by Terry Shames
“I need to ask you some questions regarding a poker game you were part of.”
“I bet I know which one you mean. It’s about that Wilkins fella who was murdered.”
I nod.
“That was a damn shame. He seemed like a good fella. Into gambling a little more than I was, but a good man.”
“Dooley Phillips tells me you lost a boat to him.”
His laugh is a short bark and his expression is hard to read. Rueful? “I couldn’t wait to get rid of that boat, but I was a little hasty.”
“How’s that?”
“I didn’t reckon on my wife’s attitude. She was none too happy to find out I had unloaded it.”
I chuckle. “I can imagine. It was a pretty nice boat to give up so easily. Must have been worth a lot.”
He leans forward with his elbows on his desk. “Look, my father-in-law could afford that boat. He was one of those men who couldn’t seem to touch anything without money coming from it. And quite frankly, I haven’t done that badly myself, but nothing like him.
“He had always dreamed of retiring and having a nice boat to putter around in. Still, my wife and I were surprised when he bought it on a whim. Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t know he wasn’t long for this world and he decided he needed to jump on it.” He shakes his head. “Shame he never got to use it.”
“Why didn’t you sell it if you didn’t want it?”
He waves his hand at the office desk, full of papers. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Putting the boat on the market was on the back burner. I thought it was more trouble than it was worth. Or at least it seemed so after a few bourbons and a good game of poker.”
“Why did Wilkins want the boat?”
“I don’t know. Listen, I’m the one who started the bet. I told the guys I wanted to wager the boat because I wanted it out of my hair. Wilkins jumped at the chance. He didn’t say why he was so eager to get his hands on it, and I didn’t ask. I think he just liked gambling.”
“Dooley Phillips told me Wilkins put up his lake house against the boat?”
“Yes, it caused a little problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Like I said, we’d been drinking. He got hot under the collar when I asked him whether he was sure he wanted to bet his house. He told me in no uncertain terms that it was his business, and I should let him worry about it.” He raises his hands as if in surrender. “I backed off real fast after that.”
Dooley Phillips said Wilkins hadn’t seemed worried that he might lose his house in the poker game, so I ask Bodine if he thought the same thing.
Suddenly his jovial manner disappears. He lifts an eyebrow and nods. “Yeah, I wondered why he seemed so confident. In fact, I thought maybe he might know he couldn’t lose because he had some kind of scam going on.”
“And?”
He shrugs. “I watched him like a hawk, and as far as I could tell he didn’t cheat.”
“Did any of the other men in the game lose big that night?”
“No, they didn’t get involved in the bet. That was between Wilkins and me. The other fellas and I had played together a lot of times, and this was unusual. It’s a friendly game and we usually play for small stakes.”
“There was one thing, though . . .” He strokes his chin.
“What’s that?”
“Dooley never brought Wilkins around to play poker again. I wondered a time or two if he and Wilkins had put on a scam together.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable.
“Have you played poker with Dooley since then?”
“You know, I don’t believe I have.”
I stop by the courthouse and go to the medical examiner’s office to see if they have the autopsy results on Wilkins’s body. They tell me the autopsy was done, but that they hadn’t had time to write it up over Thanksgiving weekend. And the ME is not here today. He’s gone to San Antonio to a daylong seminar. “Call tomorrow or Wednesday and we’ll send it over to you as soon as he has it written up.”
On the way back to Jarrett Creek, I drive by the Wilkins place. Still no car out front, and no answer when I knock on the door. Next door the Hastings’s house is closed up tight. They told me yesterday that they were going back home and would get an early start.
I stop back by the vet’s office and pick up Dusty, who rewards the sound of my voice with a little yodel.
Chelsea grins. “He’s saying he’s happy to see you.”
Maria told me that the property he sold for fifty thousand was a quick deal. That’s been nagging at me. When I get back to the station, I open his computer and search his e-mail folders to see if he has any correspondence pertaining to sale of property. Sure enough, there’s a file titled “Property” in his e-mails. I look through the e-mails and find out that he tried to sell a parcel of land a couple of times without going through a broker, but nothing came of it. It also looks like he has another couple of parcels, but these are small and worth less than fifty thousand total. It’s time I asked Margaret if she knew that her husband owned those parcels of land. It feels like by having them in his name he was cheating on her.
I’m ready to phone Margaret’s number when my cell phone rings. It’s Ellen. My face gets warm and I have an impulse to let it go to voicemail. But I haven’t spent my life being a coward. Besides, it’s not as if we have an agreement. I’m not really cheating by seeing Wendy. Or so I tell myself as I answer the phone.
“Samuel?” Her voice sounds subdued.
“In the flesh. What’s going on? When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be back tonight. Are you going to be around?”
“I will. What time are you getting in?”
“Before eight. I don’t like to drive after dark.” I can’t imagine Wendy saying something like that.
“Give me a call as soon as you get in. You want me to pick up something to eat?” It’s so natural to ask.
“I guess.” She sounds so forlorn that it bothers me. She’s usually, if not bouncy, at least upbeat. It’s as if someone has wrung hope out of her.
