by Randy Rawls
“Other than Jake Adams, you mean?” He looked at me and added, “What about your friend, Jake?”
I responded without thinking. “He’s clean. He has an airtight alibi for the night of the fire.” Even as I said it I realized I wasn’t covering for him, I believed it. Jake was off the hook with me.
“Humph. You believe his story about being with a woman—a woman he won’t identify? Maybe, maybe not, or did he tell you who she is? That still don’t clear him. He could have hired someone to do it. He’s got enough money to buy near anything.”
I stood and paced. “Yes, I believe his story, and no, he didn’t give me a name. You have to understand how much he loved that house. I don’t know whether he’s capable of killing or having Sheila killed, but I know he’d never burn the house. That’s why I believe him.”
“Oh, sit down. If you’d run a football the way you’re talking now, you’d never have gained a yard. I’ll keep checking on your buddy and so will the Fort Worth police. Back to what you asked me. We haven’t come up with anything firm to finger a suspect. Whoever did it knew what he was doing and covered his tracks. Either that, or he’s one lucky amateur. If you know anything different, you best tell me, or I’ll slap obstruction of justice charges on you.”
I chuckled. “Nope, you know as much as I do, probably more. How about Sonny? Anything new? Have you verified the target?”
“Sorry, Edwards. We’ve come up empty on that one, too. My gut feeling is you were the target. We haven’t found any reason to believe someone would be gunning for Sonny. If it was Bubba they were gunning after, only Jake Adams has a motive to go after him. Adams’ name seems to pop up a lot when I think about this case. On the other hand, maybe you brought some nut out here behind you, or maybe Sheila’s killer wants to take you out because he believes your reputation.”
He stood looking at his watch. “Now, if you don’t have anything else, I’ve got a meeting.”
“Whoa, before you go, how about protection? Seems to me there’s somebody out there gunning for me, and that doesn’t feel good.”
His grin tipped me off before the words came. “I agree, and the solution is simple. Leave town. Go back to Dallas and stay out of Eastland County business.”
I grasped his not-so-subtle hint. “Thanks, you’ve given me feelings of safety and confidence. I hope your people soon solve this mess.”
“Edwards, I’ve already told you about being a wise-ass.” He stood and walked toward the door then turned back. “Dammit, I knew your father and your grandfather, and I respected them. Hell, I worked as a delivery boy in the drug store when I was a kid. Watch your back. I agree somebody wants you dead. From what I hear, you have stomped a lot of toes since you left the force in Dallas. You've made enemies. Play it safe. Go home and spy on husbands. Leave the crime solving to real cops.”
He stepped toward the door, then again turned toward me. “Oh, one thing that might or might not tie in. We got a call saying somebody stole three jerry cans filled with gas. Could be the ones used in the fire.”
“Who called?”
He threw a name at me, then made another attempt to leave the office as I considered his answer. At the doorway, he turned back toward me. “When you pass Sergeant Jones on your way out, it’d be a good idea to keep your mouth shut.”
Mom always said I never knew when to stay quiet. As I left the building, I said, “Have a good day, Sergeant Jones. I hope to see you again soon.”
His hostile glare made me feel better.
* * * *
When I arrived at the motel, I called my contact. “Tom, what’d you get on Millener?”
Tom Roberts was an ex-cop like me, but unlike me, he invested his retirement fund in education. He took enough courses to become a computer nerd and now made a large and steady income solving other people’s problems. Not bad for an ex-cop. Of course, being an ex-cop, he kept his ear to the curbstone. If you needed to nail a rumor, Tom Roberts had heard it. Since we’d been together on the force, and I pulled him out of a few tight spots, he did research for me on the cuff. I assured him I’d pay him when my first oil well came in.
“Looks like you tied into a hellcat this time. She was with a three-lawyer firm in Fort Worth, her mother, her sister and herself. Up front, they’re typical ambulance chasers. You’ve seen their ad on TV, haven’t you?”
I thought for a second. “Are they the ones who promise to get you double what any man can—and faster?”
