’ tee shirt to its best advantage. Hair in a pony tail, she had a work-worn face, but her lovely brown eyes danced with merriment.

  “He fired me twice last week, too. Don’t believe nothing that guy tells you. He lies, especially about who really runs this place. We tried to sell him on eBay, but no one would make a bid!” Laughing heartily at her own joke, she patted Alejandro on the shoulder and moved on.

  Alejandro was bowled over by the warm welcome and the hum of friendly conversation from the people around him. He listened to Donna teasing and joking her way through construction workers and families, seniors and vacationers. He smiled, relaxing for the first time in days. Now this is more of what I expected when I came up here.

  Amy came up to him from behind the counter and asked what he wanted to eat. Guessing most people didn’t use a menu, Alejandro ordered bacon and scrambled eggs. He watched in fascination as Sal’s hands flew across the grill. Donna refilled his coffee and gestured to Sal. “Showoff,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  Sal was still grinning when he turned from the grill and slid the steaming plate in front of Alejandro. “So what brings you to White Bass Lake, my friend. The fishing? I could tell you where the best places to fish are. I once caught a 14-inch walleye right off my pier over there.” He gestured in the general vicinity of the lake.

  “He lies about fish too,” floated up from the crowded diner.

  Alejandro smiled and leaned forward. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been fishing in quite a while. I’m originally from Arizona. I’m just passing through on this trip. I told a friend I would pass a message on to the sheriff for him when I stopped here. Could you tell me where to find him?”

  Sal looked over his shoulder at the clock. It was 7:40.

  “J.J. usually stops in around eight unless he gets a call. Lately the bad guys have been keeping him pretty busy, so if he doesn’t come in, I’ll give you directions to the office.”

  Alejandro also looked at the clock. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll have another cup of coffee and wait.”

  “Be my guest, amigo. Stay as long as you like.” Sal whistled the Chicago Bears Fight Song as he began the next order.

  Alejandro sipped his coffee and listened to the friendly banter between Sal and Donna. Snippets of conversation reached him as the ebb and flow of people talking swirled around him. He suddenly sat up when he heard the name ‘Carole’, and then ‘Graff’. He tried to concentrate on the voices behind him.

  “…don’t know what Buzz…Carole’s body…coroner”

  Oh my God. Body? Does that mean she is dead? Alejandro leaned in the direction of the conversation.

  “…Not a teacher. He’s…BI…out there.”

  “BI out there.” What did that mean? That the FBI was involved, or did he hear that in a different conversation? Perhaps if he turned in his chair, he could see who was talking. He turned on his stool, sipping his coffee.

  Sitting near him were two little old ladies having coffee and dessert.

  “No, Joy, I’ll get the check. I know you’re tapped out. When Carole Graff up and died, she took the Broussard Family Fortune with her.”

  “Who knows if I’ll need that missing money some day?”

  Alejandro froze. Did Carole Graff steal money too? Maybe he should look in that bubble envelope before he turned it over to the sheriff. He listened some more.

  “That money-grabbing hussy. How dare she make off with your life savings?”

  “Gerry Miller, there is no need for sarcasm. If Carole had settled her debts in a timely manner, she wouldn’t have died owing everyone money!”

  “Joy, for the last time, she owed you a couple bucks for some cantaloupe, which, may I remind you, you volunteered to buy! It was not like Carole knew she was going to croak. She was murdered.”

  Ohhh, shit–murdered. Alejandro turned back toward the counter and tried to think. Now what was he to do? Should he go to the sheriff or not? Would they think he killed that lady and arrest him? He had to think. Alejandro reached into his pocket to shove some bills on the counter, but was saved from having to make the decision to contact the sheriff when Sal yelled across the diner.

  “Morning, J.J. There’s someone here wants to talk to you.”

  Alejandro sank back onto his stool as Sheriff Green walked through the now silent diner to the counter. J.J. sat on the stool next to Alejandro and winked at Amy when a full coffee cup appeared at his elbow.

  He held out his hand to Alejandro, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. His open and friendly demeanor and casual greeting did much to put Alejandro at ease.

  “J.J. Green. Ho
w’r ya doin’?”

  “Alejandro Montoya. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “New Mexico?”

  “Close. Arizona.”

  J.J. sighed. “Story of my life. Close but no cigar. I’m usually pretty good at accents, though. So, Alejandro Montoya, what brings you to our little burg?”

  “Well, first, I am to bring you greetings from two police officers I met from Mundelein in Illinois.”

