Bad Bones (Claire Morgan)

by Linda Ladd

  When Thomas finally came back, he was grinning from ear to ear. He joined Punk at their table in the corner. “What’s goin’ on, Thomas? Why’d you see that new doc?”

  Thomas didn’t say anything at first, just held out his fist. Then he slowly opened his curled fingers, and Punk saw that a door key was lying in his palm. “We got our way outta here, Punk, my boy.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “That new doctor I just saw. He said I needed to escape, that he had something he wanted me to do, and he just handed this key over to me and told me how to use it to get outta here. He said that Annie sent him, and that she wanted to see me.” Thomas grinned then, real happy about it.

  “No shit. Why’s he doin’ that for you, anyways?”

  “He says he knows where Annie is. He says he’s gonna take me to her. He says she’s sick and needs me to take care of her.”

  “Can I go?”

  “Sure, you can. But you can’t come with us to see Annie. Once we get outta here, you’re on your own, okay? Doc said so.”

  “Okay. No problem. I wanna find my true love, and that’s all.”

  And that really was fine by him. Finally, finally, he could go back and find his girl and rescue her from whoever was keeping her away. He was thrilled to high heaven, and just like he thought, Thomas Landers had come through for him. The magic had worked, just like Thomas said it would. That guy was the smartest guy that he’d ever met. He hoped they met again someday. Maybe Thomas and Annie and Punk and his girlfriend could all go out together and have some fun. Or ride around all over the country in Thomas’s trailer with his mother. Wow, that would be just awesome.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After nosing around a little longer and finding all the little denizens of Fitchville snug as bugs inside their matching log cabins, Claire and Bud drove back out of the place, glad to get away from WEIRDVILLE and wishing that they had a whole passel of search warrants to serve on its people, one after a-freakin’-nother. But they had no real cause, not one that a judge would listen to, anyway, so they left the men and their well-protected and gingham-loving womenfolk to their old-timey fantasy land and headed back to Parker’s Quick Stop to gauge the other end of the Crazy vs. Crazy Teeter-Totter Feud. Maybe they were just a tad bit less disciplined about telling tales on each other. What’s more, Claire wanted to find out what was inside that suspicious walled-off enclosure behind the store, which could very well be a mud-spattered, camouflaged pickup truck with a bent-up front fender and empty shell casings still rolling around in the bed.

  This time when they pulled into the parking lot at the Parker place, there were cars and pickup trucks galore. Busy, busy, busy. All the trucks were painted with camouflage, too. Wonder why? Sure wouldn’t disguise you on the highway but in the woods perhaps? That was a different story. Several men were filling their gas tanks, but nobody even glanced in their direction. Looked like everybody got the memo, all right. Or maybe they still relied on smoke signals.

  While Bud filled his tank, Claire walked inside, feeling hungry all of a sudden. Maybe because the smell of fried catfish and fries and fried peach and apple pies again filled the air and made her mouth salivate. Ah, the smell of smoky saturated grease. Yummy. All the Parker brothers were lounging around the food court, probably inventing a new reality game called Shoot at the Neighbors and Watch Them Run. She walked over to say hello. None of them stood up or even looked at her. Ah-ha. Guilty consciences, one and all. Their fearless leader was forking fried fish onto some bearded ruffian’s white Styrofoam plate. She waited for him to get finished.

  “Hello, Patrick. How’s it goin’?”

  “Just fine, detective. What can I get you for?”

  “Maybe some truthful answers for a change. How’s that sound?”

  “I thought I already did that.”

  “You been driving through any keep-out gates lately? Shootin’ up the neighbors? Piddlin’ little felonies like that?”

  He laughed, no doubt because Claire was such a back-slapping hilarious comedienne. “Please answer my questions, sir.”

  “I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I think you do, but hey, we’ll play that game all the way until I land on Finish and have the evidence I need to arrest you and your brothers, down to the very last P.”

  Patrick just looked so extremely puzzled. “Somebody accusin’ us of something illegal?”

