Champagne for Buzzards

by Phyllis Smallman

  The sheriff had had enough. “Mr. Adams, where can we get in touch with him?”

  I turned over this information. I’d talked to Clay after I’d called the sheriff. Laura Kemp had already phoned him earlier and from his frosty tone I was lucky there was only one dead body on Riverwood. I also assured Clay there was no need to come home, not that he’d offered.

  “You’ll have to come into the station and make a statement about all this.”

  “Of course, although you now know all I know.” The sheriff frowned at me and then turned to Tully and Ziggy and asked, “Have you seen any strange men around Riverwood?”

  They answered in the negative and then the sheriff asked, “How about you, Miss Travis?”

  I shook my head. “Only these two very odd guys sitting here, they’re pretty strange.”

  My words pained him. “We’re looking for a man seen in this area. Likely our killer, so if you see him call me at once. I’ll leave Deputy Quinn in charge here. I’ll have to go tell April Donaldson, the woman who lived with Lucan.”

  The sheriff’s words brought back bad memories of Detective Styles coming into the Sunset and telling me that Jimmy was dead, not that I had believed Jimmy was dead. Reality didn’t sink in for days, and then the horror of what had happened to Jimmy, the horror of them only finding bits of him out in the mangroves, well, that nearly swamped me.

  “April’s the only one that’s going to care that Lucan is dead,” the sheriff added. “Most everyone else will be relieved. Come to the office tomorrow and someone will take your statement.” He was done with me. He turned and jogged down the steps.

  Tully said, “He sure won’t miss Lucan from what I hear at the Gator Hole.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What did he have against Lucan?”

  “Lovey Sweet, Howie Sweet’s girl. She and Lucan had a history and now the sheriff fancies his chances with Lovey.”

  “Ain’t hardly likely,” Uncle Ziggy put in. “No way, no how. A woman like that ain’t gonna to have no truck with a man like Hozen, nearly as old as me and no more honest than he needs to be from what I hear.”

  “Ziggy loves Lovey,” Tully told me. “Covets her.”

  “You’re just a man that naturally has evil thoughts, Tulsa Jenkins, always have, always will. You just don’t understand friendship between a man and a woman.” Tully snorted with laughter.

  I was too baffled by what was happening to join in this fun. “Seems to me the sheriff was expecting someone else when he looked into the bed of the truck — even hoping to see someone else there.”

  “I thought the same,” Tully agreed. “And why’s he asking about some stranger?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t think anyone in Independence would do such a thing.”

  I was still trying to wheedle a drink of something stronger than tea out of Tully when Howie Sweet showed up.

  CHAPTER 9

  We watched Howie Sweet stop to talk to the sheriff. They seemed on very good terms, but then Howie was a long-term resident of the area, part of the old establishment.

  Howie shook his head, denying something. The sheriff patted him on the shoulder and hurried off, getting into his car and tearing out of the yard, nearly colliding with an ambulance coming in.

  “Little too late for an ambulance, isn’t it?” Tully asked. Various other cars pulled into the yard. We watched as men got out and put on white suits over their clothes before they pulled on blue gloves and went to my pickup, carrying their cases. One man climbed up into the bed of the truck and knelt down. I looked away. I didn’t want to know.

  Howie turned away from the scene as well and climbed the stairs to join us on the front porch. He looked like a man who had lost someone near and dear to him, which was strange because Uncle Ziggy said Howie and Lucan Percell had a long, hate-filled history with Lovey Sweet as the source of their vendetta.

  Howie collapsed down into the wicker chair like a man whose bones had just given out. We all sat staring at him, waiting to hear what he made of the death of a man he hated.

  “Lucan Percell?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it and needed it confirmed. “Seems to be,” said Tully.

  Leaning forward, with his hands hanging down between his knees, Howie stared straight ahead. Silent and shocked, there was no doubt this had hit him hard. Suddenly his eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter. “I know…” he started to say and then gave a little shake of his head and went silent.

  “What do you know?” Tully demanded in a harsh voice more designed to scare than coax.

  “Nothing, ain’t nothing,” Howie answered and slumped back.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Tully told him. “You know anything you better speak up.”

  Howie shook his head and jutted his jaw.

  I caught Uncle Ziggy’s eye, nodded at Tully and cocked my head to the side.

  Uncle Ziggy pulled himself to his feet. “Tully, let’s go see what the deputy is going to do with Jimmy’s truck. We’ll have to find something for Sherri to drive if they’re going to keep it.”

  “Well, it sure is time to get rid of it now, isn’t it, Sherri? You don’t want to be driving around in a hearse,” Tully said and followed Ziggy off the porch. Howie Sweet was thinking hard on something and hardly noticed they were gone. “I need a drink,” I said to Howie. “Let’s go in.”

  I’d said the magic words. Howie was on his feet and through the door before me.

  I poured Jack Daniel’s into a glass and added a little water. “Ice?” He shook his head and reached for the glass. Howie’s hand trembled as he took it from me, drinking the whiskey down as if it was an antidote for snakebite and he’d just been bitten bad.

