Three Times Lucky Page 6

  “Hey Mo-ron,” she whispered, an evil glint in her eyes.

  “Hey yourself, Attila Celeste,” I hissed.

  Mr. Li clapped. “Ten-way block drill. Begin!” I went at Attila, swinging with all my might. Sadly, she blocked every punch. Mr. Li blew his whistle. “Roundhouse kick! Lean and twist your body when you kick. Throw your weight behind it. Begin!”

  “What’s that smell?” Attila panted after our third set.

  “Sweat,” I said. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “At least I have a mother, Mo-ron,” she said. “And I don’t mean the sweat.”

  I sniffed. “Seaweed salads,” I said. “Miss Lana stocked them for Karate Night. She says they’re thematic. The Colonel’s giving them away before they go bad.”

  Mr. Li clapped. “Mo! Stop talking!” As we practiced, more townsfolk drifted in, hungry for information and the comfort of friends. At quarter past nine, Mayor Little burst through the door, glistening and out of breath. We froze.

  “Everyone settle down,” he gasped, fanning his red face with both hands. “Don’t panic. Detective Starr has things well in hand. The man is a God-send. Stay calm, and have faith in your civil servants. We’ll get past this little speed bump in no time.”

  Attila Celeste raised her hand. “I don’t think it’s fair to call Mr. Jesse a speed bump just because he’s dead,” she said. “It’s not like he can defend himself.”

  For a brief instant, I almost liked her.

  The mayor zigzagged by, holding his tie to keep it from brushing our sweaty arms.

  “Is it true, then, Mayor?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton warbled from the end of the counter. “Is Jesse Tatum officially dead?”

  “Dead is such an unflattering term,” he said, sliding onto his stool. “I prefer to think of Jesse as … passé.”

  The Azalea Women gasped.

  “What’s passé mean?” Tinks Williams asked the Colonel, his voice low.

  “Dead,” the Colonel said, refilling Tinks’s iced tea.

  Mr. Li clapped his hands, snapping the class back to attention. “Line up for kick drills!” he commanded. “Upper belts first!” Thes, in his green belt, and legal whiz Skeeter McMillan, in her brown, stepped to the line along with three high schoolers. “Fighting movement number one!” Mr. Li said. “Front kick, punch-punch, round kick! Begin!”

  They set off in perfect unison, slinking across the floor like a band of lethal ballerinas. “Next group! Begin!” The café door swung open as I kicked at Attila’s head. She lunged out of range just in time, lost her balance, and crumpled to the floor.

  “Nice round kick, Biblical Mo,” Detective Starr said from the doorway. He gazed around the café as if he could freeze-frame the faces staring back at him. “I could use a cup of coffee, Colonel, if you’ve got one,” he said, strolling to the counter.

  The Colonel hid a scowl as he reached for a clean mug.

  Starr’s eyes looked tired, and his gray pants were stained black with mud. “I know you have questions, and I’ll answer all I can,” he told us, tossing his hat on the counter and sitting down. He opened his notepad. “First,” he said, “I have a few.” He glanced up. “If you don’t mind, Sensei, I’ll start with you.”

  Mr. Li nodded. If he was nervous, it didn’t show.

  “Your class started when, sir?”

  “Eight o’clock. After the supper crowd left.”

  “Was everyone on time?”

  “Everyone except Mo.”

  I took my place behind the counter, by the Colonel. “I was late from being Doctor Appointed,” I said. “I can get a note if needed.” I stepped up on my Pepsi crate and peered at Starr’s notepad. “Is that all the clues you got? It doesn’t look like much.”

  He moved his notes. “Did any of you pass by Mr. Jesse’s tonight?” he asked, scanning the café.

  Attila raised her hand. “That’s Attila Celeste,” I whispered, propping my elbows on the counter. “She lives down the creek from Mr. Jesse. Her parents drive her around like she’s a princess. If she didn’t take karate, you’d never even guess she had feet.”

  He didn’t look at me. “Colonel, could you do something with her, please?”

  “Hey,” I snapped, but the Colonel put his hand over mine and shook his head.

  Starr picked up his pen. “What time did you pass Mr. Jesse’s place, Miss … ?”

