Murder turned and galloped away, most of the herd following him. Except for Dink and Doofus. They made sure they got their carrots before they left.
Blu got the grill fired up, prepped the vegetables and shrimp, and had them on the grill when he heard the sound of tires. He peeked around the house, saw his daughter get out of her old Suzuki Sidekick, and walked outside to greet her.
She reached over the passenger door and lifted out the prized pie. “Hola, Papa.”
“You need any help?”
Walking toward him, she said, “No, thanks.”
She wore a yellow sundress and flip-flops. Her auburn hair she’d gotten from her mother was tied up in a pony tail. Sunglasses prevented him from seeing the eyes he’d given her. Pausing only to give him a peck on the cheek, she passed him and went in the kitchen to put the pie in the refrigerator. Her naturally olive skin, another of his contributions to her, glowed.
He returned to the grill, rotating the skewers one more time. They were almost ready.
Hope walked out on the back patio, set two opened root beers on a table, and lathered up with bug spray. At dawn and dusk, little vampire parasites called no-see-ums came out to feast. For some reason, they ignored Blu. But they ate up everyone else, even getting into the hair and biting the scalp. If it wasn’t those bloodsuckers, it was mosquitoes. God had decided to give the inhabitants of the lowcountry a double shot of pests, the stagnant marsh pools a perfect breeding ground for both. Which was why Blu loved dragonflies and bats. They feasted on the parasites.
Hope said, “So you’re still working on that same job?”
He loaded a plate with the cooked food. “You could say that.”
“What’s it about again?”
“You know a kid maybe a few years older than you named Jeremy Rhodes?”
She sipped a root beer and selected two skewers. “I don’t think so. At least he’s not one of my friends.”
“Probably a good thing. He’s missing and his mother hired me to find him.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “His mother is Cynthia Rhodes?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled a whistle.
“What?”
“You don’t know about her, do you?”
It startled him his daughter had just turned into an information source. “She’s very wealthy. Owns a house on South Battery. How do you know her?”
“I don’t know her,” she said as she used her fork to slide the shrimp and vegetables off the skewer. “I know of her.” She set the empty skewer on the edge of her plate, stabbed a piece of shrimp with her fork, and ate it. After she swallowed, she said, “Cynthia Rhodes is heavily involved in charities, some of which are for preservation of Charleston’s history among other causes. Her son’s missing?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t read anything about that.”
Blu pulled a small tomato off a skewer and ate it. “Because I think she’s making sure not many know.”
“But why? Why wouldn’t she want everyone looking for him?”
“I’m thinking the kid’s got some issues.”
She nodded and ate another piece of shrimp.
He said, “So his mother’s got a lot of connections, huh?”
“Every high dollar donator in town. And Hilton Head and Savannah.”
“Didn’t know that.”
Her infectious smile showed. She said, “You know, why don’t you let me help you?”
“Too dangerous,” he said, instantly regretting it.
She cocked her head. “But it’s okay if you do it?”
How was it they always seemed to land on the topic of his dangerous job whenever they got together? “It’s never okay to put yourself in danger. I like to think I have enough experience to avoid a lot of it.”
“Come on, Dad.”
From the twinkle in her eye, he knew she was just needling him. He said, “Everyone’s got a talent or two. Mine happens to be a danger radar.”
She tossed one of the bamboo skewers at him like a dart. “You can sense it, but you don’t always go out of your way to avoid it.”
And that was why she was the brains in the family. And the looks. And common sense. And the ability to fix things that broke around the house. And, well, he could keep going. His daughter was perfect and he was more like a bumbling buffoon in comparison.
She was right about him not going out of his way to avoid danger. Some people turned to chemicals for their highs. He was addicted to the rush from any kind of peril. He just didn’t get to experience it much these days.
His daughter helped him clean up, and then she left to meet her friends downtown. He missed those days, barhopping with his buddies. It all changed when he got into the Ranger program. All of a sudden, bar fights became a liability when he learned how easy it was to take someone’s life. After one of the guys in his unit killed someone in a stupid drunken brawl, Blu cut himself off from drinking. When he ended someone’s life, he wanted to know exactly what he was doing.
He sat in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch overlooking the marsh as dusk settled in. The nice thing about living on a small island was the great views from both sides of his house. The not-so-nice thing was hurricane season. In ‘89, Hurricane Hugo flooded his island for a week. Somehow the horses living at the time survived. They must have run for cover before things got bad. And damned if they didn’t show up afterwards, when everything was growing back in and healing.
The sound of a motorcycle in the distance proved a hunch nibbling at him. When they worked a job, Blu knew his partner better than anyone else. And he had this sixth sense as to what Crome was into and when he might show up.
The Harley boomed down the drive and gave a last grumble when Crome shut it down. A familiar young woman got off the back. Crome leaned it on the kickstand, swung his good leg over the saddle, and stretched.
