“But Rusty seemed so earnest when he swore to us that he wasn’t having an affair.”
Veenie shook her head and fiddled with the air conditioner knob. We didn’t have air in the Impala, so she was hogging it up in Harry’s Toyota while she had a chance. “I swear you are as naïve as a puffball kitten, Ruby Jane. Men always lie about their ding-a-lings. You ought to date more. You’d find that out right quick.”
“Nobody left to date,” I complained as I fired up the Toyota. “You and Sassy have them all tied up.”
And in Sassy’s case, I meant that literally.
I pulled out of the jailhouse parking lot and headed toward the covered bridge. I really didn’t want to go out to the Moon Glo, partly because it was late, and partly because my knees were aching, but mostly because I feared what we’d find out there might snap my daughter’s brittle little heart in two.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was a dark night. The moon had disappeared behind a black fist of clouds. Veenie was freezing me out with the air conditioning, so I powered down my window as I drove. Crickets cried, and turkey buzzards squawked as we bumped down the dirt turnoff to the Moon Glo Motor Lodge. The smell of dampness from the river flooded the car as we neared the motel. The motor lodge sat on a weedy lip of sand not far from White River, just up the bend from the Boat and Gun Club. The big neon sign didn’t work, but someone had rigged a string of high-powered aluminum clamp lights to the rotting overhang above the office door, so the path to the little strip of motel rooms was lit. The rigged lights provided a beam of light wide and bright enough so that anyone could find their way to a room with a bed. Even a drunk fellow.
The Moon Glo wasn’t romantic, but it was convenient and dirt cheap. Those dual features were enough to keep the place hopping. Rusty’s black BMW was parked in front of number ten, the last room on a long row of concrete block rooms. Three other vehicles, a blue dented-up minivan with Missouri plates (probably a legit fisherman), a red Chevrolet Silverado double cab pickup, and an older model silver Honda Odyssey van, were pulled tight to the doors of rooms seven, eight, and nine.
Veenie tapped on the window of Harry’s Toyota as I parked close by the office, out of the glare of the utility lights. She pulled off her glasses, then slid them back on and squinted. “That red Chevy?” she asked. “That belongs to Principal Patsy, don’t it?”
I squinted. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“And that Honda next to it, don’t it belong to Coach McCoy?”
“I think so. What about it? They’re grown adults. Married. They’re allowed to do what they want,” I defended them mostly because we had our hands full, and I wasn’t itching for a new case or a bucket of trouble. Veenie had been known to drum up cases when things turned slow. Some folks didn’t appreciate that. The way things were going this month, I was feeling like maybe we ought to petition the mayor to change the name of the town from Knobby Waters to Sodom and Gomorrah.
“Sure, they’re married,” said Veenie, “but not to each other.”
I shot Veenie a look. “Let’s take care of Rusty and his wandering wiggle worm first,” I said as I heaved open the car door and headed heavy-footed toward room number ten.
Veenie followed in my wake. She was humming something. Sounded to me like Hank Williams’s, “Your Cheating Heart Will Tell on You.”
We stood at the door to room number ten for almost a minute. I couldn’t bring myself to lift my hand and knock. I could hear the TV blaring on the other side. It sounded like a news station. The curtains, a moldy plastic pair decorated with blue sunflowers, were drawn tight.
Veenie asked me if I was scared.
“Yeah, but not for me. For Joyce.”
“Stop fretting, Ruby Jane. Joyce will be ok. She’ll skin him clean for all he’s worth and go on to the next fellow. Probably get a better one next time. Admit it, you never did like old Rusty Krotch. I know I didn’t. Lots of fish in the river. She’s a survivor, like you. You know that.”
She had a point there. Joyce’s heart might crack, and she might go down over this, but she’d never stay down. It wasn’t in her. She was a kicker. A biter. A screamer.
I was working up my courage to knock on the motel door when it swung open. Rusty stood there, his tie off, his sleeves rolled up. He was holding a pink plastic ice bucket in one hand and a cracked plastic scoop in the other. He blinked several times like he thought—hoped?—he might be hallucinating.
