Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  “So?”

  “So all that defense attorney has to do is tell the judge you’ve been shot in the head and you don’t remember the last three years of your life. Trauma to the brain? Can’t remember important stuff? Talk about an unreliable witness. Your testimony’s toast.”

  Stunned, Mike sucked in his breath. Holy crap, he hadn’t thought about that.

  “So when these folks come to see you, pretend. Be kind to them. I’ve seen you do it before.”

  Mike shook his head, and wasn’t even bothered by the wave of dizziness the motion produced. “I don’t know the first thing about these people. I don’t know anything about Wilks.”

  Bo settled back in his chair. “Maybe I can help with that...”

  ***

  Angie guided Chelsea’s limp body to a stool at the back of the kitchen, and Dorothy Jo applied a wet cloth to the girl’s forehead. The cook studied the young waitress, then frowned up at Angie. “You don’t think she’s pregnant, do you?”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Dorothy Jo!”

  “I mean it.” Dorothy Jo was earnest. “She’s been in such a piss poor mood lately. Bo hinted she’s having relationship issues.”

  “I am not pregnant.” Chelsea’s laugh verged on hysterics.

  “Breathe in deep,” Angie told her.

  The girl did as she was told, but her eyes glazed over and she dropped her head between her knees.

  “Maybe not that deep,” Angie said.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Dorothy Jo asked.

  Chelsea didn’t reply, but instead took the washcloth from the cook’s grasp and ran it over her face.

  Angie straightened. “Are you sick?” She hooked a finger under Chelsea’s chin and tipped her face upward. “Did you get overheated?”

  Chelsea’s Cleopatra eye make-up was smeared down her cheeks, giving her a ghostly appearance. “I don’t know,” she said, but she refused to look Angie in the eye.

  “Was it the TV?” Dorothy Jo asked. “Did those kids getting killed get to you? I swear, they shouldn’t have shown those dead little babies being carted off on stretchers even if they were under tarps. I have a mind to call that TV station—”

  “No!” Chelsea stood abruptly, and Angie grabbed her elbow to steady her. “It has nothing to do with that explosion.”

  Angie studied the girl. How could a person’s eyes look angry and scared at the same time? “Then what—”

  Chelsea shook her off. “I have to figure some things out, that’s all. I have to think.”

  “Do you need to go home?” Dorothy Jo asked.

  Chelsea looked confused for a moment, then nodded her head. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I need. Time to think.”

  Angie sighed. “I guess I can stay on for a few hours. Maybe I can get hold of Bo and ask him to come in early.” She assessed Chelsea’s condition. The girl looked stronger, now. Less pale. “But I want to be with Matt tonight. If you’re able, I need you to come back and work to closing.”

  This time Chelsea’s deep breath fortified her. “Thanks, Angie. I’ll be back.”

  Angie headed for the pass-through phone. “I’ll give Bo a call.”

  ***

  “Let me get this straight,” Mike said. He and Bo had been talking well over an hour, and his head was beginning to spin at all the information he needed to remember. “Cash Novak was the father of James W. by Miss Olivia, and the father of Angie by a local whorehouse’s bartender, Maeve.”

  Bo nodded. “So James W. and Angie are half-brother and sister, and James W.’s wife doesn’t like that one bit.”

  Mike shrugged. “It’s none of her business. Neither one of them had any say in who their father was.”

  Bo sighed heavily. “You have to understand. Since Miss Olivia died, Elsbeth considers herself the matriarch of the whole town. That makes everybody’s business her business. Especially when it comes to the Wilks family name.”

  There was a sudden noise at the door as Rudy shoved up out of his seat.

  “Mira, chico, calmate, carajo. Solo vengo a recoger a Bo.”

  Carajo? Mike’s head swung to the door when he heard the unfamiliar male voice. This stranger was speaking Cuban. He’d heard that dialect all his life growing up in Miami.

  Bo must have seen the concern on Mike’s face. “It’s all right. That’s Aaron Rodriguez,” Bo whispered. “He owns the gas station across from Angie’s Fire and Ice House.”