“What’s wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I’m just tired.” And on that note we ring off. Something’s up, I’m sure of it. Has her ex-husband browbeaten her? Have her kids given her an ultimatum? Did Jenny call and tell her I had had dinner with Wendy? I’ll find out soon enough.
I call Margaret and she tells me she’s in San Antonio. “Daniel brought me here yesterday and I decided to stay over with a friend. I’m glad I did. She cheered me up.” She says she’s having lunch and heading back this afternoon.
“Call me when you get back. I’ve got a few more questions for you.”
She sighs. “Always questions. Never answers.”
“Unfortunately I’m at that stage of the investigation.”
After we hang up, I phone the marina. I keep getting a sense that Dooley is holding out on me. For somebody who was supposed to be good friends with Lewis Wilkins, he didn’t seem to know all that much about him. After my talk with Jerry Bodine, I want to tackle Dooley again. Bodine’s hint that Wilkins and Dooley might have gone in together to cheat him out of the boat doesn’t make sense: They would have to have set it up in advance, and by all accounts it was spur-of-the-moment. Besides, Bodine said it was his idea to make the bet. But I can’t ignore the possibility that there’s more to it than the mere luck of the draw.
Dooley tells me to come on down and he’ll treat me to a sandwich. Before I can leave, the phone rings again. It’s Wendy. “Hey, I got your message. Want to come over tonight?”
My pulse speeds up. I do want to see her. A lot. If I could run over to Bryan right now, I would. “I can’t. But I’ll take a rain check.”
“Not a problem.” And she sounds like it really isn’t. “Call me when you can.”
Now that Ellen is coming back, what does that mean for when I can see Wendy? What the hell am I doing? “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Dooley greets me like we’re old
buddies, with a clap on the back and a hearty smile. With the gloomy weather, the place is deserted and we have the café seating area, four folding tables and chairs, to ourselves. He says he doesn’t mind if I bring Dusty in. “Technically it’s against the law to have a dog in a café, but since you’re the law, I’m going to let you worry about it.”
Dooley asks if I want something to eat, but I tell him I’m not particularly hungry. He gets us a couple of ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer, which tastes good.
I first tell him about the vicious e-mails Wilkins got from the woman who won the lawsuit against him.
“Poor Lewis. Seems like it would be enough for her to get the money.” He stares out the front window, his expression full of regret. “I guess if you were damaged through someone’s mistake, and the damage was permanent, that would be enough to make you bitter.”
“Did he ever mention the e-mails to you?”
“No. I wish he had. It must have been terrible getting messages like that every day. It would drag you down.” He gives me a speculative look. “You’re not thinking she had anything to do with killing Lewis, do you?”
“Hatred like that, I don’t know. Seems like an odd choice of weapon, though.”
He winces. He’s eaten most of his ice cream sandwich, and wraps the rest of it up to throw away. I hand him my wrapper, too, and he takes them to the waste basket.
“I had a meeting with Jerry Bodine,” I say.
“Is that right?” He sits back down with a sigh and tugs at his waistband. “This time of year I always eat too much.”
“Always,” I say. We laugh.
“You said you were going to ask Bodine about the poker game where Lewis won that boat. Did he have anything to add?”
“Not especially. Let me ask you something. After that business with the boat changing hands, did you ever get another card game together that included Lewis Wilkins but not Bodine?”
“I don’t believe I did.”
“Any particular reason you didn’t?”
He shifts in his chair, frowning. “I’d be lying if I said the business with the boat didn’t pull me up short. It was a side of Lewis I had never seen.”
“Had you seen that side of Bodine?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know Bodine the way I did Lewis. Or the way I thought I knew Lewis. It was a kind of uncomfortable situation. Lewis was . . .” he shakes his head sharply. “It was like he was on a mission, and when Bodine tried to back out of the bet by reminding Lewis that he was risking losing his house, Lewis got aggravated. Made everybody uncomfortable.”
“Bodine said he thought Wilkins was awfully sure of himself when he made the bet. Did it ever occur to you he knew he’d win because he was cheating?”
He holds my gaze for a few seconds, before shifting away. He sighs. “Of course it occurred to me, but I didn’t see any evidence of it, and no one called him on any of his play.” I hear another “but,” in his voice, although he doesn’t say it out loud.
“Do you think Bodine thought he was cheating?”
“He might have. I was embarrassed by the whole affair. Lewis was a guest—my guest—and he was being contentious with fellows I had played cards with many a time.”
“But you didn’t bring it up with him?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Put yourself in my place. Lewis was hurting financially, and he was a longtime buddy. I tried to persuade him not to put his house up against the boat, but he brushed me off.” Color rises in his face. “Bodine shouldn’t have challenged him with that boat. The money didn’t mean anything to Bodine, and it meant everything to Lewis.” He gets up abruptly. “I’m going to get myself a beer. You want one?”
I shake my head. “But if you have any coffee, I wouldn’t say no.”
“I do, if you can call it coffee. It’s more like sludge by now. I can make a new pot.”
“No, sludge is fine. I’m not particular.”
