Hometown Secrets

by David Bishop

  “Who gives a shit? We got a black president. Men are marrying men. The government’s using your money and mine to buy poor people their own cell phones. The world’s all fucked up. Anything goes anymore.”

  “Whatever, Boss, you know better than me.”

  Billy’s face turned serious. “Truffles is just fun. The white broads I’m fucking are about getting an heir. All the Cranston men who came before me had sons. I don’t.”

  “I did hear a rumor that your Mrs. can’t conceive. That true?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “She said it to Mud one day when she was in The Drop alone and had a few too many.”

  “It’s true.”

  Billy sat on the edge of his desk and leveled a hard look at his lawman. “Doesn’t this Carol Benson look familiar to you? Don’t you feel you know her?”

  “No,” the sheriff said after raising his old-fashioned glass. “I never saw her before she got here a couple days ago. Maybe you saw her some place while you were traveling. That’d explain you remembering her while I don’t.”

  “Could be, but I don’t think so. I want you to find out who she is. What her connection is to this town . . . to me. And, Reggie, you got nothin’ more important on your plate. Get me?”

  “Okay, Billy, okay. I’ll get right on it. Let me ask you something.” Billy raised his drink as an invitation to do so.

  “Could she be connected to the Mexicans that Carlos Molina moved the weed for?”

  “I doubt it. In any event, Carlos was the only one they had any contact with. Carlos made that connection. He brought it to me because I could assure him getting through the county without any interference from the law.”

  “Can the authorities trace the money Molina got? You gave him a third for fronting for you. He hauled the stuff using his feedlot job as a dodge to cover his delivery trips.”

  “Carlos Molina saved much of his third, in cash, in my bank. At least that’s what he thought. Actually, I kept his cut in the safe here in my office. I paid him our savings account interest rate out of my pocket. I didn’t want a real bank account in his name with that much money in it showing up on the books. Whenever he wanted some of the money, which was every couple days, I’d give him a hundred or so. This morning I took what remained out of the safe.” Billy chuckled. “So, it would seem Carlos, unofficially, bequeathed his money to us.”

  Sheriff Blackstone cleared his throat. “How much was there?”

  “I remind you, you’ve already gotten your ten percent of the deals that generated Molina’s money.” Billy opened the belly drawer of his desk and tossed an envelope across onto the sheriff’s lap. “Here’s a bonus from what he had. There’s fifteen thousand in that envelope, that’s another ten percent on top of what you’ve already got.”

  “Wow. With the way that Mex tossed money around, he still saved up one-hundred-fifty-thousand smackers?” The Sheriff whistled low and rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t I get more? I mean, this was a murder.”

  “One you didn’t commit. You didn’t even know about it ahead of time. If you don’t want it, toss that envelope back over here.”

  The sheriff pulled the snap free on his shirtfront and pushed the envelope inside. “Who was the shooter?”

  “Outside of handling the homicide as sheriff, there’s no need for you to know. Hell, like you said, it coulda been the Mexers he moved the weed for. As for you, you got a sweetheart deal. Your cut was just for being sheriff and positioning your deputies on roads away from the route Carlos drove with the weed.”

  “I figured you for the shooter,” Sheriff Blackstone said to Billy Cranston, “you being a crack shot and all.”

  “That’s a load. If we pick the shooter based on being a marksman, hell, man, there’s at least a hundred guys within a hundred square miles who’d fit that bill.”

  “But, if you don’t mind my saying so, you had a reason to want Carlos put down.”

  “For that matter, so did you.”

  “Me?” The sheriff said. His body stiffening before he gulped his rye and water. The cubes moved like tossed dice when they struck the bottom as he lowered his empty glass. “Why would I want Carlos dead?”

  “Maybe you want to move up and take his place. Get his third rather than the ten percent you’ve been getting. That’d raise your rate a bunch.”

  “And save you ten percent, Boss.”

  Billy didn’t respond for a moment, then he smiled, “You’ve got a point, we’d both be better off. A win-win, for us, not for Carlos.”