  “Do I know him?” Mike asked quietly, trying to even out his breathing.

  Bo nodded. “Quite well.”

  Rudy stuck his head around the door. “Mr. Peveto. This man wants to see you.” He pulled back to reveal a bulky, amber-skinned man who smiled broadly when he saw Mike staring back at him.

  “Hey, Preacher.” The stranger gave a small wave with a thick hand. “Good to see you.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “Hey, Aaron. Good to see you, too.”

  Bo stood up. “What’s up, Aaron?”

  “Angie’s trying to get hold of you.” The man said from the doorway.

  As the two men spoke, Mike had got the impression they were good friends. Still. This was the first Cuban he’d heard since he’d awakened at Brackenridge.

  Aaron continued, “She wants you to come in to work as soon as you can. Chelsea’s sick.”

  Bo nodded toward the posting above Mike’s head. “The sign said to turn off all electronic equipment.”

  Aaron made a move to enter the room, but Rudy blocked his way. “Sorry. You’re not on James W.’s list.”

  Aaron backed up. “No problem.” He nodded to Mike. “Glad you’re awake. We’ve all been praying for you.”

  Mike offered a weak smile. “I can use all of those I can get.”

  “I’ve been here awhile anyways. You need to get some rest.” Bo said as he put the chair back where it belonged.

  “Say hi to Angie for me,” Mike said.

  “She’s coming this afternoon,” Aaron interjected. “That’s why she needs Bo to come in. As soon as he gets there, she can leave.”

  “Thank God,” Mike said, then realized he really was sending those words heavenward. “And thanks for stopping by, Bo. You come back as soon as you can, all right?”

  “With pleasure.” Bo allowed a wink of approval. “Pastor Hayden.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sweetheart?

  I’m sitting in my Bastrop apartment, listening to Kodak yell into the phone at Frank Ballard, the Chief’s mole in the federal marshal’s office. “What do you mean they won’t let you visit Hogan?”

  I can take some pleasure that, for once, the weasel isn’t yelling at me.

  “Look, Ballard. I know too much about you for you to threaten me with that.”

  Go, Ballard, I think silently. It’s fun to listen to the rats fight in the bottom of the barrel.

  “I’m warning you, Ballard.” Kodak lets go with a litany of words that aren’t in the dictionary. Apparently the deputy marshal is about as happy to be talking with Kodak as I am that the jerk is staying in my apartment.

  Well, the last couple of nights with Chelsea have been good for easing the old nerves. And I like the part that Kodak’s dying to know where I’ve been sleeping—or whatever. For once he’s on a need to know basis, and he doesn’t need to know about Chelsea. The fact that I take my car and he has no wheels to snoop around brings a smile to my lips.

  Speaking of Chelsea, she texted that she wants to see me after the Ice House closes tonight. Fine with me. I have no problem with screwing around three nights in a row. Literally and figuratively.

  Kodak slams down the phone. “That sonuvabitch got himself kicked out of Neuro PCU yesterday.”

  I come alert. “I didn’t know anyone had connected the dots between Ballard and the Chief.”

  “If they’d done that, Ballard would already be behind bars.” Kodak plops down on the couch and puts his feet on my coffee table. “Apparently the sheriff is denying access to everyone.”

 
Not everyone. I’m damned sure that bitch Angie is there with him. I wouldn’t mind taking her out too.

  “At least Ballard’s still getting updates on Hogan’s condition, which is good for you.” Kodak folds his arms across his chest. “You need all the help you can get.”

  ***

  Nurse Robert beamed through his scraggly beard when he entered Mike’s room with the noon food tray. “You’re going to enjoy lunch, Pastor Hayden. You’ve been upgraded to a regular diet.”

  Mike eyed the portly nurse with suspicion. “Let me guess. I get to have peas now.”

  The nurse set the tray on the bedside table. “If that’s what you want, but I thought you might enjoy a grilled cheese sandwich and apple cobbler.” He removed the cover from the largest plate.

