I scowled, pointing across the room, hoping she’d get the hint and move.
Belly ignored my point and continued. “I talked Bangor into going into Gretchen’s junkyard. It’s full of beauties. Packards. Fords. We stalked it on Google Maps. There are Model T’s. Tractors. An old Little Rock city bus. Boy, I’d like to get in there.”
“Sounds interesting.” I nodded. I rarely used Google Maps, since I don’t travel far and have memorized my beaten paths.
“What’s a Google?” Fanny asked, sewing on her red bowtie, listening to our every word.
I hissed. “Never mind what’s a Google. You hush.” I couldn’t help myself, but Belly only lifted an eyebrow at my odd remark.
“Anyways.” He readjusted the cigar again. “He’s brought me goodies. But Gretchen’s pissy. She’s gonna sue me for trespassing.”
“But you haven’t gone out there, right?” Trespassing was a serious issue, especially if you’re dealing with the Floyds. The kid was stealing parts from the most despicable female gangster in the county, even if she’s old, her cronies will do her bidding.
“Heck no. I know better.”
“So, what happened?”
“Gretchen beat Bangor. He came to town, limping and bunged up. I told him to go to the hospital and call the police.”
“Beaten. Sounds like her. Did he call?”
“I doubt it. Calling the police on your grandmother… or is she his great-grandmother?” He shrugged, adding, “Dunno.”
“Wasn’t a good idea? He’d have to deal with his uncles and cousins.” I wouldn’t call the police on Gretchen if she was my grandmother, great or not.
“I haven’t seen the kid since. She put the fear in him. She’s since made threatening calls. I’ve gotten a couple anonymous text messages.” He held up his cellphone. “These things don’t give you a moment’s privacy."
“Threatening? I would take that seriously.” Gretchen’s file in the county offices grew to three-inches thick. Somehow, she managed to make bail, hire the best attorneys and stay out of jail,
“Naw! I ain’t scared of any pissant gangster.” Belly wiggled trying to get off the sofa.
“What’s a pissant?” Fanny asked, sinking closer into him. The sofa’s a real mantrap, and she adores sitting next to men trapped in its broken-down frame.
“A mantrap… I mean a pissant is a gangster.” I thought mantrap, and it popped from my mouth. Maybe I shouldn’t attribute my frequent deranged outbursts as answers to Fanny’s endless questions, I’m only saying what’s on my mind. I’m guilty as charged, sometimes I’m not politically correct either.
“Mantrap?” Belly laughed quietly. “I’d like to get man-trapped.”
He’s a longtime widower. He lost Debbie, Walker’s mother, to breast cancer more than a decade ago. Not once have I seen him interested in a woman. Cars are his passion, and a lady couldn’t compete with his hand polished beauties.
“You got it right. Bangor’s different. He wants to do something other than be a pissant gangster.”
“Ah, I see. You might need to contact Dick.”
“Pfft. I ain’t going there.” He shook his head. “Naw. I can handle it. Bangor’s a wet-nosed pup. I’m hoping he straightens up. Get honest. He’d make a fine picker, if he did.”
He winked, and we understood each other’s dislike for dislikable Dick.
“Bangor? He must be a teenager, I don’t remember his name.”
“Guess he’s got a nickname. Don’t know any other name to call him.”
Grimacing, I gazed at the afghan, picking at its pilled yarn. “Banger Floyd. What a name?”
He cleared his throat, finally getting around to the real reason I wanted to talk. “How’s Ally?”
Underneath my cool exterior, tears bubbled near the surface. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”
Belly knew me too well and patted my shoulder, telling me he understood without a single word.
Fanny paced in front of the workbench, fading into a hazy grayscale with occasional flares of blue. “Floyd? Floyd? Where have I heard the name before?”
“From me, I asked if Pretty Boy Floyd was Willie’s father. Remember?”
Belly sniffed again without giving me a you are crazy look and replied, “I guarantee he’s no pretty boy. C’mere, I know you’re worried about her.”
He hugged me, but my blues morphed and I choked back tears. Bursting into tears during Sandy’s party would not set well with her.