  The sheriff’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth curled a little to one side. The way Billy had seen Reggie Blackstone do when he thought, ever since they were kids.

  “Are we outta that business now?” the sheriff asked. “Did Carlos’s death kill that cash cow?”

  “It cost me my front man. So, yeah, unless we come up with another, I guess so.”

  “If we don’t move fast,” the sheriff said, “the boys south of the border could pick a new route and bypass Cranston.”

  “They could, unless, like you said, we move fast. You know how to contact them?”

  “I think so, Boss. Let me give it a try. Should take me about a week, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Fine, but not until after we’re through solving this issue with the Benson dame.”

  “It’s quite possible,” Sheriff Blackstone said, “she’s telling it like it is. She got into town by stopping for a break from train travel. Got turned on by the murder and is hanging around for a few days. Different people get turned on by different stuff.”

  “That’s shit,” Billy roared. “She arrived here the day Carlos Molina was murdered. She was sitting inside The Drop. She saw it happen along with the others. We can’t realistically treat her as a suspect, but we can treat her as a person of interest. That’s a whopper of a coincidence, her being one of just six or eight people in the place at that exact moment. Right after she arrived in town. I can’t swallow that.”

  Sheriff Blackstone shook his head. “She couldn’t have been the shooter, she was right there. The Mexicans could’ve felt Carlos was a bit too flashy with the money from moving their product. They could’ve hired this Benson broad to take him out and she hired the shooter. Shit, her being there at the time may just be her wanting to verify the deed had been done. Then she hangs around a few days so her coming and going wouldn’t bookend the shooting.”

  “Okay,” Billy said. “That’s good thinking. What’s damn straight is that little lady has a story we don’t know. If there’s a connection between her and Carlos, I want you to find it. If she was sent here to validate his elimination, I want to know that. She could also have been hired by the shooter as an observer to monitor what was actually seen by the witnesses. In any event, I want you on that gal’s ass, you hear me?”

  Sheriff Blackstone stood. “Right away, sir.”

  “Any other strangers in town?”

  “Nah. We don’t get all that many. Except for this Benson woman there’s the gimp Mud hired last week to wash dishes in The Drop. There was that really old guy in a walker. You remember him? He was here the week of the fire out at your place. He left last Friday, drove out in one of them specially equipped cars that let the driver work the gas and brake pedals with their hands. Those cars are really cool. You think he might have started the fire out at your place?”

  “Get real, dimwit. In that walker it would have taken him a half hour to get from the back of the barn to the tree line for cover.”

  “No way that woulda worked, Boss. Pablo tells me he was out there within minutes of the fire starting. Your ranch hands were all over that area. I found lots of footprints, but no holes in the soil like his walker would have left. The way that old guy moved, he couldn’t have gotten away without being seen. And he wouldn’t have had time to scratch out the holes. If we turn our attention to the shooting, then what about the older guy I just mentioned who washes dishes at The Drop? I spoke with Mud, that guy was not
on duty when the shooting occurred. He got to work a few minutes after.”

  “I spoke to Mud, too,” Billy said. “He says the washer came in moments after the shooting, but that he had left his glasses at work. Mud had them in a drawer behind the bar. He says the old guy can’t see shit without his glasses. Mud also said the dishwasher was standing in the doorway to the kitchen when he stood up after checking Carlos on the floor. The timeline and other elements don’t work. The old guy couldn’t make the shot without his glasses. Besides he moves too slowly with his gimp to be able to get back into the backroom of The Drop. “Forget about them two old guys, Reggie.”

  “Okay, Billy. I agree.”

  “Here, take this.” Billy pushed a plastic bag across his desk toward Sheriff Blackstone. “This oughta help.” He wiggled his index finger in the direction of the bag. “I grabbed her water glass and coffee cup from breakfast this morning. Run those prints.” Billy got up and started pacing around his office. “Check her for wants and warrants, driver’s license records, the whole fucking thing. Do it, Reggie.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  “I got no other choice. Do I?”

  Hearing that, the sheriff’s eyebrows rose. His lips tightened.