  “Ha! That would be Olsen and Ballard. I can imagine what kind of message those two sent. We all went through the academy together in Champaign a lifetime ago. Don’t tell me; fish fry and doughnuts?” Alejandro nodded his head. “Figures, they have no imagination. So where did you run into those two flatfoots?”

  “Well, Sheriff Green, to tell you that is to tell you my whole story. I believe you would not want it told in front of half the town.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I think it has to do with Mrs. Carole Graff.”

  J.J. eyed him for a full 15 seconds, then stood. “If you’re ready then, let’s go back to the office and we’ll talk.” Amy handed J.J. a Styrofoam container. J.J. sighed happily.

  “Amy, you are a gift from God.”

  She giggled, “That’s what I keep telling Sal. Maybe you should tell him too!”

  “Hey, Sal! You got a keeper here,” J.J. yelled across the diner as he paid for his breakfast.

  Sal looked up and grinned. “Don’t I know it! See you J.J.. Come again, Alejandro. Go Bears!”

  “GO BEARS,” half the diner responded as they exited.

  Alejandro was still shaking his head in wonder over his experience in the little diner when he reached his truck. By mutual consent, Alejandro followed J.J. to his office. Once there, he retrieved the bubble wrap envelope and his courage, and walked into J.J.‘s office.

  J.J. was on the phone, but signaled for Alejandro to have a seat. Alejandro looked around the spartan office and heard J.J. say, “Okay, Buzz, we’ll see you in a minute.”

  Alejandro lifted his brows in question. “Buzz?”

  “Buzz Miller, do you know her?”

  “I heard a lady by the name of Gerry argue with her friend in the diner and the name Buzz was mentioned in conjunction with Carole Graff. Listening to those ladies is how I came to think Carole Graff might be dead. Is she?”

  J.J. looked at the younger man across from him. He sat on the edge of his chair, clutching an envelope in his hand. His wide eyes and frightened demeanor told J.J. there were no nefarious reasons for his questions. If Alejandro Montoya was involved in this mess, it was on the periphery or as a pawn; he’d stake his job on it.

  “Okay, Alejandro, let’s take this from the top. Before we get further into this, I need to tell you that I am going to record our interview. This is a criminal investigation, and I need to keep my facts straight.” He picked up the small recorder and spoke into it.

  “November Four, Two Thousand Seven, Nine Eleven A.M. James J. Green, Sheriff. In regard to the homicide investigation of Carol Graff, interview with Montoya, Alejandro, Male, Hispanic D.O.B…” He looked at Alejandro.

  “Eleven, Eleven, Seventy Four.”

  J.J. continued. “November 11, 1974. Mr. Montoya, what is your stake in this? How did you become acquainted with Carole Graff?”

  Alejandro looked at the envelope in his hand and slowly pushed it across the desk toward J.J. He picked it up and looked at the address. He raised an eyebrow and gave Alejandro an assessing look.

  “You see, Sheriff Green, I am a horse trainer for Eduardo Martinez from the Mexican state of Coahuila. I brought five mares up from Mexico to the Appaloosa World Championships in Dallas/Fort Worth last Tuesday.”

  Alejandro had recounted his story from the time they left the ranchero until the point where he unloaded the mares and Dr. Huerta disappeared, when there was a knock on the door.

  Before J.J. could say, “Come in,” a huge ginning bear bounded through the door, straight to J.J.‘s lap, followed by an ugly little bulldog, a middle aged woman with glasses and flyaway graying hair (that would be me), another, younger woman, pretty, dark blonde and looking angry, a man about the same age, nice suit, looked wealthy, wearing a tense expression, and the little old lady named Gerry he’d seen] in the diner.

  * * *

  J.J. flipped off the recorder and calmly said, “Hey, Buzz, what’s with the circus?”

  I grinned. “Circus? You got that right. Complete with dancing bears,” I pointed to Wes, who was spinning and grinning, “and fire breathers!” I pointed to Mag, who was still pissed.

  Mom piped up, “Don’t forget the clowns.” She laughed as she pointed to the three deputies who poked their heads through the door. Moe, Larry, and Curly gave her injured looks and backed out, closing the door again. With everyone talking at once, it was hard to hear anyone.

  J.J. yelled his favorite line from Cool Hand Luke. “What we have here, Buzz, is a failure to communicate!” He straightened from his desk and tried to look stern and official.