  “Miss Anna Celeste Simpson, and I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, tossing her hair. “My mother and I drove by Mr. Jesse’s a little before four o’clock. We came into town early because we wanted to go to the Piggly Wiggly, plus I needed a trim. Unlike some people, I won’t tolerate split ends,” she added, shooting me a nasty look.

  “Right,” Starr said. “Did you see anyone near Jesse Tatum’s house?”

  “A boy, maybe,” she said. “By the creek. He was pulling something, or … I don’t know. I only saw him through the trees. Who knows what boys do? It’s a mystery to me.”

  My heart lurched. She’d seen Dale returning Mr. Jesse’s boat, sure as my name’s Mo LoBeau. I put my hand in my pocket and closed my fingers around my half of Mr. Jesse’s finder’s fee—money we tricked him out of. Suddenly I felt sick.

  “Can you identify the boy?” Starr asked.

  I tried to slow my heartbeat. What if Attila realized she’d seen Dale at Mr. Jesse’s just before the murder? What if Starr found out Dale had swiped Mr. Jesse’s boat? How much trouble would he be in? How much trouble would I be in? I needed time to think. I turned to Starr. “All boys look alike to Anna Celeste,” I said. “She’s boy crazy.”

  “Soldier,” the Colonel snapped, clamping his fingers into my shoulder. “At ease.”

  Attila blushed. “I am not boy crazy,” she said. “All I saw is light hair and a dark shirt. Black, maybe. I didn’t stare. Why would I? I didn’t know Mr. Jesse was dead.”

  “Maybe it was Thes,” I suggested. “He’s a boy.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Thes yelped. “I got red hair. And a dark shirt, well, that could be half the boys in town.”

  Starr looked around the café. “Did anybody else see him?”

  Skeeter looked at Attila, then at me. I could see it in her eyes: She knew it was Dale. Panic swirled through me like a flock of blackbirds banking into a tree. I shook my head. She nodded so faintly, her nod could have been mistaken for a breath. She wouldn’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.

  “Anna, I’ll need to talk to your mother,” Starr said.

  “Betsy Simpson, she’s in the book,” the Colonel said, finally pouring Starr’s coffee. “You don’t really think a kid killed Jesse, do you?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Starr said without looking up, and the vein in the Colonel’s forehead jumped to attention. Now I reached over and patted the Colonel’s hand. “Colonel, did Jesse Tatum come in for supper tonight?”

  “Negative,” he growled, picking up a dishtowel.

  “Well, that’s twice a pity,” Mayor Little said. “The Colonel’s teriyaki chicken is simply out of this world. And if Jesse had come in for dinner, he might not be so passé. Oh my gosh,” he added, slapping himself on the forehead. “What am I thinking? Detective, you must be famished. I’m sure the Colonel would be glad to scare you up some supper, even with the kitchen closed. Wouldn’t you, Colonel?”

  The Colonel pretended to wipe a spot off the counter.

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Starr said after a long silence. He looked around the café. “Is it unusual for Mr. Jesse to miss supper? Has he seemed worried lately?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton sputtered, standing up at the end of the counter. Her blue-white hair glowed and her powdered face was stern. “Jesse’s like the rest of us. He eats here when he wants to and stays home when he wants to. And Jesse was so peculiar no one would know whether he was worried or not. Excuse me for saying so, young man,” she said to Starr, “but we’ve answered a number of your questions. I think it’s t
ime for you to answer ours.”

  Starr stared at her for a moment, his glare downshifting to neutral. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice going softer. “What would you like to know?”

  She studied him, her hair shimmering in the café’s harsh light. “I hear the Tyson brothers found Jesse’s body at Fool’s Bridge. And—”

  “Who told you that?” Starr asked, his voice sharp.

  “Everybody. It’s all over town.”

  Starr sighed. “All right,” he said, flipping back through his notes. “I’d want information too, if I were you. Here’s what I’ve got. The Tyson boys hauled Jesse Tatum’s boat out of the creek around six o’clock this evening, and found his body inside. His wallet was in his pocket, with no cash in it. His death is being investigated as a homicide.”