“Yeah, that’s them. Their gimmick is they’re better than any male ambulance chaser. But your gal. She was the crème de la crème. She chased ambulances, but her love was divorces, those where the ex-husband had a bundle. Her nickname was Maddie—some just called her Mad or The Mad Millener, or,” he chuckled, “The Mad Hatter.”
I laughed. “That fits. She blocked a friend of mine in a divorce.”
Tom continued. “Word on the street was when she took a divorce case—and she only represented wives—she was a tigress and would use any trick to win.”
“Example?”
“I have no direct knowledge, of course, but someone heard she wasn’t above a hint of blackmail to win a case.”
“How?”
“Don’t know if you ever saw her, but my sources say she was a good looking woman. She could turn on the charm and get to any man.”
I remembered Jake’s divorce. “Yeah, that fits. She was a looker.”
“The story goes she tried to get her cases on the dockets of male judges. She’d get the judge alone in chambers and tell him she might leak to the media that he harassed her. A local TV muckraker might find out he tried to grope a female lawyer during an office conference. Rumors say she never lost a case after a one-on-one with the judge.”
“Sounds like a sweetheart,” I said, wondering if that’s why Jake got burned. The judge had been putty in her hands. “What about enemies, any that might want to see her dead?”
Tom began to laugh and kept laughing. I tried to be patient, but I had to interrupt. “Tom, do you mind? I must have missed the joke.”
He stifled his laughter, “Ace, you’re priceless. After what I told you, you ask if she has enemies. How about every man she took to the cleaners, plus a few judges. Any one of them would love to see her fertilizing ragweed.”
“Yeah, that’s logical. But why? Is there anything on the street explaining why she hated men?”
“Nothing more than the usual problems—her dad took off when she was young and left her mom and older sister in a hurt. They never heard of him again, except when he died.
“Her mom swore off men, vowed to never let another one in her bed. She worked two and three jobs and somehow finished law school. When she went into practice, she set the standard of no males allowed. The two daughters made it through law school also and when Maddie graduated, they launched Millener, Millener and Millener.
“Since then, they’ve been rolling in dough. Women flock to them. Nobody accuses them of catering to the rich, but they’re not known to do pro bono work. A few years ago, they threw a big party, women only, when they learned the old man died.”
“Interesting trio,” I said. “Even for this age, it seems extreme. Ever charged with sexual discrimination? Hasn’t any judge stood up to them?”
“Several times.”
“What happened?”
“What do you think? They’re women. The cases were dismissed before they ever came near a jury.”
“Okay, I get it. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Are you investigating Maddie’s death?”
“Indirectly. My charge is to find the arsonist who did the house where Millener and Sheila Adams were found dead. If I have to backtrack her, I will. If you hear anything, let me know.”
“Sure, good luck.”
I rang off from Tom with a final remark. “Thanks for your input. All you’ve done is make my case twice as difficult.” I softened it with a chuckle.
SIXTEEN
My motel room w
as shrinking, no doubt about it, and my watch had stopped. No, I could see the seconds changing—very slowly. I walked to the door and opened it expecting to see the sun sliding down behind the row of rooms across the parking lot. Why was it holding high in the sky? I looked at my watch again. Four-fifteen. Couldn’t be. It was four-ten an hour ago. I picked up the phone and punched zero.
“Front desk.”
“This is one-twenty. What’s the correct time?”
“Umm, it’s four-fifteen.”
My watch was right. “Thank you.” I hung up and realized the receiver was slick with sweat. Ridiculous. I was acting like a green kid.
The phone rang. I leapt to grab it. “Hello.”
“Ace, it’s me, Terri.”
Bells rang, cherubs flitted around the room, the sweet aroma of roses appeared, and the walls returned to their normal positions. “Terri, you’re early.” I mentally kicked myself for that opening as I fell onto the bed feeling great. The phone base slid, dangling between the bedside table and the bed.