  “Buzz, I asked you to come down here because you’re heading up this investigation. What I didn’t ask for, no offense Miz Miller, was your mom, and your sister. Dr. Connor…I assume you are here at Buzz’s request, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

  He held his hands out, palms down. “Now I don’t want anyone taking offense, but–” Everyone promptly began talking at once. Alejandro looked scared. Wesley walked up and shook doggy slime on him. Alejandro looked as if he was waiting for us to come to blows, or for the sheriff to start shooting. The other deputies should have heard the noise and come barreling in, but they wisely stayed away.

  Hands flying, dogs barking, people shouting to be heard over the others. Alejandro looked overwhelmed and ready to bolt out the door. I figured a little order was needed. I put my index fingers to my lips and let out an ear-splitting whistle, compliments of one of my dad’s important childhood lessons.

  “Yo, everyone–knock it off!”

  Even the dogs shut up.

  “J.J., to answer your questions, Mag is working on the case with me and she should be in on everything. Turns out our friend Dr. Connor isn’t just a plant biologist at the university. His day job is working for the FBI.” Jaws dropped, and heads turned in his direction.

  “Mom saw us when she and Joy came out of the diner and followed us over. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I thought maybe you could threaten her with obstruction, disorderly conduct, or something. Wes and Hilary are just a bonus.”

  Wesley licked J.J.‘s hand and placed his head on his arm, gazing up adoringly at him. J.J. sighed, rubbing his ears.

  “If you will all excuse me for a moment?” He eyeballed Ian and said, “You, Mr. FBI-Let’s-Not-Tell-the-Local-Sheriff-I’m-in-Town, follow me.

  “You,” pointing to Alejandro, “Stay put. You,” pointing at Mom, “Go home or I’ll call Bill to come get you.”

  He jerked a thumb in my direction. “Buzz, you’re with me. Mag, meet Alejandro. Alejandro, meet Mag. Stay here–both of you.”

  With that he stomped out of the room. Clenching his jaw, Ian followed. I shrugged my shoulders at Mag and in sign language said, ‘later’. All that angry testosterone was pretty intimidating and I trailed far behind both of them.

  18

  J.J. had a full head of steam going. He bulldozed his way past dispatch down the hall to the break room. One look cleared everyone out, and J.J. slammed the door. He calmly crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. He plunked himself down in a plastic chair, put his feet up on the table, and crossed his arms over his belly. He narrowed his eyes and sent an evil look toward Ian.

  “So who are you really and what are you doing down here?”

  Ian strolled over to the coffee pot and picked up a Styrofoam cup. He filled it and turned, hoisting himself up onto the counter. He set the coffee down next to him and leaned forward, folding his hands between his legs. I stood there looking stupid.

  “J.J.,” I began. He immediately held up his
hand.

  “Buzz, if you please, first things first. Let me get this out of the way, and don’t start making excuses. I’ll deal with you next.”

  I slid into a chair like a whipped pup and waited for Ian to start.

  “Sheriff Green, I’m Ian Connor. I am a forensic botanist for the FBI, Milwaukee Field Office. I do occasional work for the State Crime Lab and for the university. A friend of mine over at the crime lab called me to ask for help, but since this might be connected to another case the FBI is involved in, I had orders to remain undercover until I found out who the players were down here, and if this case could possibly be connected to the other.”

  J.J. looked at him for a long moment. “Why didn’t you use our local lab at the morgue if you needed a lab? Why run off with the evidence to Keokuk or wherever you took it?”

  “I had to use the Milwaukee labs because they had the software I needed. I have a couple of findings I know you’ll be interested in hearing about.

  “Sheriff Green, I am not one of those asshole Fed guys who comes onto a scene and throws his weight around. I want to–no, I need–to work with you and your people on this. We’re meeting at Mag’s house for an update after we’re through here.”

  J.J gave me an ‘I don’t get it’ look, so I jumped into the conversation.

  “Yeah, J.J. We’re grilling out and we have everything from salads to desserts. We can all get fat and solve a crime together.”

  J.J. winced. “As long as your mother made the brownies and Mag didn’t cook at all.” Ian held his stomach and made gakking noises.

  “It’s Chez Buzz all the way–well, Wesley helped a little, but you can hardly tell.”

  J.J. straightened up and headed for the door. “Okay. I’m in. Right now let’s go see if your sister performed her Mag-ic on our star witness, or if she drove him over the edge.” He turned to me and grabbed the front of my shirt. He jerked me forward and got in my face. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your stunt from the other night. We still have a date to talk about it. I’ll call you–then I’ll yell at you.” He let me go and stalked away.