“Howdy!” said Veenie as she popped into the room under Rusty’s upraised arm. “We was just passing by and thought we’d come in and visit for a spell.”
I tossed Rusty a weak smile.
He backed up and ushered me into the room.
Kayleigh was sitting in an overstuffed corner chair flicking through things on her cell phone. She looked startled to see us. Thankfully, she was fully dressed.
She and Rusty exchanged glances.
Both beds were made. Veenie bounced on the one nearest the bathroom. “Getting hot ain’t it?” Dust flew everywhere. A pillow flipped off onto the floor. “This place smells like cat upchuck. It smell like that to you guys?”
Rusty ground his lips together. “What are you two doing … here?”
Veenie bounced some more. “This ain’t a very good bed. I would have thought you’d be the kind of guy to spend an extra dime or two on the ladies.”
Rusty shook his head. “What on earth are you talking about?”
I found my voice. “You told us that you and Kayleigh weren’t having an affair, and gosh darn it, I believed you. Wanted to believe you.” My voice cracked like peanut brittle. I suddenly felt old and tired.
Kayleigh set aside her phone. She flipped her long hair. “He told you the truth.”
I could feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Kayleigh, honey, I’m old, but I’m not an idiot. You two are in a motel, where apparently you’ve been holed up together all day. I think what you two are doing is gosh darn clear at this point.”
Rusty slid the empty ice bucket he’d been holding onto on the bedside table. “I’m broke,” he said. He sat down on the bed opposite me and buried his face in his hands. “Dead broke.”
Kayleigh spoke up. “Rusty made some bad investments. My fault partly.”
“Bad investments?” I asked.
Rusty looked up and wiped his face with his palms. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared his sinuses. “Real estate. Kayleigh attended a seminar on the IU campus. They’d sent me an invitation, some of the guys from down here that Joyce went to school with. I figured they were legit. They were looking for investors for a condo complex. I invested heavily. It was a scam. I’m busted. Can’t make payroll, and I’m too ashamed to tell Joyce.”
His shoulders fell. He looked exhausted but relieved. “There,” he spat out. “Now you know. I’m humiliated … and now you know.”
Kayleigh confirmed Rusty’s story with a nod. “I’m partly to blame. I recommended the investment. And now he can’t pay me either. He’s a month behind on salaries. We’re down here trying to get some of his money back.”
“Why here?” I asked. But then it hit me full on, like a cat tossed into a tornado. “Wait, was this real estate in California?”
Rusty nodded.
“Sun City?”
He nodded more vigorously.
“And you’re down here to meet up with Doogie Duval?”
Rusty messed with his hair, flipping back the thinning part that had fallen into his eyes. “No. I mean, yes, Doogie Duval was the fellow behind the original scheme, but we’re here to meet with Bert Apple.”
“Bert?” Veenie screeched.
“Yeah, Bert. He was one of the guys who invited me to the seminar. He got paid to recruit me into the scheme. Now he wants more money to keep my involvement quiet. Stupid me, Kayleigh and I recruited two other guys, IU professors, thinking all this was on the up-and-up. Bert’s pressuring now, saying he’ll turn me in as a knowing accomplice unless I pay him to keep quiet.”
My throat tightened. “Bert has been blackmailing you?”
“Yes. And I’ve decided not to pay. I’ve already talked to my lawyers, and they assure me that given the texts and other evidence I have on file from Bert, I’m completely innocent in the eyes of the law. I couldn’t tell Joyce any of this until I had it cleared with the lawyers. I didn’t want to implicate her, in case things took a sour turn for me. I was trying to protect her.” He rubbed his forehead and went into the bathroom to draw a glass of water.
Kayleigh piped up. “I’ve been going along, hoping to get my back salary and clear my name. I’m young. This could ruin me. I’ll never get my insurance or financial planner certifications if any of this gets out.”
Rusty came out of the bathroom and handed Kayleigh a glass of tap water, which she declined. She looked down her nose at the glass of water, like it contained a shot of the bubonic plague.
I sat down in the chair by the window and let everything sink into my skull, which felt about as thick as a pumpkin. “You said you had evidence that Bert was blackmailing you?”
