Dig
Page 14
CHAPTER SEVEN
Robyn manages
A police cruiser pulled into the lot of The Admiral and Smithville Police Sergeant Gregory Stafford stepped out of the vehicle, patted his pants to straighten them and entered the building. His stride was confident, a side-effect of wearing the uniform. He nodded at Sue and at the other patrons. The older couple had gone and several others had come in, most of them tourists.
“Mornin’ Greg,” Sue said. “Can I get you a table?”
“No thanks, Sue,” he said in a somber tone. “Is Robyn here? I need to speak to her if I could, please.”
Sue frowned. “All right then. Coffee?”
“Not this time, Sue. Please, just tell Robyn I’m here.”
“Okey doke.” Sue walked by a table where a trio of young women sat. It was obvious by their attire and their New England accents as they babbled that they were on vacation. One asked her for a refill on her iced tea with a northern squawk and Sue promised her, “In just a moment,” with a southern squawk of her own. She then disappeared into the kitchen.
Sergeant Stafford lingered next to one of the barstools. He ran his finger along the old teak wood counter to find it was as clean as a pin. Robyn ran a tight ship. Everyone knew that, but Greg Stafford was particularly enamored of it. She was also funny and not difficult to look at either. He was married, but if his wife would’ve allowed him female friends, he thought Robyn Scott would be a good choice. It wasn’t a crush, just respect. Mrs. Stafford was not so understanding, and therefore he kept things purely professional with the ladies. He stuck to protecting and serving and Robyn brought him food and coffee while running a tight ship.
Sergeant Stafford considered sitting and fidgeted for a moment before squashing the idea. It was official business which had brought him there. Official men stood up to deliver speeches, to lead the board room meeting, to accept the award, to deliver bad news. No, there would be no laughter today, no long lunch.
A moment later, Sue came back through the swinging door with a pitcher of iced tea and Robyn at her heels. There was a smile on the manager’s face. A business smile.
“What can I do for you, Greg?” she asked. From the other side of the dining room, the New England tourist squawked her thanks for the tea.
Greg looked past Robyn for a moment at the waterway and squinted his eyes because the words he was about to say were painful. He shifted his weight and one hand found the hilt of his .40 caliber Smith and Wesson M&P. He had no use for it in the current situation, but knowing the weapon was there always gave him a boost in confidence. He left it to hang by his side and tried to find a place to hitch his thumbs so he didn’t look like a cowboy. Gun or not, Greg had no idea what to do with his hands and wished he’d gone ahead and sat on one of those damned barstools.
“You are acquainted with Mr. Thomas Bledsoe, aren’t you, Miss Scott?”
“Miss Scott?” Robyn said and looked at Sergeant Stafford with an eye cocked, one side of her mouth raised.
Don’t let her throw off your game, Greg. Business. There’s a time for work and a time for play, and this is…
“Well, yes, I know Thomas,” Robyn said, interrupting his thought. “What has he gone and done? He was up here drinking until late last…” She gestured toward the end of the bar.
Greg interrupted her. “He killed Theodore Sully last night. You probably know Mr. Sully as Shrimp.”
Robyn stuttered her response. “W-What? That’s stupid. Thomas?” Then her face formed an oh-boy-did-you-get-me-good smirk.
Greg wasn’t smirking. He regretted that she thought he was joking. It only made the visit more difficult. “Yes. Thomas. Mr. Sully was pronounced dead early this morning. I have Mr. Bledsoe in custody.”
Robyn sat down, pulling out not just her stool, but one for Greg as well. Her smirk was gone, as gone as any smile Greg had ever seen. He gladly took the seat and was thankful to rest his hands in his lap. It calmed him a bit, but suddenly police business seemed too formal. Wife or no wife, he’d begun to think of Robyn…of all of the staff at The Admiral as friends.
“I know, Robyn. I can’t make any sense of it either.”
“Well, what the hell happened?”
Greg found his hands were alien again, with no place to put them and he wished Sue had brought coffee. At least he could hold the cup. Instead, he grabbed the salt shaker and began to roll it back and forth from one hand to the other. “Like I said, Thomas is down to the jail and he’s a wreck. He told me they were arguing about cards…and football…and cards…whatever the start of the argument, he finished it by beating the old man to death with a tire iron. Said he was driving Shrimp home and just stopped. He pulled his vehicle over on the side of the road and retrieved the tool from underneath the back seat. Then he forcefully removed Mr. Sull—Shrimp, who was still intoxicated—from the passenger seat of the vehicle and beat him until he ‘was satisfied’.” There were air quotes around ‘was satisfied’. He spilled salt from the shaker as he made them.
“OMy god,” Robyn said and wiped the spilled salt with a dish rag in an unconscious motion.
A couple of tourists gasped. Their conversation stopped and they began to eavesdrop more diligently. Greg hushed his tones. “That’s not the worst of it. He isn’t a bit sorry,” Greg said.
“What? What do you mean?” Robyn asked.
“Thomas says he isn’t sorry. He called Shrimp an old sonofabitch and claims the man cheated at cards and owed him money or something. He says it was well deserved and he would do it again a dozen times.”
“Is he on drugs?” Robyn said.
“I don’t know. We’re waiting on blood and urine tests to come back. None of that really matters, though. I just wanted to know if you’d seen them in here and if anything was wrong?”
Robyn breathed deep and wiped a tear from her eye. “Like I started to say, they were both in here last night. We played cards and drank beer with Rusty Clemmons. Do you know Russ? He’s back in town for the twenty-year high school reunion.”
“No. Can’t say I do,” Greg said and pulled out a small notebook to jot down the name. “What time did they leave?”
“We closed up about 2:00 am. It was just the four of us in here. Thomas and Shrimp left in one direction. I tried to call them a cab, but they were already gone. They walked out arm in arm like old buddies. Christ, I think they were singing.”
“Did you observe any arguing?”
“No. A lot of laughter. Then Shrimp took a nap at the bar while the rest of us finished our card game.”
“What about drugs?”
“Nothing stronger than Miller Lite and a few cigarettes.”
Greg jotted a few more notes. The noise his pen made scratching on his notepad made him all too aware of the silence which had come over the Admiral.
“And what about Mr. Clemmons? Where is he?”
“He is staying here in the Admiral. I can get Kelly to get you the information if you like.”
“Okay. No rush. I’m sure this is as it seems, shock that it is, but I would like to speak to Mr. Clemmons. Any idea where he is right now?”
“He was headed over to the NAPA this morning to work on his car.”
Greg nodded. “I’ll stop by there on my way back to the station. You don’t need to ask Kelly anything. If I need more, I’ll find my way back over here.”
The phone rang at the hostess stand and then another echoed from behind the bar followed by a third in the office in the kitchen. Robyn looked in the direction of the sound, but didn’t move to answer it.
“Greg,” she said as he stood up. “Let me know what you find out, will you?”
“Sure thing. And once I get my head on straight, I’m sure I’ll be hungry. You know this is my favorite place to eat.”
The phone rang again. He attempted a smile, but it felt awkward and he let it fade. “Take care, Robyn, and say hello to your mother and to Kelly for me.”
“Will do. Be safe,” she said.
The phone
rang again and then cut off when Sue grabbed the handset at the hostess stand. “Admiral, this is Sue. How can I help y’all?” she said.
Greg stopped once more before leaving and turned back. Robyn was still sitting on the barstool, dumbfounded. “Robyn, please keep this quiet. Uproar won’t help.”
Greg Stafford walked out of the restaurant and in seconds, his cruiser was crossing Bay Street and heading up Howe.