  Billy opened his office door to indicate the meeting was over. “I want results. Now scram.”

  Sheriff Blackstone drained the drop or two left in his drink and put the glass down on a silver tray on the side table. Billy punctuated his order by slamming the door behind the sheriff.

  Chapter Ten

  “Did you wear that outfit just to stir me up?”

  It had been dark for nearly an hour when Linda walked from the Frontier Hotel to the Stop By Bar & Grill to meet Dixon Wardley. She circled past Vera’s and saw the same dark interior except for one light upstairs. The same light she saw last night when she first contacted Vera.

  After two blocks of touristy meandering and rubbernecking, Linda approached the Stop By. Before entering, she straightened her clothes and used her fingers to toss her hair. She pushed through the door and immediately saw Dix in a booth at the back of the eating area away from the bar. She had chosen to wear the Vera creation that could be stretched off the shoulders, which is where she had it positioned. Underneath she wore a strapless shelf bra, a little aggressive on her part, but she was feeling a bit brazen. Her feet were in five-inch heels below a skirt which crested several inches above her knees.

  Okay, she admitted to herself, I’m feeling more than a bit brazen.

  She walked straight toward Dix. He watched her approach, his eyes rotating from her face to her breasts, and then down to her legs. She hadn’t worn this skirt and heels since the death of her husband. Clark had liked them together. She brought them on this trip in the off chance she decided to titillate Billy Cranston. After seeing Billy, she lamented using some of her limited luggage space to carry a come-fuck-me outfit. Then she met Dixon Wardley. He moved the needle on her compass.

  Dix started to rise. She waved him back down. Sliding into the booth across from him, she scrunched her shoulders inward and leaned forward, allowing the top of her blouse to gap. Dix noticed. She smiled.

  “Hi, Carol. You look scrumptious. Did you wear that outfit just to stir me up?”

  “Well, the shy answer would be I wanted to wear this new top I bought earlier today at Vera’s Threads. This skirt and heels were all I had with me that went with it.”

  “And the not coy answer would be?”

  “Yes. I did. Is it working?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He repeated the low, husky laugh she had first heard at breakfast. “It makes the waves cockle along my shore. I read that in some book and it seems to fit what I’m feeling.”

  She smiled again. This time with her arms tight against the sides of her breasts. She did it in a way to suggest she was laughing, which she was, and not just exhibiting for him, which she was. Just for a moment, of course. The pattern of the fabric prevented the color of her nipples from showing, but did little to disguise their prominence or the jiggle that accompanied her giggle.

  Linda thought I haven’t been with a man since Clark was killed, so, yes, I’m definitely feeling seductive.

  “Are you hungry?” Dix asked.

  “Very much so,” she said before running her tongue across her upper lip and then down along her lower one.

  Dix grinned before handing her a menu. “I know you suggested we only have drinks, then maybe dinner some other night. Still, we can go ahead and have dinner tonight, your choice.”

  “Yeah. Let’s eat. What’s good?”

  “Superb breakfasts, if you want to try a place other than the diner in the Frontier.”

  “How are the waffles? I’ve been hungering for a waffle but haven’t had one at my hotel.”

  “Great waffles. Everything on their menu is good, well, not their eggs benedict. They serve that only on Sunday. I don’t recommend it. Their hollandaise sauce tastes like melted canary. The only thing good I can say about it is they took out the feathers.”

  “Ugh,” she said. “Fortunately, we’re here at dinner time.”

  “They have the best baby-back pork ribs in the county. Truth is this is the only place in the county that serves pork ribs. This is beef country. The owner here serves them to jab at Billy Cranston.”

  “Ribs it is.” she said, closing her menu. “So, what’s the topic of conversation in these here parts, partner?”

  “Recently, the murder of Carlos Molina which I understand you saw, right?”

  “It was gruesome. I stopped in to get something to eat. I was sitting in a back booth when he was shot.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Carlos Molina opened the door. He still had his hand on it when he collapsed. That’s all any of us saw.”

