Mrs. Edwards walked over to a file cabinet, opened it, took out a form and came back and put it on the counter in front of Rusty.
“You are the only person to ever apply for a private detective license in Travertine County.”
“Apply? You mean I might not get it?”
“If you don’t fork over sixty-two dollars and fourteen cents.”
“I thought it was just sixty-two dollars.”
“You thought wrong, honey. Fourteen cents worth.”
Rusty paid, got his license and walked across the street and up to his office. The place felt stuffy so he turned on the window unit to knock out the stale heat. He got himself a Dr Pepper out of the refrigerator, went over, sat at his roll desk and sipped his soda. A licensed private eye.
As corny as it was--Rusty knew what it was he had to do. He had to earn that five thousand dollars. He had to find out who killed Elmore “Katfish” King.
Who killed King, killed Compton.
Using the untraceable cell Al gave him, he called directory assistance and asked for the number to Dolopia, College. He was connected at no extra charge.
He listened to the Dolopia College phone menu. After three choices with four more to go, he hit O. The phone receptionist came on.
“President’s office, please,” Rusty said.
After listening to some clicking around: “President’s Office. Mrs. Wiley speaking.”
“Mrs. Wiley, this is Rusty Clay. I would like to speak to Dr. Vargas. I know he’s a busy man, but if you could just tell him Rusty would like to speak to him for a just a minute?”
“Hold on, Mr. Clay,” the secretary said, like she knew who he was.
In a minute, the phone clicked to another line and Rusty heard: “Rusty, how’s life?”
“Better now that I own a Mercedes.”
Dr. Vargas laughed. “How’s the engine work coming?”
“I’m a busy man, but I have my cousin on it. Listen, do you happen to have your senior year book from high school?”
“Great minds think alike, Mr. Clay. I just spent two hours rummaging through storage last night. Yes, I do have it. It’s at the house.”
“Could I borrow it for a few hours? I’ll take good care of it.”
“Of course. I’m going home at six. I’m freshening up and going right back out to an event, but I’ll leave it in the vestibule. You could come by after seven, my wife or the maid will be there to give it to you.”
“Thanks. And listen, I still think this is a serial killer. You are a prominent professional from the same graduating class. I would keep on my toes if I were you.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Rusty. And I am a bit nervous. That’s why I am keeping myself under security at all times.”
“Security?”
“Yes. I have the campus security outside my door right now. He goes with me everywhere now.”
“You mean Vernon Peoples?”
“Yes, you know him?”
“Sort of. He was in my graduating class. And he was kicked off the Dolopia Police Department for incompetence.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You have to be pretty incompetent to be kicked off the Dolopia Police Department for incompetence.”
Chapter 35
As soon as Rusty put the receiver back down in the cradle, he heard the door downstairs creak open. Quick, footsteps, footsteps of a man, light, quick and with purpose. Then the shadow of a figure in the translucent glass, then a quick, polite rap on the door.
Rusty went over and opened the door. It was the last person Rusty expected to see at his office. Unless he was standing behind an entourage of armed officers.
There stood Jeffery Starr.
“How’d you like the Crippled Crawfish?” Rusty said. It just blurted out of his mouth. He looked Starr up and down.
Starr looked all professional with his hair slicked back. Had on a suit, but no tie. The new warrior.
“I caught a three pound bass on it not half an hour after you gave it to me. Thank you very much.”
“Shit.” Rusty’s number one enemy in the world and Rusty contributed to him catching a bass. A sin he’d have to live with. If Starr could catch a bass on Rusty’s granddaddy’s lure, well, he needed to convince Ray to give up his idea about bottling Clear Springs water. They needed to market that thing. Get Duane Pylant to promote it for them. Sometimes opportunity was right under your nose.
“Come on in,” Rusty said. What else could he do but entertain the enemy?
Rusty even offered him the soda, but Starr declined. Rusty offered him a seat and Starr took him up on it. He sat at the flat desk by the window, right in the seat where Katfish King had settled his ass.
Rusty sat across from him. Starr put his hands up on the desk and said, “Tomorrow I’m going before the judge and have murder charges dropped against you. For purposes best kept secret at this time, I’m going to still name you as a person of interest.”
It was a trick. Add that with the information Sammy just gave Rusty. But maybe Starr knew about the inheritance Jenny was going to get. Yeah, drop the charges so he could arrest him the next day for murder for hire or some shit. No bond this time.
What could Rusty say? “What? That Cripple Crawfish change your mind?”
“No. After I got back to the office, from catching the bass on the Cripple Crawfish, a sixteen year old girl came to see me. Arzula Samples. She saw your picture on the news. She said she and her boyfriend drove to Dismal Canyon the night of the murder. They were going to camp out, but saw an El Camino parked on the ridge, knew they wouldn’t be alone, so went somewhere else. They came back the next morning. The El Camino was still there and they saw you that morning.”
“Yes, they did.” Rusty was saved by that gold necklace. If he had chosen not to go over and give it back to her, she could never have clearly identified him.
Rusty didn’t think Crazy Boy and Crazy Girl seeing him that morning would be much toward an alibi. Make him look more guilty. That he’d run there to hide out. But if they saw his El Camino there the night before, before Compton was murdered, it would put doubt in a jury or judge’s mind.