“Sure, texts mostly.”
“From his cell?”
Rusty shrugged. “He always texted from a different cell number. Burner phones most likely, but he always used the same handle. Same name, like he was proud of it.”
“Was his handle Money Boy?” I asked.
Rusty looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“You weren’t the only fish he hooked,” I said. Boy, oh boy, Avonelle was not going to be happy to hear any of this. Bert had pulled the wool over all our eyes with his innocent mama’s boy sob story and love of chocolate cream pie.
“Holy corn dog!” said Veenie. Her mouth opened so wide in surprise that her dentures almost fell out. The look on her face told me she’d also caught on.
Rusty was in the middle of asking us a question, “How did—” when the window on the motel room shattered. Glass blew into the room like the air outside had exploded. Kayleigh dove to the floor. Rusty fell to his knees. Veenie flattened herself against the bed. And I just sat in the chair, my mouth open.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Ruby Jane!” Veenie screeched. “Belly flop! Get your ass on the floor!”
Veenie rolled down between the two beds and motioned for me to join her.
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I dove down next to her.
“That was definitely a shotgun,” she whispered hoarsely to me.
We all lay perfectly still. The only sound I heard was my heart and Veenie’s beating in rapid time, like a pair of conga drums.
Veenie spoke again. “Who you reckon is shooting at us?”
I shook my eyes, indicating I had no idea. My mouth was too dry to speak. At this point, Bert Apple seemed the most likely suspect. He sure had been busy lately committing felonies.
Kayleigh croaked from her hidey-hole. “Oh my God. Is someone shooting at us? For real?”
Veenie whispered, more to the carpet than anyone, “Boy, you can tell she’s college educated.”
We all waited. And waited.
Then came a firm knock on the door.
“Don’t answer it,” screeched Veenie. “I saw this same trick in a movie once. You answer that door, there’s gonna be a crazy guy standing there with a chainsaw. And I got prepaid front row tickets to see Blake Shelton over in Terre Haute next month. Non-refundable. I can’t die now.”
I heard Kayleigh start to whimper on the other side of the bed.
A series of knocks came again. They were slow and deliberate.
I got up and went to the door, figuring if it was my time to meet the maker, I might as well throw the door open wide and say, “Howdy!”
The door swung open and there stood Shap Reynolds, a shotgun slung over one shoulder. The air smelled like burned gun powder. Shap’s face was red. His lips were twitching. He wore a pair of old Levi’s and a NASCAR T-shirt and clodhopper farm boots stained with red clay. A tattered straw cowboy hat sat far back on his head. “Where’s my wife?” he asked.
Veenie popped up from between the beds. “She ain’t here, you ol’ fool. Why you shooting at us?”
Shap stepped into the room. He walked the short length of the room and studied Kayleigh and Rusty, who’d come up out of their hidey-holes. “Where’s Harry?” he asked as he stepped into the bathroom and raked back the shower curtain with the butt of his shotgun.
“Harry’s not here either,” I said. “Why you think Harry and your wife are here?”
“That’s his car. He tried to hide it.” Shap pointed the barrel of his shotgun at Harry’s Toyota, which I’d parked in the shadows so we could sneak up on Rusty and Kayleigh.
“Veenie and I borrowed Harry’s car. Our Impala is acting up,” I explained.
Shap studied me, then Veenie. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I got no beef with you gals. It’s Harry I’m after.”
He then shouldered his gun and walked out of the motel room and across the lot toward his pickup truck.
“Wait!” I hollered after him. “Did you shoot at us out at Barbara Skaggs’s barn down in Hound Holler?”
He had the door to the pickup open and had one foot up on the running board about to swing up into the cab. “That was you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Sorry, again,” he said. “I followed Harry’s car out there. Thought he was meeting my wife. You know lots of menfolk don’t much care for Harry. Maybe you ought not to borrow his car so much.” Shap hopped into the cab and had his lights on and the engine revving when the Knobby Waters patrol car slid into the parking lot, the red cherry chirping.