“I’ll get over it. Does Walker have a girlfriend?” I shouldn’t ask, but I was holding out hope. If I could get Ally home, maybe they’d reconcile.
“He does, and he doesn’t.” Belly scooted off the edge of the sofa, holding out a hand for me. “He won’t commit. She’s pulling his strings. I don’t like her as much as I did Ally. Heck, she was like family.”
Chapter 5
Patti
In the showroom, I mingled with the last guests and customers enjoying our hospitality. Belly said his goodbyes, jerking Sandy’s chain and took a doggy bag of Anita’s cookies.
After all the guests left, Etta tidied up but we decided to leave the major cleanup until tomorrow.
Sandy stood in the open security door. “It’s snowing to beat the band. I’m giving Etta a ride. Will you be okay getting home?” A blast of cold air rustled the filled shopping bags setting in the workroom.
I flipped off the showroom lights. “I’m fine. Got all wheel drive. Just need a few minutes before I drive home.”
Etta smiled. “See you tomorrow after I get done at the Arlington.”
“Sure thing. Y’all go.” I waved them off and the door thudded closed.
Fanny flickered in blue and green sitting on the loveseat’s arm. “Gahd! I’m worn out. What a fun time. Are you going home?”
“Yeah, I can’t sleep on the loveseat again.” I whiffed my armpits. “Whew! I need a hot shower.”
“C’mon. I want to check the front door. Make sure I turned the crock pot off.”
I went into the showroom, but she didn’t follow me. The twinkling strand of lights hanging the display window flashed across the pecan hardwood floor. Outside the window, only a few drifting flakes fell in the streetlight. It had stopped snowing from the time it took me to walk from the back to the front of the shop.
Rattling the doorknob, I made sure it was locked. Through the glass door, the streetlights and decorated trees glowed in the glorious winter wonderland. The avenue turned white and only a few cars passed disturbing the scene with freshly laid tracks.
Stepping into the display window, I fished my cellphone from my pocket and saw Anita’s text message.
—Too cold. Going home. Have fun.
She missed the accolades over her gingersnaps, and it was odd that she’d opt out of a party. I hadn’t missed her presence, but tomorrow I would admonish her absence and exclaim over how much we all missed her.
Leaning against the wall in the window, I punched Ally’s number, closing my eyes, praying she’d answer. Again, the call went to her full voicemail. It didn’t matter, weeks ago, I’d given up leaving messages.
I hung up and typed Craig a text message. I had no idea where he might be, anywhere between Little Rock and Timbuktu. He also never answers his phone.
I typed him a message.
— Hope you’re having a good trip. Wish you’d come home for Xmas. Mama misses you.
Talk about dysfunctional! Sheesh. Craig’s almost thirty, he doesn’t miss his mommy or Hot Springs.
“Crud!” I erased the message. “Girl, you gotta get a life.”
In the workroom, I called to Fanny. “I’m going home now. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” All was quiet. Fanny wasn’t flickering in vibrant colors or wavering in her moody grayscale.
Before putting on my jacket, I punched the car’s key fob, starting it. Earlier, I left the seat warmers on, and now they’d heat the driver’s seat.
With my overcoat on, hat pulle
d over my ears, and gloves on my hands, I held my breath listening for Fanny. Nothing. Not even the scurry of mice.
I went out the security door to find the silvery moon grinning down upon Arkansas. A few snowflakes brightly lit by the moonshine floated down, and I held my head back, opened my mouth and caught a single perfect snowflake.
Beside the moon, a shiny star twinkled. “Star bright. Star light. I wish upon the first star I see tonight.”
I didn’t say my wish aloud because the whole universe knows what I need, there was no point in begging.
Chapter 6
Hitchhiker
By the time, I stopped for coffee, half a dozen donuts and the Sentinel, it was half past seven. The sun and rising temperatures made fast work of the snow. Slush splashed as the morning traffic rushed turning the snow into a runny slurry.
Winter never lasts long in this part of the world. Hot Springs sets far enough south of the Ozark Mountains to keep the deep freeze at bay. Besides, underneath our streets bubbles a volcanic spring which warms the streets and takes the chill from the air.