  “Well, who killed him?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out,” Starr said, snapping his notepad closed.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Skeeter said in a pre-law voice of steel. “Aren’t we outside your jurisdiction?”

  The Colonel cleared his throat and pointed to the NO LAWYERS sign.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Understandable,” the Colonel said. “These are trying times.” He looked at Starr. “Her question is a good one.”

  “Technically this isn’t inside my jurisdiction, but your mayor’s asked me to investigate and I’ve agreed,” he said. “Besides, I have a hunch this may tie in with the murder I’m investigating in Winston-Salem. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

  The Colonel swiped at a spot on the counter. The room barely breathed. “No? Good. My team’s coming from Winston-Salem in the morning. Meanwhile, avoid strangers. Travel in pairs. I don’t want any children leaving without an adult. Questions?”

  I raised my hand, and Starr sighed. “Mo?”

  “They found Mr. Jesse in a boat?” I asked. “I’m wondering if maybe he just up and died. Maybe there ain’t no murder. Like the fish weren’t biting and he died of boredom. It happens. Boredom kills. I’ve had close brushes myself, during math.”

  “Jesse Tatum didn’t die of boredom,” he said. “The back of his head … That is, he suffered a blunt force trauma.”

  An Azalea Woman moaned.

  “Are we safe?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton asked.

  Starr looked at her a moment, like he was weighing his words. “Keep your doors and windows locked,” he replied. Then he turned to me. “Where were you tonight?”

  “Me?” I asked, surprised. “I was at the racetrack. You didn’t see me? I sure saw you. You need an alibi for me, ask your girlfriend. How long you known her, anyway?”

  “His girlfriend?” Attila Celeste said, looking Starr up and down. “What kind of girlfriend does he have?”

  “Guess,” I said. “Too slow. It’s Miss Retzyl.”

  She staggered back. “Our Miss Retzyl?”

  “That’s not all,” I said. “She was wearing shorts.”

  “Miss Retzyl? Wearing shorts?”

  Starr clicked his pen. “She did mention running into you. You were with that spooky kid. Dale.” I glanced at Attila. Dale was the last name I wanted tickling her memory.

  The Colonel’s words drifted back to me: “The best defense is a good offense.”

  “So, Detective,” I said, “what have you done with Miss Retzyl? As representatives of the sixth grade, Anna and me are hoping you didn’t throw her in jail or leave her standing by the creek with a crazed killer on the prowl. Go ahead, Anna, tell him,” I said.

  Attila nodded uncertainly.

  “Exactly what are your intentions?” I asked. “The sixth grade has a right to know.”

  Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton raised her hand. “I’m wondering too.”

  “Your Miss Retzyl is perfectly safe,” Starr said. He looked around the café. “Did anyone else see Jesse Tatum tonight?” he asked. “Anyone see anything suspicious?” He sauntered to the bulletin board and stabbed his business card through the heart with a thumbtack. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help.”

  “Goodness, I hope you’re not counting on your cell phone,” Mayor Little said.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Starr asked.

  “No service to speak of,” he said. “Oh, you might get a sputter here or there, but not for long. That’s one of the benefits of life in Tupelo Landing: no cell bill. No high-speed Internet charges, either, unless you live on First Street and have cable. I’ll gladly relay phone messages for you, though, if you’d like to use my landline. I’m sure Mother won’t mind.”

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” Starr said, looking doubtful. He glanced at Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton. “Does Jesse Tatum have family here?” he asked. “Is there someone I should notify?”

  “Jesse did have a cousin somewhere in the Piedmont,” she said. “A security guard. He died years ago—in Jesse’s arms, as I recall. Jesse was alone in life.”

  Starr plucked Mr. Jesse’s notice of a finder’s fee from the bulletin board and folded it into his pocket. “I think you’ll find my team easy to work with, Mayor.” He looked around the room. “Thank you, Sensei. Everyone’s free to go.”

  Mr. Li bowed, and the Colonel unplugged the coffee urn. “Everybody out,” the Colonel said. “Don’t let these kids walk home alone.”

  I worked my way over to Skeeter. “I’d like to make an appointment,” I whispered as we put our kick pads away. “First thing in the morning.”