“Well, a little. I just wanted to see you as early as I could. You’re not busy, are you? Not solving an important case or something?” Her chuckle sent ripples through my body.
“No, I’m, uh, not doing anything except waiting for you to lend glamour to my otherwise drab life. Are you in the office?”
“You’re still full of it, aren’t you. Yes, I’m in the office. Are you—”
“I’ll be right there.” I rescued the phone and hung up all in one smooth move, then grabbed my jacket as I headed out of the room. After a few strides, none of which touched the parking lot, I opened the door to the motel office.
A beautiful woman stood there, and I knew it must be Terri. I say it that way because I might not have recognized her in a crowd. It wasn’t any of the Terri’s I’d seen before. This Terri looked studious, intelligent, every bit the teacher of children. Her red hair was pulled into a French twist, and she wore a dark blue pantsuit. Navy blue shoes, and a discreet touch of blue eye shadow completed her wardrobe. I considered the four looks of Terri I’d seen. The others were more glamorous, but this was a Terri I could adore more—a Terri who brought out the love I yearned to share.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Terri Hart.” What else could I say? A corny approach was my only hope. “Have you seen her around here?”
“I, I knew I should’ve gone home and changed, but I got stuck late at school. Do you mind?” She gave me an embarrassed look, and I swirled into the vortex that was her eyes.
“Mind? No. You’re beautiful.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the desk clerk watching us. I couldn’t decide whether he was trying to improve his English or debating whether he should call 9-1-1. “Maybe we’d better get out of here.”
We walked to my car, and I resisted the impulse to invite her to my room for a glass of water. I was afraid she’d say no, and I was afraid she’d say yes. My emotions were in turmoil like I’d never felt before.
“Where to? Any place special you want to go?” I asked as I drove out of the parking lot.
“No, you pick something. I’ll spend my time unwinding. It was another of those days at school.”
The cherubs and smell of roses had followed us into the car. I loved the pudgy little guys. “I haven’t walked around downtown in a long time. Do you mind?”
“Whatever you’d like to do,” she replied as I melted and ran into my shoes.
I drove into Cisco and turned onto the main street—Conrad Hilton Avenue. It used to be Avenue D but someone decided to rename it to honor Mr. Hilton.
I parked, and we left the car. As we moved along, I sneaked looks at Terri. I had trouble accepting the feelings that raced inside me like the mechanical rabbit at a greyhound track.
To get myself under control, and maybe stop the flood of water pouring from my palms, I commented on what we passed. “Across the street there. Isn’t that about where the bank was that those robbers hit that Christmas when they had the big shootout, and they were caught because a little girl wanted to talk to Santa Claus?”
“Huh?” Terri looked at me like I’d emitted a blasphemy in a monastery. “If one of my school kids phrased a question like that, I’d stand him in the corner until he figured out what he wanted to say. Now, would you like to try again, or should I attempt to interpret?” The chuckle that sang out of her mouth reminded me of birds on a fresh spring day.
“Okay, guilty as charged. Which street corner do you want me on?”
“Maybe we’d better get back to the robbery,” she replied, smiling. “They called it the Santa Claus Robbery, didn’t they? I remember my granddad telling me about it. He said my great-granddad was one of the townspeople who chased after the robbers, guns blazing.”
Her great-grandfather. One of the cherubs tumbled down, dropped by her great-grandfather. My grandfather always claimed he shot out one of the bank robbers’ tires. Did the sun go behind a cloud or was it my imagination twisting my fantasy toward reality?
I must have looked as old as I felt because she asked, “Are you okay, Ace? You’re pale as a ghost.”
“Something I ate wants a second chance at life.” What else could I say? “Yeah, it was the Santa Claus Robbery—December 23, 1927 or 28, I forget which. As the story was passed down in my family, four bad guys blew into town in a big car and robbed the First National Bank. They might have gotten away except one of them dressed like Santa Claus. Kids saw him on the street and wanted to make last minute requests.”
“Can you imagine?” Terri said. “He must have been stupid. What happened?”