The young woman’s mouth opened as she watched Dink and Doofus amble up to her. Crome opened his saddle bag and removed two more carrots. He gave them to the woman and motioned for her to feed the horses, which she hesitantly did.
Blu said, “It’s about time you got here.”
A big smile came over Crome’s face. “Had to take a few detours.”
“I’ll bet.”
Crome said, “This is Medusa.”
She said, “That’s my stage name.”
The horses chewed on the carrots as Crome and Medusa walked to the porch.
A closer inspection of the woman showed her to be a rough twenty-five. A few tattoos on her arms, her left eyebrow pierced with a hoop.
Blu stood and introduced himself to the young woman. “Can I get you some iced coffee?”
“Got any beer?” the biker asked.
“Sure do, the root kind.”
Crome went inside and came back out with two bottles of root beer. “Not exactly the same thing, now is it?”
Medusa knocked a cigarette out of a pack of Marlboros and lit it with a pink Bic lighter. “You guys didn’t just plan all this to kidnap me, did you?”
If she meant what she said, she didn’t show much fear. But strong people had a talent for working through their fear. This woman had probably already seen quite a bit in her life. Or she was just a coked-out drug addict. And the smell coming off her cigarette was way too appealing. Blu had successfully swapped Camel smokes for vaping, but the draw was still there.
Crome laughed and leaned against one of the posts holding up the tin roof over the porch. “Think pretty highly of yourself, don’t ya?”
She ignored Crome and glared at Blu, “Is it true the police are looking for me?”
Blu took a drag from his vaporizer, hoping to stave off the craving for a real smoke. “Yes. We need to let them know you’re here and safe. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’m not sur
e I trust you two yet.”
The biker said, “You rode all over the city on the back of my bike. And now you’re not sure if you can trust me?”
Blu said, “Why don’t you tell us about Angel and Cleo?”
She sat in the rocker closest to Blu, a small table between them, and watched them for a few seconds while smoking her cigarette. “They’re my friends.” She looked down and started to cry, her shoulders shaking.
Blu went into his house and came out, handing her a roll of paper towels.
She stubbed her cigarette out on the floor of the porch, tore off a piece of paper towel, and used it as a tissue.
Crome stayed silent, continuing to lean against the post with his root beer.
Blu asked, “Do you know Jeremy Rhodes?”
She coughed, sobbed, and cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
She gave him a look of both fear and anger. “I just do, okay?”
Crome said, “I’m afraid that ain’t okay, sweetheart.”
“He shared his drugs with us.”
Blu said, “Is he your dealer?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well,” Blu said, “what exactly?”
“He brought us a large stash of coke. We traded for it.”
Blu said, “You mean like provided a service for them?”
She put her head in her hands. “Yes. But I really liked him. I’d’ve been with him anyway.”
“Were you the only one who traded for the drugs?”
Her head jerked up. “No. All of us did. Me and Angel and Cleo.”
What she’d just said and what the police would infer wouldn’t be the same thing. Like, for instance, a theory could be Medusa killed Angel and Cleo in a jealous rage.
Blu said, “Do you know who murdered Angel? Or where Cleo is?”
“No, I don’t.” She dabbed an eye with her paper towel.
“What about Jeremy?” Blu asked. “Do you know where he is?”
She said, “He moves around. Bought this van and lives in the back of it.”
Blu slid his rocker to face her. “You said he brought coke over and you traded for it. Was that the first time you met him or that he did that?”
“No,” she said. “He’s been coming around for a year. We all partied together. He seemed harmless and always had money on him. But the big bag of coke was something new.”
Crome asked, “When did he come with the drugs?”
“About two weeks ago.”
Blu said, “Anyone come looking for Jeremy besides us?”
“No, but—”
“But what?” Blu asked, almost on the edge of his seat now.
“We got asked a lot of questions about where we got the coke.”
Blu said, “By who?”
“The other girls that didn’t work for it.”
Crome said, “And you think either Angel or Cleo gave up Jeremy?”
“They’re my friends, but they couldn’t care less about him. They liked coke and he had it.”
Blu asked, “Can you think of anyone the other girls would have told who would come back and harm Angel or Cleo or Jeremy?”
Medusa gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah. Tim for one.”
Both men asked, “Who’s that?”
“Our dealer.”
“This Tim,” Crome said, “where can we find him?”
She said, “You mean where does he hang out? I’m not sure. He comes by the club, and that’s when we score.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Blu called Detectives McDere and Builder early the next morning. The mostly true story he would feed them involved the girl being scared when she found out about Angel and couldn’t find Cleo and left town.
Crome left to run down a lead while Medusa slept on the couch.
The detectives pulled into the crushed shell drive around eight a.m.
Dink and Doofus arrived in time to sniff out the detectives, let Blu know they weren’t bad by hanging around, and snorted in disappointment when no carrots or apples were forthcoming.
Blu greeted the men at the door and let them in. He motioned to Medusa asleep on the couch.