Boots stepped out of the car but stayed behind the open door. He had his gun out of the holster. “Got a report of gunshot,” he said. “Who’s the guilty party?”
I pointed to Shap, who was idling his pickup truck, unable to leave because Boots had blocked the driveway. Beyond Shap, I could see the motel office. The lights were on, shining a bright rectangle of white out the plate glass window. A pale oval face wearing a Red’s baseball cap peered out the window. I reckoned whoever was on night duty had called the cops after hearing the gunshot.
Rusty moved into the motel doorway next to me. “Bert out there? I thought it might be Bert. Thought maybe Bert had caught on that I was not paying, going to turn him in to the officials. Bert’s not out there, is he?” He shaded his eyes, trying to see through the haze of the glaring lights that streamed in from the sheriff’s car.
“Not Bert,” I said. “No sign of Bert.”
I motioned for Boots to come over, and he sauntered across the lot. I explained the situation to him. He nodded a couple of times. He studied Rusty. “You’re Joyce’s husband, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why you here?”
I explained that Rusty had been an unwitting investor in Sun City and that Bert had been blackmailing him. “He’s here to meet Bert. Tell him he isn’t paying any hush money.”
“Smart move on your part,” said Boots. “You can go on home now. Bert won’t be bothering you. Won’t be bothering anybody no more.”
I started to ask what was up with Bert, but Boots held up one hand and cut me short. I could tell he was running short on patience. “We’ll get to the details later, Ruby Jane. Rusty there can scoot on home. Bert’s not going to be bothering anyone from here on in. Anybody here hurt?” he asked me.
“Nah. Just scared,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll take care of this. Straighten Shap out. Need you and Veenie to follow me back to the jailhouse.” He turned and headed toward Shap.
“Hold your horses!” I called after Boots. “Why we got to go back to the jail? I’m tuckered out.”
Boots said a couple of things to Shap, and then Shap followed him over to the patrol car and climbed in the back.
“Why we got to go back to the jail?” I yelled at Boots again as he backed up the patrol car and headed the nose toward town.
He made his red cherry chirp. “Follow me, and you�
��ll find out why,” he said as he powered up his window.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was after midnight. Boots sat us down in the booking room. I fussed over a pot of coffee, pretty sure none of us were going to get any shut-eye. Boots made Shap apologize again for shooting at me and Veenie like we were carnival ducks.
Harry was there—Boots had dragged him over from Pokey’s—and Boots made him promise that he’d stop messing around with Dottie Reynolds.
Harry was mopey. “She gave me the clap anyway,” he whined. “Just found out this morning.”
Shap wasn’t happy to hear that.
Boots asked us if we wanted to press serious charges against Shap, and Veenie and I both said no, with the condition that Shap not shoot at us or the office again. We all shook on that. Boots said he thought Shap needed a reminder that owning a firearm didn’t mean you were licensed to shoot it off at whim. He put Shap in a cell to hold him overnight and charged him with unlawful discharge of a firearm in public and disturbing the peace. He also ordered him to pay the motor lodge for the window damage.
We’d updated Boots on all we’d learned from Rusty about Bert, and how he’d been blackmailing his mom and Rusty, probably Fussy too, under the alias of Money Boy.
“Don’t surprise me none,” Boots said when he heard about Bert. “It’s always the quiet ones. After Doogie told us it was Bert who put the slicing software on his mama’s computer, I went on over to his place and rounded him up. He didn’t put up any resistance, practically slapped the cuffs on himself and jumped in the backseat of the patrol car. Said the guilt had been killing him. Eating him alive. In fact, he’s in the back cell now, and he’s got some things to say to you two.”
Veenie and I exchanged glances.
Harry said, “Go on, you two. I’m going outside to take a smoke.”
Boots scraped back his chair and stood up. “Come on, let’s get this wrapped up. I need some sleep. Going fishing tomorrow.”
Veenie and I followed Boots to the cell area. Sassy was awake, standing at the bars, looking out of sorts in her orange jumpsuit without her makeup, “Lordie, took you gals long enough. I’m ready to go.” She clawed at the cell door lock.
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