  “Oh, no, that would probably violate the Fitch-Parker feud’s ancient code, now wouldn’t it?”

  “What code’s that, ma’am? I’m afraid I don’t get any of this, Detective Morgan. You sure I can’t dish up you and your partner something good to eat. On me. Catfish is caught fresh. Phin had him a real good day down on the river. Tastes as good as it gets.”

  “Sure. And then you can take us out back and show us what’s inside that big secret enclosure you got back there. Any problem with that?”

  “You got a warrant, ma’am?”

  “Do I need one, sir?”

  Hesitation, and then an interruption by a new diner who wanted three pieces of catfish and then “slap on a couple of them thar hushpuppies while you’re at it.” Then Patrick said, “No, you don’t. ’Course not. I’ll be glad to show you around the place. Anywhere you wanna go, just name it. We’re real proud of this here store and the dog kennels and our house, too. Sit down over there with your partner. I’ll bring you both big plates full of food.”

  Okay, now they were getting somewhere. And Claire was hungry, but she watched Patrick Parker with eagle eyes and made sure he didn’t slip a roofie in her Pepsi or arsenic in her ketchup. Bud joined her and gave hearty thumbs-up about the chow and the permission to search the place. However, they both agreed that they weren’t going to find anything with a carte blanche tour offered up as if the guy had nothing to hide. Still, she was more than interested in turning over every rock in the whole joint, even the pebbles.

  After that, they ate, and the food was really good, too. Maybe Claire would take some home for supper, or maybe to Harve, since he was back home and she wanted to stop by there and see what he knew about the hillbilly feud still going full bore over the river and through the woods of rural Canton County. As hush-hush as the two families kept the fighting and their reluctance to tattle on each other, she doubted if many people knew about the sicko shenanigans going on in the area. Yep, no po-lice allowed. Leave the killin’ and deadly stuff to their respective papa bear patriarchs.

  “God, this’s good catfish. It’ll even give Harve’s a run for his money. And nobody fixes crappie as good as he does. ’Cept Buck, maybe.”

  Claire watched Bud filch a piece of catfish off her plate and stuff it into his mouth, but she was used to him stealing her food, so she placed her gaze back on the pack of Parkers. They were all staring at her now, all five, as if they’d never seen a woman eat fish before. In fact, however, it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen many so-called womenfolk inside their establishment, either. Maybe all women had learned a long time ago to avoid this part of the state and its hillbilly chauvinists. She vowed to look up sexual assaults and rapes and domestic violence committed in the area as soon as she got home. Or, maybe they were looking at Bud, maybe they wanted to adopt him into their all-male and brotherly lineup. She laughed to herself.

  “What’s so funny?” Bud asked her, his mouth full of hush puppy.

  “Nothing. Just had a funny thought. How much of that are you gonna eat? Good grief, you’re gonna make yourself sick, Bud.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me? I’m eatin’ all of it. Want the rest of yours?”

  Claire shook her head, slid her plate over to him, and took a drink of her Pepsi. Her phone rang, and she pulled it out. It was Black.

  “Hi, honey,” she said brightly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because somethin
g’s always wrong at your end of the line.”

  “You exaggerate. But not this time. I’m just eating fried fish and enjoying the company of a whole heck of a lot of Parker brothers.”

  “What?”

  “You know, the Parker brothers.”

  “The guys that make board games?”

  “No, the ones who drive around in pickups full of armed ruffians and shoot at other people’s womenfolk.”

  Silence. “Are you and Bud all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m just kidding around. Where’s your sense of humor? How are you?”

  “Past experience tells me that you’re not kidding.”

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m still in Jeff City, but I’m coming home now.”

  “Good. You’re quite the travelin’ man lately. When?”

  “Tonight. Be at Cedar Bend, okay? I miss you.”

  “Okay, no problem. What time?”

  “Eight at the latest. You sure everything’s all right? You’re safe, if only for the moment, right?”

  “Yep, right as rain. See you later.”

