Checking the Traps, page 10
part #3 of Isabel Long Series
The night rolls along with no bumps or horrible drunks. I keep up with the drink orders with my one free arm and take some good-natured ribbing about it. Jack laughs when he overhears one guy say I should take up arm wrestling.
“Now, don’t you make fun of my Isabel,” Jack says with a chuckle.
My Isabel. I like that. And I guess he’s my Jack.
Marsha and Annette, the Floozy and Tough Cookie, respectively, make their presence known with a nice-to-see-you holler as they come through the front door. They charge toward my spot at the bar. I hold my breath as Marsha bends closer. As always, she’s wearing that unsavory mix of beer, cigarette smoke, and B.O.
The Floozy cackles and slaps the counter.
“Guess who’s buying the Pit Stop?”
I shake my head. The place in Caulfield has been up for sale since Barbie Woodrell was left running it alone after her hubby, Pete, was hauled off to jail.
“How about giving me a clue?” I say.
Marsha raises her arms and shakes her body in a sexy wiggle.
“Well, she’s the sexiest broad in this place tonight.”
“You?”
“Give that girl a prize.” She laughs. “Me and Bobby are buyin’ it. Why not? I can’t stand workin’ for that asshole boss of mine. And Annette here is a partner.”
In case you forgot, Bobby Collins is the ex-husband of Adela Collins, the missing woman in my first case. He was a primary suspect in her disappearance, but Marsha was his alibi.
Annette gives me a gloating smile.
“I’m gonna build me an empire in Caulfield,” the Tough Cookie says. “Dave Baxter better watch himself.”
“Ha. Well, congratulations to you both.” I say. “How’d you get Pete to agree with this?”
Marsha bumps Annette’s arm as she laughs. Those two women are always slapping each other and anyone else who’s around them, including me at times although not since I had the accident.
“Here’s the best part,” Marsha says. “The business is owned by Barbie’s parents. Pete had nothin’ to do with it. After the sale is done, she’s gonna head back there and live near ’em.”
“Lucky break,” I say.
I snap the caps off two Buds and slide them forward.
“Put your money away, ladies. This one’s on me.”
Annette slaps her cousin.
“Ladies, good one, Isabel,” she says. “Hey, Barbie wants you to stop by and see her. She won’t be around much longer.”
“But there’s a court hearing coming up.”
“She’s plannin’ to come back for any of those,” Annette says. “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow? We’ll be there. And bring your mother. I like her a lot.”
“Will do.”
Annette raises her bottle.
“Thanks for the beer.”
And then, just as they arrived, the two women are gone, bullying their way through the crowd, just in time for a stampede when the lead guitarist on the Country Plowboys plays the opening cords to Dwight Yoakam’s “Fast as You.” None of those boys are wearing jeans as tight as Dwight or have that heartbreaker of a voice, but they’ve got the beat down. Dancers are bopping across the room.
Jack returns with a tray loaded with empties.
“Fun crowd tonight,” I say as I drop the bottles into a box at my feet.
“Sure is.”
But I spoke too soon as Lisa walks through the front door. She’s all smiles and a few kisses to the guys she’s friendly with, which seems about every man in the house, as if she’s some celebrity greeting her eager fans. She stops, assesses the dancers and the full tables, before she walks to the bar. She’s dolled up for a Friday night at the Rooster. Her skirt is a rather short and tight for a woman her age. Yes, I am being catty.
“Hey, Izzie, how are you doin’ back there?”
Okay, I’ve had enough. I wiggle a finger at the end of my one free hand. She moves closer.
“I prefer that you call me Isabel. I don’t like Izzie.”
The corner of her mouth lifts into a smirk.
“So sorry. I’ll try to remember,” she says with a twinge of sarcasm.
Damn, I don’t like this woman, but I’m not letting on.
“Thanks. What can I get you?”
“Make it a Bud Light.” She makes a half-turn while she waits for her beer. “It always this busy?”
“On a Friday night? Yeah. Here you go.”
“You can put it on my tab.”
Now, Jack is careful about who gets a tab. Pre-approval is a requirement, but I’m not about to tell Lisa that.
“I’ll let the boss know.”
There’s that smirk again.
“You do that, why don’t ya?”
Then, she’s gone.
About midway through the third set, Jack gets the Country Plowboys to play a slow song. The only one they haven’t played in their repertoire so far is Elvis’ “Can’t Help Following in Love,” which works just fine. Jack tips his head toward the band.
“What do you say, Isabel?”
“I say yes.”