Although I suspected she played to my ego, I continued. “According to Dad, a young girl dragged her mother into the bank to see Santa. This was after the bad guys were well into the robbery. When the mother saw what was happening, she took her little girl’s hand and walked straight through the bank out the side door into the alley. The robbers must have been dumbfounded. They didn’t stop them. She went to the sheriff’s office and told him what was happening. All hell broke loose as the word spread. Everybody came pouring out of their homes and stores, all packing heat.”
“Can you imagine?” Terri interrupted. She looked around as if seeing the street for the first time. “It always seemed like such a sleepy little town. I can’t picture the townsfolk running around with guns blazing.”
“I guess they did, or that’s what Dad said. There was a big gun battle but the robbers made it to their car and took off. The townspeople jumped into their cars and gave chase.
“Now, one of the funnier or dumber parts of the story came into play. The bank robbers had stolen the car up north and driven it for several days. When they tore out of the alley beside the bank, the gas gauge sat on empty. Although they got a good jump on the townspeople, they had to stop and steal another car when theirs ran out of gas. Eventually, the white hats caught up and recovered the money, but not before several people were killed, and others wounded. It must have been a wild time back then.”
“Is it different today?” she asked, a sad look on her face. “In the last few weeks, two women are dead, and Sonny killed in your car. Who knows what might happen next, or to whom? I hope it’s not you.” She gave me a look that could have sweetened a lemon grove.
I took her hand. I wanted to do more. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been ducking a long time, and nobody’s going to get me now. Besides, the Santa Claus caper came to a fitting end when the guy who dressed as Santa was dragged from his cell in Eastland by the loyal townsfolk and lynched. Of course, that was after he killed a guard in an attempted jailbreak. That can’t happen to me, I’m one of the guys in the white hats.”
She gazed at me, a tear carving a path down her perfect cheek. It left a glistening trail of moisture—no makeup to travel through. Covering her perfect features with makeup would have been like a rock arrangement of Ravel’s Bolero—a sacrilege.
I knew if I looked at her much longer, I’d do something that would scandalize all of Cisco. I
’d take her in my arms and kiss her right in the middle of town in bright daylight. “Maybe we’d better move on before we draw a crowd.”
She laughed.
We walked down Conrad Hilton Avenue.
I was glad there were few pedestrians. My heart beat so loudly, I was sure anyone passing would hear it. The cherubs floated merrily around my head, making beautiful music on their lyres.
“Ace, my curiosity is killing me,” Terri said squeezing my hand.
“About what?”
“Your name—Ace. Where does it come from? There must be a story there.”
I laughed. “A story? Well maybe, but there’s nothing mysterious about it. My full name is Arthur Conan Edwards. If you take the first initial of each, you come up with Ace. That’s what my dad branded me and that’s what I carry today.”
Terri chuckled. “Arthur Conan Edwards. Any connection with Arthur Conan Doyle? Or is it a coincidence?”
“But, of course. I am the legacy of the great investigator.”
Terri shook her head.
“Not buying it, eh? Here's the truth. My dad was an avid Sherlock Holmes fan. He had every mystery Mr. Holmes ever solved and had read each of them many times. He always said if he had a son, he’d name him Sherlock Holmes Edwards.” I stopped and grinned at the memory. “When Mom was pregnant, Dad told everybody his son’s name. Mom hated it. One day in her ninth month as she sat at her desk doodling, she wrote Sherlock Holmes Edwards as well as the girls names she favored. When she looked at Dad's choice, the initials leapt out at her. According to her story, she jumped up and raced to the drugstore.” I laughed out loud. “Picture that. My nine-month pregnant mother racing into the drug store shouting, ‘John, John, it’s SHE, it’s SHE.’ Dad said it took him ten minutes to quiet her down enough to discover what she was talking about. If he named me Sherlock Holmes Edwards, my initials would spell out SHE.” I stopped and enjoyed Terri’s laugh. “It took Dad less than a second to change my name.”
We walked on, both grinning at the story.