  They hung up just as Bud took his last bite. She hoped he didn’t lick the crumbs off the Styrofoam container like he usually did when it held chocolate cake with fudge icing. That was truly embarrassing, especially out in public. Thankfully, he remembered his manners. “That Nick?”

  “Yep, he’s coming home from Jeff City.” She looked at him. “So how are you and Brianna doing by now?”

  “Things are just fine. I’m glad she came to see me.”

  Their lovelorn conversation ended there when Patrick Parker came a calling at their table. “Okay, how’d it taste, guys? Good?”

  “Some of the best fish I ever ate,” Bud gushed, washing it all down with a gulp of Coke.

  “Phillip’s got the gift,” said Patrick. “We all love his food.”

  Enough with the polite how-de-dos. “You ready to show us all your secret places where you’ve probably stashed your illegal weapons and drugs?”

  Patrick laughed heartily. “You are just so danged suspicious, detective. But I’m gonna alleviate your fears and show you that I’m strictly legit, and so are all my brothers. Ready?”

  “You bet.”

  Patrick then smiled warmly at her, legit personified. Yeah, right. Time would tell, as per usual in her cases.

  Outside, the snow was still coming down and their breath was still frosty and hung around a few seconds as if loathe to dissipate. They followed Parker across the back lot to the heavily fortified gate they’d seen on their last visit. He unlocked it with a key on the chain hanging from his belt, and stood back while they walked through in front of him. Inside, it was a junkyard, okay. Car after wrecked car as far as she could see.

  “We make us a lot of money back here, off used parts. Very lucrative little sideline.”

  “What? No junkyard dog?”

  “No need. Nothin’ back here that anybody wants that bad.”

  True, oh, yes, it certainly was. “Mind if we look around for ourselves? Snoop like us coppers just love to do?”

  “Sure, but I better tag along. Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself on any sharp pieces of metal, or nothin’.”

  Like your skinning knife in my back? Claire deduced.

  Bud said, “Where do you guys get all these wrecks?”

  “Insurance companies, mostly. They call up and we go get ’em with the wrecker and haul ’em out here.”

  There was a fairly large green-and-white house trailer sitting out in the middle of the enclosure. “That your place?” Claire said.

  “Yeah, I gotta stay close to the store. Pretty isolated out here in the sticks. Wouldn’t want vandals comin’ by, breakin’ the windows, such as that.”

  Meaning the Fitches, no doubt. Trading insults and break-ins, tit for tat. “Mind if we take a look inside that trailer?”

  “Not at all. Be my guests.”

  They walked to it, climbed up some concrete blocks acting as steps and wandered around inside. It was nice, actually. A double wide that had clean, fairly new furniture, nice carpeting, and a super heater that was working quite well. Much nicer than Claire had expected. Patrick obviously noted her surprised expression.

  “What? You expect me to live in a dump?”

  “Truthfully, I’d never considered where you might live.”

  “Yeah, nice place you got here,” said Bud, trying to save her bacon. Yet again.

  “You’re welcome here any time, detective. Just come on out. You don’t even gotta call. I’d love to have you out here. We can drink some beer, watch a movie, maybe, have some laughs, whatever you wanna do.”

  At first take, Claire wasn’t quite sure that was a proposition, but pretty damn sure it was. Maybe she should wear Black’s ring on her finger, after all. Yeah, a flirtation with a hillbilly junkyard dealer who was probably neck-deep into a myriad of hillbilly crimes was right up there atop her wow-me scale. Not that he was bad looking or ignorant, or uncouth, or anything.

  On the other hand, Bud took offense. “Hey, don’t come on to my partner that way, or I’ll bust your chops. Show some respect, got it?”

  Aw, Bud—Claire’s hero and champion. What a guy. What a partner. Why, she’d hang her fluttery scarf on his jousting lance, if he was a knight and she was a lady with a pointy silk hat.

  But then, uh-oh, Patrick took offense. He said, “I wasn’t talkin’ to her. I was talkin’ to you, Bud. Didn’t mean no disrespect. Just thought you might like to hang out, do some huntin’, or something.”