  “French fries!” For the first time since he’d awakened in ICU he felt like his old self. Mike took the silverware packet from the tray and tore it open. “I like the sounds of that.”

  “Here’s the intercom.” He handed Mike the control. “Call me if you need anything.” He turned to leave and ran straight into Angie as she came through the door. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “We’re good.” Angie looked past the nurse to Mike and then his tray. “Well, you look better than the last time I saw you.”

  She’s here. He dropped the fork. Thank God.

  Her full lips curved in a smile as he gawked at her. “Cat got your tongue?”

  He’d had time to think about everything Bo had said this morning. If he had to fake out people he didn’t know to take out the most evil man he did know, he’d do it. He wasn’t sure if he had to fake it with her, however. Or how. “Hi, honey.” He offered a confident smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  Angie looked taken aback, then offered a tentative smile. “I might say the same.” She came closer to the bed and surveyed his tray. “What smells so good?”

  Mike wasn’t sure what his next move should be. A kiss maybe? A term of endearment perhaps? An apology for his former behavior? What would Matt do, he asked himself, then realized the question was ridiculous. All right, Mike, he thought to himself. You were an undercover cop who broke one of the biggest drug rings in south Florida. Surely you can handle a red-haired beauty.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Mike looked up to see Angie studying him. “Getting better all the time, apparently,” he said. He picked up a French fry and offered it to her. “Want one, sweetheart?”

  ***

  Matt has never called me sweetheart. Angie took the fry he offered her, but forgot to bring it to her lips. The man before her was different than the sarcastic cynic she’d left two days ago. This one was nicer. Healthier. But just as fake. “You look good,” she heard herself say.

  “Did you notice?” He beamed. “The nurse even put my head up.”

  Matt does not beam. Angie finally brought the fry to her lips. “And they gave you real food,” she noted.

  “I’m hoping dinner’s a T-bone steak.” He took a bite from his sandwich. “Maybe you can rustle up some candles and a bottle of wine and we can have a romantic dinner.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Apparently she’d been transported to an alternate universe. “Do you want me to unwrap your straw for you?” She leaned forward and retrieved it from his tray, never taking her eyes off this stranger before her.

  He noticed her reticence. “Are you okay, baby?”

  Angie jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “Baby? Sweetheart? Two days ago you didn’t even know who I was. What’s going on here?”

  “I’m eating.” But he was now looking at her as intently as she’d been looking at him. “Is there a problem?”

  Angie sat back. “I’ve not seen this side of you before.”

  “What? I never called you baby or honey?”

  “Our relationship—.” She stopped, searching for the words. “We’ve never had time to indulge in high school cutesy. We’ve been too busy dealing with hypocrites and death.”

  He put down his fork. “I overdid it, hunh?” he asked.

  “You could say that. What’s going on here?”

  He breathed heavily. “Look. I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to blow up whatever it is we had. But until I get my memory back, I have to fake that I remember everything. If I can’t pull that off, I’ll be of no use in court.”

  Angie nodded. “Rutledge.”

  He breathed deeply. “How much do you know?”

  “Very little,” she said. “But I understand what you’re saying. You’ve got to act the part until you do remember everything that happened.”

  He looked at the doorway, then lowered his voice. “I do remember everything that happened—four years ago.”

  “Or so you believe,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “But I want to remember what’s going on now. I’ve had three people—you, James W. and this Bo guy who came by this morning tell me that I’m pretty good at this pastor thing. But to tell you the truth—” He looked her in the eye. “I don’t remember any of it.”

  Angie took that in, then nodded. “If it’s any consolation,” she said, “what you just said is the most Matt-like thing that’s come out of your mouth since you’ve been shot.”

  Mike studied her. “Then I guess this Matt fellow is a straight shooter.”

  “Yep.” She stood, leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead. “This is the man I fell in love with.”

  Mike shook his head. “I can’t be this honest with everyone. I don’t know who to trust. But there’s something about you. Something deep.” He shook his head. “To be honest, I’m scared to death. Someone out there’s trying to kill me.”