He swallows half the beer on his way back to the table. “I’ll be honest with you. You asked me if I thought Lewis cheated? I told you I had no evidence of it, but I had seen him cheat before. We used to play in college, and he was called out a time or two. He always insisted that he had made a mistake, and nobody ever pushed it. You know, we were playing for nickels back then.” He puts the beer down with a thump. “Honest to God, it never occurred to me that he would put me in such a spot.”
“Who else was at that game?”
He wipes his hand across his mouth. “There was a guy from out of town, Houston, who was here for the weekend and looking for a game. I’d played cards with him a couple of times, but I don’t know him well. Name of Mike Vaughan. And then there was an old boy from Bobtail that I play cards with quite a bit. Lonnie Casper. And then I think you know Roger Olivera.”
“You think it’s possible any of them might have spotted a cheat?”
He taps his thumb on the table, thinking. “Roger left before all this happened. Vaughan and Casper were interested to see how it played out, but whether they kept an eye on the cards, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Did everybody keep on playing after the boat changed hands?”
He frowns. “No. It kind of took the wind out of everybody’s sails. At first we were all laughing and excited. But afterward I think people were embarrassed. Kind of like putting that boat up against a house was too much. The game wasn’t friendly anymore.”
I take a sip of coffee. It’s gone cold. “Where did the game take place?”
“Right here. After hours.”
I had been thinking of some dark back room somewhere. “Dooley, is there anything you’ve been keeping from me about Lewis Wilkins? Anything at all?”
Dooley downs the rest of the beer. “I’m not sure what you mean. I have to confess that after the business with the boat, I didn’t like Lewis as much. It seemed to me that he had gone off the rails somehow. There was a time I would have trusted him completely, but that business with the lawsuit changed him. I kept hoping he would turn himself around, but . . .”
“Did he ever indicate to you that he was planning to haul that boat down to the coast and take off for Mexico?”
“What?” He gives a short laugh. “Where did you get an idea like that? Lewis couldn’t have done that. It takes somebody who knows what they’re doing to load up a boat like that. And driving it is not easy either. And then to put it in the water?” He’s shaking his head. “No way.”
“He didn’t ask you to help him?”
“He certainly did not. Although I suppose if he had asked me, I would have tried to find somebody to help him.”
“Could he have asked someone else?”
“Not without me being aware of it, since the boat was here in my marina.”
“Would there be anybody around here he could hire to take it out of the water and hook it up on a trailer after hours so you wouldn’t know?”
He answers slowly. “I suppose there could be, but what would be the point?”
I don’t have an answer for that, so I move on to the last matter. Can I even trust Dooley to answer if he knows? “Dooley, Lewis had some property in San Antonio that was in his name only. Did he ever mention that?”
He looks bleak, as if the revelations about what his friend was up to have been hard to take. “What kind of property?”
“Acreage.”
He finishes up the beer. “It’s pretty clear to me that I’d lost track of Lewis. He told me was broke, but if he had property, why didn’t he sell it and make himself and his wife more comfortable? I never cared much for Margaret, but I’m beginning to see that she might have had a harder time of it than I thought, being hitched to Lewis.”
CHAPTER 19
I haven’t heard from Margaret, and when I try her phone, she doesn’t answer so I expect she’s on the road. I head back to the station and am as pleased as I can be when I see Maria’s car there.
When I walk in carrying Dusty, she grins and hurries over to me. “Look at this littl
e guy!” She takes him from me and cuddles him. When she puts her face close to his, he licks her. She laughs.
“Dusty. That’s a good name for him. How did you get him?”
I tell her the story.
“What do you suppose happened to his mother?” she asks.
“Doc said it was natural causes. But he also said there were more puppies, and I’d like to know where they are.”
She frowns. “I’ll help you look into that.” She looks around the office as if noticing for the first time that it’s deserted. Where is everybody?”
“Connor isn’t back from training, and I sent Bill home with the flu. I didn’t want him spreading his germs around. Besides it was a quiet weekend.”
“Except for the murder investigation.”
“Except for that. So. What did you find out about Lewis Wilkins’s property?”
“Not much. Wilkins has owned a few pieces of property for several years. But I didn’t find any others in either his name or the one you gave me. What are you thinking?”
I tell her about finding the money and passport in the SUV. “I thought maybe he had sold some property and that’s where the money came from. I give her my other, less savory, explanations. The name I asked you to look up was the name on the passport I found in Wilkins’s SUV. Looks like he was ready to skip town.”
She thinks about it. “What kept him around here? You found all that money in his vehicle. Why didn’t he take off as soon as he had it?”
“I think he was planning to go by water, and he had arrangements to make.” I tell her how he came by a fancy boat. “He had a brand-new, big trailer hitch on his SUV. I think he was fixing to haul the boat out and take it down to the coast, but he had to get somebody to help him hitch up the boat. Plus, his family was here for Thanksgiving. Maybe he wanted to spend time with them before he disappeared.”
“You don’t think his wife knew anything?”
I shake my head. “She said she didn’t, and I don’t know why she would have kept it secret from me if she did know. But there are things that puzzle me. I’d like if you went out there with me to meet her. I want your opinion. She’s supposed to be back this afternoon, and I’m going over there to talk to her about the land Wilkins owned in his own name. If you aren’t too tired, you can go along.”