The shortest route downtown even with its many stoplights was Higgins Ferry Road. In the stop and go traffic, I took my time because I wasn’t looking forward to the mountain of work waiting at the Row.
Traffic stopped at the three-way stop light beside Oaklawn Racetrack, and a female hitchhiker stood by the light post thumbing for a ride. The thin girl wore dreadlocks, layers of clothing and dirty camouflaged pants, hiking boots and she carried two backpacks mounted on her shoulders.
Even in Hot Springs, picking up hitchhikers was an unwise business, but spotting her made my heart lurch as I once again longed for Ally. The light changed and traffic eased forward but the girl hadn’t caught a ride.
“Don’t do it. You’re asking for trouble.” Continuing on, I watched her in the rearview mirror until I lost sight of her. I wanted to pull over and help her, but I didn’t.
Carrying a takeaway carafe of coffee and the donuts with one hand, I unlocked the backdoor and caught the heavy door with my hip.
“Geez this place is a wreck.” We should’ve stayed and tidied up more.
A few days ago, Sandy’s used Mr. Coffee bit the dust, and we hadn’t shopped for a new coffeemaker. I set the coffee and donuts on the kitchen counter, peeled from my coat, but left my sweater on and tapped up the thermostat.
“Mornin’? It’s cold today. Do you feel the cold?” I switched on the space heater and turned it to high.
All was quiet. Either Fanny was asleep or whatever a ghost does to rest, or she was ignoring me. Does she turn herself off? Plug into a source to recharge her batteries. Her bright flickering Technicolor must burn lots of kilowatts.
The furnace came on, and I flipped on the workroom lights. The mountain of orders on the floor and workbench hadn’t been magically boxed by elves.
It was hours before the Row’s ten o’clock opening, and I needed coffee before I could tackle the work. I poured a mug of coffee, grabbed a donut, unfolded the newspaper and curled up on the loveseat. In my pocket, my cellphone pinged with a text message, before I took my first sip of coffee.
I already knew it was Anita. “Ah, my wake-up text.” It takes plenty of gumption to text this early.
No telling what she wanted. She’s worse than a teenager about not calling anymore, only texting. Anita loves her new technology and drives me crazy with her newest gadget. Through our conjoining condo walls, I listen to her conversations with the creepy-voiced Alexa robot. Unlike me, Alexa cheerfully answers her questions and never loses her patience.
I finished my donut before I pulled my cellphone from my pocket.
—Belly questioned for murder. Dead kid in the Red Head.
“What in the world?” I muttered, trying to grasp the message context. “What kid? Not Belly.” Belly Walker wouldn’t harm a soul. “This must be a mistake.”
I was about to call her when another text message flashed.
— I’m coming over. She probably thinks I’m still at home.
I didn’t respond and was grateful I wasn’t at home.
Learning this dreadful news, I paced, following the path Fanny takes when she’s thinking, and I went over our conversation last night. Was there something I missed? Belly hinted at something bigger than threatening phone calls and text messages. He should’ve known better than to get involved with the Floyd gang. Did Bangor and Belly get into an altercation? He wasn’t drunk enough to make that mistake.
Besides Belly, I thought of Teddy; I needed his opinion. Surely, he knew about this unfolding drama. He listens to a police scanner and the sheriff’s department gossip mill. Plus, he remains calm under pressure, not like me, and will sort the facts from fiction.
I dialed his number. No casual text messages, I needed to talk to him.
His phone rang twice, went to voice mail, and I hung up. Behind me, someone keyed open the backdoor, and I whirled, praying it wasn’t Sandy. I wasn’t ready to deal with her.
“Yoh? I know you’re here. Car’s still hot.” Teddy popped his head into the door and cold air rushed into the workroom.
“Oh, hey. I was just calling you. Brrr… did ya hear?” I rubbed my arms, covering my nerves with a pretend shiver.
His damp lank of dark hair meant he showered. Doing handyman odd jobs around town kept his face tanned when he wasn’t staying up late spying on deadbeat dads or soon to be divorcees. He pulled off his ball cap and ran his fingers in his hair.