  He shuddered a little and set the glass down on the counter. “You seem real upset by this.”

  “It’s a surprise, it surely is,” he said. He pushed the glass towards me. “Such a shock to think someone would murder Lucan and put him in that truck.”

  He watched me pour a second drink, a little stronger this time, while both his palms smoothed out his shirt stretched across his broad girth.

  “Why are you surprised that someone killed Lucan?” I asked, holding out the fresh drink and watching him.

  “Don’t expect a thing like that.”

  “From what I hear, if ever there was a man who was born to be murdered, it was Lucan.”

  Howie nodded his bald head, his eyes fixed on the glass in my hand. “A bastard,” he agreed. “Everyone in the county hated him.”

  I remembered what the sheriff had said. “Not April Donaldson.”

  “No one much bothers with April.”

  “Including you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “She’s just lost someone she cared about,” I told him.

  “They wasn’t married. It isn’t the same.”

  “That’s nice and Christian of you.” I handed over the whiskey. His hands still trembled as they settled around the glass but this time he sipped at the liquid.

  “Tell me.”

  His faded blue eyes met mine. “What?”

  “As you say, the sheriff’s men aren’t bagging your best friend out there. Everyone knows you two were enemies so you can’t be that devastated by his death. Something else is going on here. Do you know how that body ended up in my truck?”

  He drew himself up. “I don’t think what I know or don’t know is any of your business.”

  “Wrong answer. I’m in this shit and I don’t like it. You were the only one who could easily have taken my truck. I’ll make sure the sheriff understands that; maybe I’ll even tell him I saw you do it if you don’t can the attitude.”

  “You can’t lie.”

  I laughed. “Lying is one of the few things I excel at.”

  He frowned.

  There was something I was really curious abo
ut. “Even without knowing about my lying you already seem to think the worst of me, Howie, why is that?”

  “’Cause you and Clay ain’t married. You’re living in sin and that’s just wrong. Pearl says so.”

  It was hard to believe that living with someone without marriage could still be an issue, which shows exactly how different things were in Independence from Jacaranda. Back in Jacaranda it was close to being the normal way of things.

  “It ain’t right,” Howie declared.

  “Well, that’s the least of the problems on Riverwood. There’s something else going on here. Cough it up or I’m out the door to the deputy. I can be just about as bad as Pearl thinks I am.” He grimaced. “I mean it, Howie.”

  “I took your truck,” he muttered into his glass with a voice barely loud enough for me to hear the words.

  “Say again?”

  He looked up. “I took it. I would have asked if you’d been here, but no one was home.”

  “Where did you take it?”

  “To the Gator Hole.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “I thought I’d just go out for one quick drink. See, Pearl was at choir practice with our truck. She don’t like me drinking.” He fell to studying the glass again.

  “Let me get this straight. Pearl went out and you snuck over here and stole my pickup.”

  “I didn’t sneak over.”

  “Howie, you were sitting outside under the oak, not fifty yards from the end of the lane, when we went into town. You saw us, we all waved, and you knew no one was here. You came over here and drove away in my truck. What do you call that?”

  “I always have use of the farm trucks. Clay says.”

  “It wasn’t a farm truck. It was mine.”

  “Didn’t think you’d care.” Howie was petulant and sorry for himself at getting caught, trying to make me the one in the wrong.

  “I wouldn’t care except for the dead body you picked up. That was one hell of a hitchhiker.” An idea kicked in. “You didn’t pick up anyone, did you?”

  “Nope. And no one knew I was driving your truck either. I made sure no one saw me leaving in it and I parked it around back at the Gator Hole, only a few cars there.”

  “Even though you didn’t think there was anything wrong with taking my truck you took all those precautions?”

  “Didn’t want Pearl to know, did I?”

  “Someone for sure saw you. A red pickup with a ton of chrome is pretty visible.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “And no one needs to know.”

  “I know, and the sheriff needs to know.”

  “No need to tell him.” His voice was whining and a fine haze of sweat shined on his bald head. “Can we wait and see if the sheriff figures out what happened before we say anything ’bout it?”

  “How likely is that to happen? I’d be surprised if that guy can find his dick in the dark with both hands.” I saw the shock on his face. “Oh, sorry Howie. When I get upset all my manners go out the window.”

  His face was beet red, his eyes wide with stunned surprise but he had the good sense not to lecture. The Sweets were upstanding members of the Baptist Church. Not only did Pearl sing in the choir but they went to church twice on Sunday and to Bible study every Wednesday. The word dick had never passed Howie’s lips and I was guessing Pearl didn’t even know the things existed. But if all that was true and they were the next best things to saints, what was Howie doing sneaking out to a bar?

  “Someone’s going to remember seeing you in the Gator Hole, Howie.”

  Howie’s scowl didn’t lighten. “So? Long as no one tells Pearl it doesn’t matter. And no one will tell her — they all know how it is.”

  “The old boys’ club at work. Was Percell there last night at the Gator Hole?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And everyone saw Lucan, he wasn’t hiding?”

  “No.”