That was all when Rusty was supposed to be the jealous ex committing a crime of passion . What about now, when Rusty was to do it in collusion with Jenny? That he parked his El Camino there, Jenny picked him up and took him to the crime scene, drove him back? Making it all convoluted? Yes, Rusty hadn’t had his license an hour and he was starting to think like a cynical detective.
“So, I have an alibi?” Rusty said.
“Somewhat.”
Somewhat? “Do you still think I did it somehow?”
“I was certain you did it. Now, I don’t believe so. I have to be certain to convince a jury. When the killer is found, I will put him or her away. I guarantee you that.”
“Believe me when I say, Mr. Starr, that I’m with you one hundred percent on finding who did this murder and putting him away for good.” Rusty conveniently omitted ‘or her’ on purpose for Starr’s benefit.
Starr said, in the snidest of all possible tones, “I’m sure you are, Mr. Clay.”
The son of a bitch was still the enemy. Then just for grins, Rusty gave him a look. And if looks could kill, Jeffery Starr would have been a dead man.
Chapter 36
Rusty drove straight to The Point. Starr may have had him followed. Rusty didn’t notice anyone tailing him. Anyway, he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care if Starr thought he did it and that Rusty running straight to the person who hired him would be fodder for Starr. He needed to see Jenny and he, by God, was going straight to see her.
No concierge manned the concierge desk. He figured the condo association had opted not to hire one. A condo association on Elk River. Shit.
He took the elevator up to the top floor and rang the bell at Penthouse Four.
Shortly, Jenny opened the door. She wore a baseball cap, some shorts and an athletic bra underneath a tight T-shirt.
“Rusty, what brings you here?”
“I need to talk to you a minute.”
“I just got through working out.” She let him in, closed the door. “Give me just a second. Make yourself at home.” She walked off into the condo.
Rusty walked to the French glass doors that led out to the veranda and got himself a grand view of the mouth of the Elk River, where it emptied into the Tennessee. He had been down there on that part of the river a zillion times but had only seen it from this angle a few times--in Buzz Colter’s crop duster.
“All right,” Jenny said.
He turned around. There she stood. She had put on a sweat suit. She led him into the kitchen. It was all granite tops and stainless steel appliances.
“Want a juice, a protein shake, anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“Listen, I was about to call you.”
“Yeah?”
Jenny hustled around, taking out some protein powder, some pieces of fruit from the refrigerator. “Yeah. I’m going to leave next week for Sarasota.” She motioned for him to sit at the island bar and he did. “Crystal will be back in the country in a couple weeks. She’ll meet me there.”
“Good.”
“And there was something I wanted to ask your opinion of.”
“What’s that?”
Jenny put down the banana, turned around and faced Rusty. Her butt rested against the counter. “Robert bought that condo. Had it put in my name. Do you think I should give it back?”
“He’s dead, Jenny. How can you give it back to him?”
“I mean to his estate. Then his kids or whoever gets all his money can split it up. The thing cost a couple million dollars.”
“Good God.”
She didn’t know about the will. He went over and stood next to her.
“Rusty, you smell.”
“Don’t start with me, Jenny.”
“You may think what I have to say is none of my business. But you are still Crystal’s father. I don’t want you to start living by yourself in that cabin and let your hygiene go.”
“Shit, Jenny! I’ve been on a roller coaster ride today. Piss is coming out of my pores. There’s other important things right now.”
“Like what?”
“Is your passport still valid?” Rusty asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I want you to get on a plane and go to Argentina and stay there for a while.”
“I was advised to stay in the country until they had found Robert’s killer and had a trial date sat up.”
“Who? Who advised you that?”
“Robert’s lawyers.”
“Fuck them!”
“They’re the best in all of Alabama.”
“Best for whom?” Rusty asked. “Best for their own interest.”
“What are you talking about, Rusty?”
Rusty pushed away from the counter and paced. “Hey, Jenny. I need to tell you something. But you didn’t hear it from me. And I’m not telling where I got it from.”
“What?”
“Next week, they’re going to read Compton’s will.”
“And?”
“You’re going to get half. His kids are going to get half. When Starr finds out the heirs to the will, you are going to be suspect number one. I’m still going to be the killer. But all of a sudden you’re going to be the one who hired me. I hate to break this to you, Jenny, but Compton had his mistress, or mistresses. They’ll play on that, too. My source claims Starr doesn’t know yet. I think he does. But that’s beside the point. It’ll all come down once the will is read. It will be better than he imagined. He’s going to be star in a courtroom and media drama.”
Jenny walked over and plopped down on a stool, speechless.
Finally, she said, “Rusty, I think Robert was worth about fifty million dollars.”
“There’s money in the heart cutting business.” Fifty million? Rusty was more prone to believe Jenny’s figure than Sammy’s.
“Do you think I should take that much money?”
“That’s up to you, Jenny. You should think on it long and hard. What I do know, is you need to get away from his lawyers. They don’t have your best interests at heart. Believe me. You need to go uptown and get Melvin Waters on your case.”