My knees turned to jelly. Was it because I was glad to see him or because Belly was arrested for murder? Either were bad news, and I sat on the workbench stool to keep from sinking to my knees.
“I did. I can barely believe the news. Is that coffee?”
I nodded at the takeout carafe. “Yes, help yourself.” I couldn’t trust my knees to pour him a cup of coffee.
“Terrible. Where were you last night?”
He promised to come to open house, but I knew he wouldn’t. He’s a typical guy, shying away from dainty china teacups and chitchatting about the weather. Last night, he probably sat in his underwear, watching sports and drinking beer.
He filled a mug with coffee, sipped but turned to put it in the microwave. “Did you see Belly drive his Red Head?”
“Yes. Of course.” The whole town saw Belly pull our bathtub with his easily recognizable car. He owned the only vintage MINI Cooper in the state, if not the country.
He kept his back turned watching the mug turn in the microwave. “I’m sure all this will blow over. Belly isn’t a hothead.”
I sighed, trying to pull myself together and reached for the web orders setting on the corner of the workbench. Work would soothe my melancholy if nothing else would.
He took the mug from the microwave, turned and leaned against the counter. “Gee, I hope your precious bathtub wasn’t marred in the scuffle.”
Wincing, I glanced at him. “How can you think of that now?”
He had grown callous over the years, most detectives did after they investigated so many crimes or murders.
“Belly was here last night. He said he was having problems with a Floyd. Getting threatening phone calls and text messages.”
He licked his lips, rolling his teeth over his bottom lip. “That so? Uh-uh. That’s worse than I thought.” The Floyd gang wasn’t news to him, and over his tenure at the department, he had arrested his fair share.
“Why would he get mixed up with the likes of them?”
Grimacing, I shook my head. “Dunno. He said the kid was picking parts for him. Some turned out to be stolen.”
I straightened the work orders, tidying the workbench, preparing to tackle the mountain of orders which needed to be boxed. There wasn’t anything else I could do but work until I heard more news. My busy hands would keep my fuzzy brain from fretting.
In my pocket, my cellphone pinged, but I didn’t bother with it. Anita figured out I wasn’t at home.
He frowned, shaking his head. “The Flo
yds have the biggest junkyard in the state. At least in Garland county. It’s a graveyard for more things than just cars.”
“Beats me. I’m just telling you what I heard.” With the workbench cleared, I sprayed cleaner, wiping and towel drying it. I took the first invoice off the stack and unfolded a box.
“I’ll call Walker soon.” I couldn’t imagine how frightened the kid—he’s no kid anymore—would be about his father’s arrest.
Draining his mug, he set it in the sink. “Belly’s got plenty of money to lawyer up.”
“What?” I pinched my lips, scowling. “You sound like he might’ve committed the crime.”
“I’m just saying. Don’t get wadded up. It might’ve been self-defense.”
Huffing, I grabbed a handful of crinkled filler and swished it into the box. “I hadn’t thought of that?"
“Listen, as soon as I hear some real facts, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”
“Okay. I can’t take much stress these days.” Adding another stress to my empty nest syndrome and bah humbug morphed into a bigger case of chronic melancholy.
Heading for the door, he adjusted his cap. “That’s why I stopped by instead of calling. I knew you’d be upset. Listen. No kidding aside. I’ll snoop around, see what I can find.”
Holding open the door, he asked, “You think Myra can wait until after Christmas to get her bathtub in the shop? With the weather and all.”
Cold air crawled along the floor and over my feet. “Shut the door.”
“Oh, sorry.” He let it snap shut.
“I was planning on after the holidays. I can’t get the display window cleaned out before then.” I waved my hand over the bags. “I have too much to do as it is.”
“Okay. Put Etta to work helping.”
“Heck, Etta works her tail off. Sandy offered to deliver Myra’s gifts.” Before I left last night, I set Myra’s group of gift bags beside the back wall. It was weeks before Christmas, not that her gifts weren’t a priority, but they could wait a while.
Found Dead in the Red Head Page 3