  “No kidding.” She smiled, then tore the sheath off the straw. “But don’t worry. I’ll help you fake it.”

  He nodded. “It looks like I’ll need all the help I can get.” He picked up his sandwich to take another bite. “What can you tell me about this Elsbeth person?”

  Angie paled. “Oh, God.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Victory!

  The sound of cheers and laughter filled the Fire and Ice House. Bo was happy for the celebration. Between Judith’s passing and the Benedict County explosion, the place had felt more like a tomb than a bar. Tonight, thankfully, the tables had turned.

  The Trivia Team had won the regional trivia finals. They were headed to the state competition.

  Bo grabbed a beer bucket, filled it with ice, shoved a bottle of champagne into its midst, then walked it back to the trivia team’s table. “Champagne’s on the house,” he announced.

  The seven of them—Mandy, the sheriff’s secretary, the Yeck brothers, odiferous Aaron from the gas station, Man-Bun, and efficient Eleanor—sent up another cheer, then reached for the wine glasses he’d brought over earlier.

  “Sorry we don’t have any champagne flutes,” he said. The Ice House didn’t stock champagne either, but when he’d seen how well the game was going, he’d sent Chelsea into Dannerton to buy a couple of bottles.

  “I don’t care if they’re Styrofoam.” Mandy laughed. “We did it!”

  Warren slopped champagne into everyone’s cup. “Who’d’a thunk it?”

  Aaron threw one thick arm around Eleanor and the other around Sarah. “Thank goodness I bought that grimy gas station across the street.”

  Ben slapped Man-Bun’s shoulder. “We couldn’t have done it without you, son.”

  When the glasses were filled, Mandy held up her glass for a toast. “Here’s to being the best trivia team in central Texas!”

  Glasses clinked and then were drained. When Warren started pouring another round, Bo turned to go retrieve another bottle. He ran smack dab into Chelsea who already had a second in her hand.

  “They did it!” He grinned.

  She nodded, but didn’t smile. Instead she handed the bottle and a towel over to Bo. “You open it,” she said. “I’d probably take out one of the TVs.”

  Bo watched her head back to the
bar. Chelsea had been in a subdued mood all evening. If Chelsea was still feeling poorly, maybe she shouldn’t have come back in.

  “Is that another bottle of champagne?” Ben called from behind.

  Bo turned back to the table. “This one’s on me.”

  The group cheered, then insisted he join them in the next round. When that bottle was emptied, Mandy held up her hands to silence the din. “A bit of business before we break up.” She winked. “A few of us have church in the morning.”

  Laughing, some sat, others put their glasses down.

  “All right,” she continued. “Now tomorrow afternoon I’m heading up to Austin to visit Pastor Hayden. Do you want me to pick up the trophy?”

  The University of Texas was sponsoring the state-wide competition. Teams had to go to Austin to get their prizes.

  Ben slapped his hand on the table. “We should all go!”

  “Maybe even get our picture taken in front of the state capitol,” Aaron chimed in.

  “We could send it to the newspaper.” Sarah nodded.

  Mandy took in their earnest faces. “Well, heck,” she said. “Why not?”

  As they huddled to figure out their rides, Bo headed back to the bar. Dorothy Jo was waiting for him at the pass-through window.

  “How long do you want me to keep the kitchen open?” she asked.

  Bo glanced at the clock above the bar, then surveyed the restaurant. Besides the trivia team, only about a half dozen patrons were still in the bar. “How about another half hour,” he said. “At ten we’ll start throwing in the pizzas if someone’s hungry.”

  Dorothy Jo nodded. “Thanks. I’m feeling kind of puny. It’s been a long day.”

  Concerned, Bo studied her more closely. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, and her shoulders were slumped. “You okay, Dorothy Jo? Maybe Chelsea has something catching.”

  Even her smile looked tired. “I’m fine.”

  “Still,” he said and looked around again. “We can start doing pizzas now. You head on home. I’ll go upstairs and feed Shadow real quick so you can take him with you.”