  “Who else was there?” I asked as I refilled his glass. My years as a bartender always win out. I hate an empty glass and besides, secrets don’t stay secrets when you keep the glasses full.

  “Everyone.”

  “Well, that clears things up.” This conversation with Howie was like picking burrs from an Australian pine out of my feet, one little round bugger at a time. I waited a moment to see if he had anything to add before asking, “Exactly who was everyone?”

  A list of people I didn’t know followed before he added, “Oh yeah, Harland Breslau was there, don’t remember ever seeing him in the Gator Hole before.” Something funny happened in his eyes, and a weird little smile lifted his lips. “He normally is too busy looking after his wife, Amanda. Must have come right in from the farm, had his work gloves in his back pocket.” He stroked his stomach, considering this oddity before adding, “He came in with Boomer, that’s his son. Don’t think they really get along. And then I saw them talking with Lucan. They were arguing with him.”

  “So everyone heard. Now the sheriff will hear about it.”

  “May not.”

  “Why?”

  “Sheriff and Breslaus are kin. People don’t mess in their business.”

  “Did you talk to Lucan?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “Lucan and I never had anything to do with each other.”

  “The sheriff is going to find out where he was last and place him in the bar and then they’re going to look at everyone that was there. Are you sure you two didn’t have a fight? Didn’t exchange words? If you did you better tell the sheriff before someone else does.”

  He looked as if his boxers were binding and he was too polite to work them loose. “Did you have words?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What exactly?”

  “I just said to stay off our land.”

  Howard Sweet had never been man enough to stop Lucan Percell from taking anything he wanted — turtles from the river or Howie’s own daughter, Lovey. From what Tully heard around town, Lucan Percell had had the run of Riverwood before Clay bought it. And it was useless to point out that it wasn’t his land anymore.

  “Well, looks like someone solved the problem of keeping Lucan off Riverwood,” I said. I looked out the window to the silver roof of the drive shed where the pickup had sat that morning. Likely Lucan Percell had been lying there in the bed of the truck while Tully and I watched the buzzards picking at his flesh.

  “Orlin Breslau came into the Gator Hole too, just before Lucan left,” Howie volunteered. “Strange, isn’t it, the one time that the whole Breslau clan was there, that’s when Lucan died.”

  “You trying to tell me something, Howie?”

  “Nope, just saying.” He was clearly taking pleasure in some secret knowledge.

  “I’m sure the sheriff will be interested in hearing what you have to say.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be too sure. Told you, the sheriff and Orlin Breslau are cousins, been real close their whole lives, and if anything bad comes Orlin’s way,” he gave a shrug, “well, the sheriff will make sure Orlin’s protected.”

  “Even to covering up a murder?”

  “Don’t know about that, but there are only certain people in Independence that the law applies to. Some it don’t apply to at all and out here, well, the sheriff never stopped Orlin from stealing my water or kept Lucan off my land.”

  Suddenly I didn’t want to hear anymore. I dumped my Jack Daniel’s in the sink, sorry I’d pushed Howie to tell me what he knew about Percell. My inclination was to get in Big Red and get out of there, but then I didn’t have Big Red and this mess wasn’t going to go away.

  And in one week seventy-five people were arriving for a party, a party I hoped would be my social debut on Clay’s arm. I didn’t like to admit even to myself how important this party was to me.

  How would Lucan’s murder impact Clay
and Riverwood? Come to that, what did it mean to me? Bottom line, I didn’t want a whole lot of hassle myself. The sheriff had to know I was not responsible for Lucan’s body being in my truck and he needed to know the murder had nothing to do with Clay or Riverwood. I just wanted all of this gone so I could get on with my life.

  But the problem had been delivered to me in the back of my truck. It didn’t get more personal than that.

  Was there anything in what Howie had said to me that I needed to pass on to the authorities? I’ve never been big on helping the police do their jobs or landing people in the stinky stuff, and if I repeated our conversation, was Howie going to tell the police just what he’d told me?

  Could Howie have killed Lucan at the Gator Hole and stuffed him in Big Red? Not even this sorry-ass loser could be that dumb, could he?

  “If you want to tell Deputy Quinn right now where the truck was last night, that’s fine with me, but if you want to wait ’til tomorrow, until you tell Pearl, that’s fine with me too.”

  “Don’t want to tell Pearl.” His agitated hands smoothed his shirt down over his stomach. “I’ll tell the sheriff but not Pearl. Why do I have to?”

  Why had I never been able to control a man the way Pearl controlled Howie? “I need to get a bigger whip,” I muttered. Howie’s face wrinkled in confusion. Well that made two of us. Who would want a wimp like Howie?

  CHAPTER 11

  Marley’s arrival was dramatic.

  When Deputy Quinn stepped out in front of her blue Neon to stop her from coming any farther, she threw open the car door and took off like a cat exiting a tub of scalding water.

  Marley and the deputy exchanged words. He reached out for her and she landed a foot on his shin, then Marley slipped around him and headed for my truck where all the technicians were working. It was my bet she was thinking one of us was dead.