Detective McDere asked, “How long she been here?”
“Not long.”
Detective Builder said, “Is that what she’s gonna say when we wake her up?”
Blu waved a hand to the couch where she slept. “By all means.”
From the doorway, Blu watched McDere walk over and gently touch Medusa on the shoulder.
She startled, rubbed her eyes, and said, “Who are you guys?”
McDere introduced himself and his partner.
Medusa said, “Mr. Carraway said you would want to talk to me. I told him to call you.”
Builder said, “How long have you been here, Ms.?”
“Call me Medusa.”
“Okay,” Builder said, “Ms. Medusa.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Not long.”
And Blu hadn’t even worked out that detail with her. Someone was watching out for him, he just knew it.
McDere said, “Are you hurt or do you need any medical treatment?”
“What for?” she asked. “Sleeping on the couch?”
Builder asked, “You aren’t harmed and are of sound mind?”
She sneered. “Meaning what? Am I on drugs? No, I’m not on any drugs except cigarettes if they count.”
McDere cleared his throat. “Okay, fine. Ms. Medusa, we would like you to come with us to the police station and talk about your friend Angel Feather.”
What the detective said didn’t seem to help Medusa’s sneer. In fact, it might have made it worse.
She said, “Come with you two to the police station? No thanks. If you have any questions, you can ask me here.”
The detectives looked at each other, and then McDere turned to Blu. “We’re going to need a room where we can speak with Ms. Medusa.”
Before he could answer, she said, “I want Blu to be here with me.”
McDere said, “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, Ms. Medusa.”
“Why not?” She motioned to Blu. “It’s his house.”
The detective’s face flushed red. “What I meant to say, Ms. Medusa, is Detective Builder would like to speak with you while I talk with Mr. Carraway.”
Divide and conquer? Afraid not.
Blu said, “I’m not saying anything without my attorney present. I have a client confidentiality conflict here.”
McDere opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.
Builder said, with more than a hint of incredulity, “Would you like to come with us back to the police station?”
“Sure. Would you like to have another discussion with my attorney?”
McDere said, “We can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you. And that desk sergeant that let you go won’t be there this time.”
Blu said, “Let me tend to my horses, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
Builder said, “Why are you pushing this, Carraway? You’re the one obstructing justice.”
Blu folded his arms across his chest. “Is that a charge or just an accusation?”
After a fifteen second standoff, McDere shook his head slowly. “Okay, Carraway. Have it your way.”
Medusa said, “Does that mean you’re arresting him or you’re going to ask me what you came to ask me?”
McDere said, “Ms. Medusa, what can you tell us about your friend Angel?”
The detectives left after about an hour of questioning Medusa. It was interesting to listen to her answer them again. Several of her answers weren’t exactly what she’d said earlier, but they were close enough.
Blu checked her into Charleston Place, a very nice hotel in the city strad
dling King and Meeting Streets, under an alias name he used for just such occasions. Cynthia Rhodes would get the bill for the room, a small price to pay for the one lead to her son who was still alive.
After describing to her what carte blanche meant regarding her access to room service, movies, and the mini bar, he left hoping she would be entertained enough not to really take off.
Driving up Meeting Street, Blu took a drag on his vaporizer. He still didn’t know where Jeremy was. And he needed a trace on the van Medusa said he was driving. But he didn’t want to alert the police to any link to Angel’s death just yet.
He decided he needed to get something to eat. It was almost eleven, and breakfast had been cut short by the detectives showing up. He headed to Poe’s Tavern on Sullivan’s Island for what’s been called the best burger in South Carolina.
Before pulling into traffic to head to the island, he called Crome who was always up for spending time in a bar. The biker agreed to meet him there, especially after Blu said he was buying.
The ambiance of Sullivan’s Island was a lot like his own island home.
Crossing the Ben Sawyer Bridge spanning over the Intracoastal Waterway felt like entering a dimension where any problems of the day dissolved into the salt air.
Turning into the sand lot next to Poe’s, Blu spotted Crome’s motorcycle. He parked, got out of his rental, and approached the bike, all the while looking at Crome on the front porch with a pint glass in front of him.
The bike’s engine was warm to the touch but not hot, meaning it hadn’t been running for a while. Blu’s eyes met Crome’s, and the biker smiled at his partner. He’d already been sitting there when Blu called him.
Blu made his way up the front stairs to the covered porch of the wood-sided house that was Poe’s Tavern and sat beside Crome. In the early aughts, the place was called the Shanty. But Blu liked it better in its current guise.
Crome said, “How’d you make out?”
“The detectives tried to take Medusa downtown. She told them she wasn’t going. Then they threatened to haul me downtown.”
The bartender came over and Blu ordered a sweet tea for himself and burgers for both of them. He left and Blu continued. “I told them to let me put water out for the horses and then I’d be ready. They didn’t know what to think after that.”
In It for the Money Page 21