  “Nothing that suggested who shot him? Or where the shooter stood to fire the shot?”

  “Nope. He just went down. For all we knew he could’ve fainted. I heard an interesting rumor. Someone in the hotel bar mentioned that Carlos had a reputation for cutting corners to turn a buck.”

  “I’ve heard the stories, but he’s never been charged with anything. Of course, that may simply be a result of Carlos being one of Billy’s boys.”

  Dix ordered a pitcher of beer along with two orders of ribs, the kind of meal that inspired people to let their hair down. Handling your food and licking your fingers while on a date wipes away any need for pretenses.

  The waitress brought the beer right off. That she knew Dix was obvious. While pouring into his glass from the pitcher, she kept her hand on his shoulder. The waitress filled Linda’s mug as well, but without putting a hand on her shoulder. When she left, Linda turned to Dix.

  “You were going to tell me the history of this time warp that is Cranston, Kansas.”

  “Elder Cranston,” Dix began, “Billy’s great grandfather, led a group of followers west. When they got here, Elder declared the soil was good and this was the place they sought. He founded the town in the late 1860s. He was a strong Catholic. After building and opening The Drop, he put up the Catholic Church. The same one the town still uses. It’s been expanded and modernized, but it’s the same place. All the original families were Catholic. Later, some workers were not and eventually Cranston donated a plot of land and the others built the Methodist Church. The exact location of the Catholic Church created a certain problem, the morning sun and the cross atop the church cast its shadow into the window of the second floor of The Drop, into the very rooms where the old-time hookers used to take customers.”

  Linda laughed. “How was that resolved?”

  “The old man ordered those rooms closed from midnight Saturday until midnight Sunday.”

  “Didn’t the cross cast its shadow in that room every day?”

  “Sure. But Elder Cranston only found the goings on intolerable on Sundays. Rather pragmatic, wouldn’t you say? That room was a real moneymaker for the family.”

  The same waitress who brought the bee
r brought their food. Her badge read Wendy. She was an attractive woman of around thirty-five wearing black shorts, short enough to allow Wendy’s butt cheeks to wink with each step. The shorts were also tight enough to create a camel-toe effect in the front.

  Dix used a steak knife to cut partway between the ribs and then used his hands. Linda watched him pull his first couple ribs free of the rack. “If you don’t cut ‘em partway,” he said, “you’ll just tear the bone right outta the meat.”

  Linda followed his lead on cutting her ribs free of the rack, while asking, “So Elder Cranston peddled flesh for profit?”

  Dix nodded. “A family tradition carried on till this day. In the late 1800s, well into the 1900s, prostitution was a thriving business. After the state made prostitution illegal, the Cranstons moved the operation underground.”

  “You mean the Cranstons still have a brothel? Today?”

  “You bet. As I said, only the openness has changed. In Elder’s day it was upstairs over The Drop. Later, in the heyday of the Kansas beef business, while prostitution was still legal, the town had a Parlor House where the prices were higher and the best liquor and topnotch food was served. About that same time, a barebones, no pun intended, red-light district got added for the working stiffs. Nowadays those two operations have merged. No high-end food, but appetizers and drinks. It’s in a quiet two-story house on Elm near the corner of Fifth Street. No sign. No red light any longer, but anyone who wants to know where it is, learns in no time.”

  “What about the sheriff?”

  “He knows where it is. He also knows it’s a Billy Cranston enterprise. Sheriff Blackstone isn’t about to bite the hand that feeds him. He may even get a cut. I’m guessing he does, but that’s just a guess.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Linda said. Then she asked, “I wonder how the term red-light district ever got started?”

  “In Denver, Colorado, I think it was. Big train station near the roughest part of town. The railway brakemen often left their red lanterns on the porches of the cathouses so the other railroad workmen would know where they could be found. The madams decided it helped attract more customers so they started putting the lanterns out on a regular basis. Some towns came to require the houses where the women entertained men, put out lanterns at night and red shades on the front window during daylight hours. That let the rest of the population avoid the district if they didn’t want to be around it.”