  She nodded as Mr. Li walked by. “Mo,” he said, his voice hushed, “I’m going to Durham tomorrow. If you’d like for me to take one of your messages along …”

  “Thanks, Mr. Li.” I grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, and he tucked it under his arm.

  Starr watched our customers pay up and step gingerly into the night. “A couple more questions,” he said as the Colonel closed out the cash register. “Did Jesse Tatum have any enemies? Did anyone here tonight have a grudge against him?”

  “Here?” I asked. “You think the killer comes to the café?”

  “Murderers usually know their victims.”

  The Colonel folded his apron and tossed it on the counter. “As far as I know, Jesse Tatum was a harmless old coot living out his life on a backwater creek without family or friends,” he said. “Nobody much liked him. But kill him? Why? Time was Jesse’s assassin, and it was closing in on him fast. Murdering Jesse Tatum doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re wrong,” Starr said. “Murder always makes sense—to the murderer. By the way,” he said, picking up his hat, “where’s Miss Lana?”

  “Away on business,” the Colonel said. “In Charleston.”

  Starr narrowed his eyes. “Please tell her I’d like to talk with her when she gets in. If I don’t hear from her soon, I’ll find her.” He started toward the door. “One last thing,” he said. “I ran that Thunderbird’s plates. You bought that car two weeks ago, not two years ago.”

  The Colonel glanced at me. “You’re right. It was a lie, and I apologize,” he said. “I should have told the truth. Which is that I don’t think law enforcement should meddle in people’s lives. That I don’t believe my purchases are any of your business. That the only thing as dangerous as an arrogant attorney is an overzealous lawman. Again, I apologize. I bought that car legally and I should have just said so. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  I stepped near the Colonel.

  Starr studied us for one cold, flat minute. “Don’t leave town,” he told the Colonel. Then he nodded to me and headed for the door.

  We watched him climb into his Impala. “He’s going to be trouble,” the Colonel said, unplugging the jukebox.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, thinking of Dale. “If you ask me, he already is.”

  Chapter 7

  Desperados

  The Colonel and I trudged toward home—the flip side of the café. “Been thinking of installing a safety light back here,” he muttered as we followed the gravel walkw
ay through Miss Lana’s dogwoods and daylilies.

  “No you haven’t,” I said, slipping my hand in his. “Miss Lana wants a safety light. You said you’d be fricasseed in hell before you’d drown out the stars.”

  We marched up the rounded steps, to the porch. “Didn’t you leave your night-light on, Soldier?” he asked, stopping by Miss Lana’s potted geraniums.

  I gulped. “I always leave my Elvis light on, sir,” I said. “It’s an eternal flame.”

  “Stay back,” he replied, stiff-arming me against the wall.

  He eased my screen door open, its voice rising like a rusty hymn. In one motion he flipped my light on and sprang inside. He yanked open my mahogany chifforobe, dropped to his belly to peer under my bed, and then leaped into my bathroom. “All clear,” he barked, latching my windows. He grabbed my night-light and thumped Elvis’s head. “Burned out,” he muttered, tossing it aside. “How fitting.”

  He waved me in and dead-bolted my porch door behind me.

  I followed him into our living room. As he checked for intruders, my eyes wandered to the photograph of Miss Lana and me during my baby days. In it, she sits on a perfect lawn, her skirt spread around her like a paper parasol as I present her with a dandelion. She is young and beautiful, and I am plump and adorable.

  The Colonel locked the front door. “Good thing Lana isn’t here,” he said. “She was fond of Jesse.” I could smell the garlic on his shirt. “Are you scared, Soldier?”

  I took a shaky breath. I was scared, but not for the reason he thought. I slid my hand in my pocket, to the reward money, and felt dizzy. If Attila Celeste remembered who she saw by Mr. Jesse’s house, or if Skeeter blabbed, Dale could be in trouble. Big trouble. I had to warn him. “I’m not scared,” I lied. “Are you?”

  “A little,” he said.

  “Me too.” I hesitated, staring toward my dark bedroom. “I can leave my door open tonight if you’d like. That way I can hear you, if you need me.”

  I caught the flicker of a smile in his dark eyes. “That might make me feel better,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll sleep on the sofa. That way it will be easy to find me if I call.”