  Claire wanted very much to laugh out loud but didn’t dare. Bud’s face was already red enough. Instead, she turned away and moved back through the house trailer. They tossed the place pretty good, but in a neat and orderly and polite way, looking for weapons or drug paraphernalia, but with no luck whatsoever. Either Patrick was superbly clean, or he was tidy and had a hidden safe where he stowed his illegal stuff.

  Outside again, she listened to Bud and Patrick discussing at length deer hunting stands and doe urine properties. Hell, they seemed to be hitting it off extremely well, so she took the time to wander off by herself and do some snooping. That’s when she rounded the front of a smashed-to-bits Dodge van and found a nice little fight ring cage with floodlights and everything. Aha.

  “That’s where me and my brothers spar. Paulie built it for us.”

  The voice was right behind her now, and she tried not to jump at the unexpected sound. She turned quickly and found one of the Parkers standing right behind her. She thought it was Percy, but they all looked alike to her so she wasn’t sure. He had seemed to materialize out of thin air, which creeped her out a bit. He smiled, as if he knew he had her spooked and thought it was funny.

  She shook off her initial nerves, and said, “You’re Percy, right? The good shot.”

  “Yep, that’s me. I’m a very good shot. Can shoot the eye out of a gnat.”

  “A gnat, you say. Well, that’s a pretty damn good shot, all right. But tell me, Percy, you sure there’s no betting or illegal fighting going on back here? Maybe fights featuring little kids. I would frown upon that. I would lock you up and throw away the key and there wouldn’t be any more shooting of gnats where you’re concerned.”

  “What’d you take me for, detective?”

  That was a good question, and a hard one to answer. She ignored it. “Any fights coming up in the near future? Maybe Bud and I could come up and watch. You know, just drop in without calling. Enjoy the festivities?”

  “No, we’re still mourning Paulie.”

  Their gazes locked, but funniest thing, she didn’t see any woeful expression on his face or in his eyes or anywhere else on his person. “Are you aware that Paulie’s wife, Blythe, was found murdered at their home?”

  Again, no reaction in his eyes. No shock, no sorrow, no nothing. “Oh, no,” he said with a flat voice inflection. “How awful. That poor, poor lady. It’s just ain’t safe to walk around anymore, is it?”

&
nbsp; Claire had a feeling Percy was not a Blythe Parker fan. After all she was a Fitch slash Mortal Enemy. She decided to pursue that line of questioning. “Are you aware that Blythe grew up in Fitchville?”

  “Never thought much ’bout it. She did have all that white skin and hair, though, like the lot of them.”

  “Hard not to notice that about her,” offered Bud who had just walked up.

  “Weird family. You met ’em yet?” That was Patrick, now joining the party and taking over the false statements for Percy and getting pretty damn inquisitive himself.

  “Yeah, we met them today, as a matter of fact. Paid them a visit right after somebody drove through their gate and shot up the place.”

  “That’s awful.” Percy was back, and with a great deal of downright dishonesty.

  “Yeah, we saw it with our own eyes. Apparently, none of the Fitches noticed the attack. Funniest thing.”

  “They like to take care of things, you know, in their own way. That’s what I heard tell, anyways.”

  “Like you Parkers do?”

  Patrick smiled. “Oh, we are law-abidin’ citizens. We call the police whenever the Fitches come around. Check your records, Claire.”

  Claire? This guy was getting on her nerves. Now the Fitches seemed to be winning her Most Polite Hillbilly blue ribbons. She frowned at him. Bud sensed her agitation verging on loathing and took over.

  “Well, I guess we’ve seen everything here that we need to see. Thank you both, for allowing us entry without the bother of obtaining a warrant. Like you said, nothing’s out of order.”

  “Okay, Bud. I mean it, any time you get the itch to kill you a buck, you just come on up. We got lots of good places and lots of stands all ready. You can take your pick.”

  “I just might do that, Patrick. Thanks for the tour and the fish dinner.”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing,” Claire said to Bud, once they were back inside the Bronco. “Brianna better watch her step with you and Patrick. I thought the two of you might start sharing more than deer stands.”