“I met him at a party when they first moved to Dolopia.”
“I have a question for you, Jenny?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t have the time to be sensitive right now, Jenny. No, disrespect to your late fiancée. Did you know he was a womanizer?”
“Well, I know he was. But that was in the past. When he turned sixty he changed his ways. He was faithful to me.”
“Sure.” Rusty should have gotten Gloria to come over and tell Jenny she was in denial. It sounded stupid coming out of a man’s, especially ex-husband’s, mouth.
“Why were you going to marry him?’ Rusty asked.
“I loved him. He had a lot of money. He was generous. And he was never at home. He was going to be the perfect husband.”
Rusty didn’t have anything to say to that.
After a long moment of silence, he said, “Will you promise me to go to Argentina and just stay there with Crystal about a month until I get a handle on this case?”
Jenny said, “If you’ll promise to go straight home and take a shower.”
Rusty kept up his part of the bargain.
Chapter 37
The rich-looking exotic woman with the French accent had some body English to her that Rusty found flattering. She was slim and had on a lot of jewelry and moved her eyes up and down Rusty in a very playful manner. She must have been about forty.
Luckily, Rusty had kept his promise with Jenny. He was all showered and shaved. And how did he know he was going to be in the presence with this exotic woman? Those instructions on the shampoo bottle--which the shampoo companies finally admitted was just a conspiracy to sell more shampoo--Rusty took to heart when he was especially grungy, stinky, and dirty. He not only shampooed, rinsed, and repeated. He showered, rinsed and repeated. Shaved, toweled off his face, repeated. He had even ironed his shirt.
Here was the rich, exotic wife who bought Vargas his exotic cars. Here was the woman whom Robert Compton had come on to and spoiled his relationship with his old schoolmate. Well, Rusty couldn’t blame Compton there.
Rusty had him a good thing going with Vargas taking a liking to him. It was a thing he didn’t want to screw up.
“Dr. Preston said you would have something for me,” Rusty said. “I mean, he would have something for me. I mean, he would leave something for me.”
Slow down, Rusty. What was a woman like that doing in Dolopia, Alabama? Even if she was the college president’s wife.
“I do have something for you, Mr. Rusty Clay,” she said, in her French, sexy accent, that Rusty was sure she was making more French and more sexy just for him. “Was that a Freudian slip? Well, here is what I have for you tonight, Mr. Rusty Clay.”
She twirled around. The hem of her black skirt billowed up above her knees. The woman was so hot steam was coming off her.
What was this? Rusty Clay would like to know. For five years a woman didn’t so much as give him a second glance. And now, let’s just count them, Rusty said to himself. There was Gloria, of course. Then you had hot, young Vivian coming on to him. He had even walked in to his own house while Alice had on nothing but her Victoria Secret fuck-me negligee outfit on. And now this hot French married woman was flirting.
Women were drawn to men with power and money. And to bad boys? Maybe somehow Rusty had got caught up in that mix.
Mrs. Preston twirled over to a vestibule table, got a big book off it, and turned back around to Rusty and presented it to him in a very coquettish way.
“Here is what I have for you. It seems Vargas likes you.”
“I like Dr. Preston. He’s a very interesting man.”
“I like your hair,” she stated.
�
�Thank you.”
“I like your eyes.”
“Thank you.”
“And I like you.”
“Thank you.” To say anything more seemed a very dangerous thing to do.
“Do you have a wife, Mr. Rusty Clay?”
“No, divorced.” He guessed she didn’t read the papers. She didn’t know he was accused of murdering his ex-wife’s fiancée.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I am seeing a lady right now.”
“Ah, perhaps on one of those rare occasions that my husband does not have a previous and professional engagement for the evening, perhaps you two could join us for dinner here?”
“That would be great. He has my number.”
“I have it, too. He gave it to me.”
Rusty wondered what the hell that meant. He was scared to ask.
He took the yearbook and got the hell out of there. He drove the few blocks to his office and started studying the yearbook.
Vargas Preston had been a popular man. Class Vice-President. Best Personality. Co-Captain of the football team, of which he was a corner back. All of the empty pages at the back of the yearbook had been crammed with inscriptions from classmates. Most all the pictures had been inscribed.
The 1966 senior class of the Haleyville Lions had not been all that small. Roughly a hundred students. About the same size as Rusty’s 1972 Class at the Clear Springs Fighting Blue Catfish.
Then he checked out Robert Compton. Most likely to succeed. That figured. Class Treasurer. That figured. Baseball team. He had signed his picture. Remember all our trips to B’ham. Best always, Bob.
Elmore King. Nothing. Rusty flipped and flipped. Nothing. No clubs. Had not made anything in Who’s Who. Had not signed his picture.
Back to the yearbook.
If there was anyone more popular than Vargas--other than Betty Seymour, who seemed to be Miss Everything--it was Jim Gordon. Captain of the football team. Quarterback. Class President. And there he was with Betty Seymour herself--Most Popular.
A fleeting thought occurred to Rusty--without further investigation, it seemed Elmore King was the least popular kid in school. He was a dumpy looking fat kid who couldn’t seem to get the bow tie of his tux straight for his class picture.
The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) Page 15