Everybody stays clear of my bad shoulder on the dance floor. Jack hums along. It’s a nice moment, but a brief moment, and we’re walking back to the bar when the lead singer says into the microphone, “Enough of that mushy stuff. Get ready.” And the band tears into “Rock Around the Clock,” that oldie by Bill Haley and the Comets.
I gotta get out of the way fast.
I’m near the bar when I hear, “Hey, Jack, it’s my turn.”
Lisa grabs his hand and tugs him toward the dance floor.
“You gonna be okay by yourself?” Jack asks me.
“Sure, sure,” I say with a wave.
I return to my station behind the bar, selling Buds and shots, while I keep an eye on Jack and Lisa. She laughs as Jack leads. He’s working up a big grin. He doesn’t appear to be suffering too badly dancing with his ex-wife. But I’ll be a good sport. Let me rephrase that. I will try to be a good sport.
I break away from staring when Fred says, “You okay there, Isabel?”
“Hey, Fred, when did you get here?”
“Just now. How about a Bud?” he says, and then he winks when he adds, “Izzie.”
“You know I have the right to refuse service to anyone,” I say. “Especially anyone who calls me that name.”
“Aw, you’re awfully cute when you get mad.”
“Believe me, Fred. I’m not. Put it on your tab?”
Jack hustles back alone. I note Lisa sits at a table in the far end of the room, where I like it.
“Did I miss anything?” he asks.
“No, you didn’t. Some smooth moves you were making on the dance floor.” I lift my bound arm. “I can’t wait until I get this thing off, and we can do that again.”
Jack grins.
“Me, too. How much more time?”
“A few weeks, I hope. At least that’s when I see the doctor. Hey, by the way, Lisa’s started a tab.”
“Oh, yeah? I’ll bring it up with her later.”
I finally get my chance to talk with the Country Plowboys after their last song. The Rooster’s crowd has thinned by now, and those remaining give the band a decent amount of applause. Even Lisa is gone. I missed her exit and whether she was alone. Thankfully, she spent most of the night at the other end of the barroom although once I spotted her tugging on Jack’s arm when he was collecting empties. It looked like she wanted him to sit, but he didn’t.
The band picks a table near the side door. Jack brings them a round of beers on the house.
“Do you mind if I go talk with those guys?” I ask Jack when he returns.
He’s aware of what I’m up to, so he nods.
The Country Plowboys go silent when I stand at the end of their table.
They give me a curious look.
“What’s up?” Randy, the lead singer, says.
“Did any of you guys know Cary Moore?”
The drummer, Mark, nods.
“I used to work with him. Why?”
I give the band a quick lowdown about the case and why I’m asking this random question.
“I’m trying to learn more about the guy. What was he like?”
Mark pokes at the label on his bottle.
“He was alright. Had a hard time with the booze though. I could smell it on him sometimes at work. But other than that, he worked hard enough. He pulled his own weight on the crew.”
The highway boss was true to his word. Even the guy who worked alongside Cary didn’t know he was canned.
“Did he have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of. I did hear him bitch once about this guy who wrote poetry. Something about stealing poems.” Mark laughs. “Who in the hell steals poetry? Money, yeah. Women, yeah. Maybe a car. But poems? Gimme a break.”
Now, this is very interesting news.
I fish business cards from the back pocket of my jeans.
“I gotta help Jack clean up. Here’s how you can get a hold of me if you want to tell me more.”
I’m back at work, wiping down tables and doing what I can to clean behind the bar. Jack hums as he fetches empties and carries the full boxes of empty bottles to the back room. Then, he’s filling the cooler. He glances up.
“We sure went through a lot of beer tonight,” he says, chuckling. “Don’t worry, Isabel. I set aside a few cold ones for us. We can take a break after I kick everybody out.” His eyebrows flick upward. “Or I can bring ’em back to your place.”
I make that silly giggle. I can’t help it when Jack talks to me this way.
I give him a wink.
“Or we could do both.”
He winks back.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A Heart to Heart
Jack rolls onto his back. He blows out a long stream of air.
“Gosh, I needed that.”
I laugh. Uh, me, too.
I snuggle up with my good side beside him. I’m naked except for this stupid sling I wear even to bed. I have a pillow propping up my left arm, too, doctor’s orders.
“This sling isn’t exactly the sexiest thing, is it?”
Jack lets out a belly laugh.
“You look just fine to me, Isabel, even with it on.”
Aw, that Jack.
We talk in the near dark about this and that. I catch him up on the field trip my mother and I took to the bridge. Of course, I get another lecture about the dangers of being a private investigator. But I don’t take offense. He doesn’t want me to get hurt again. He, too, heard about the Pit Stop changing hands. He says it was the talk of the Rooster tonight.
But I can tell he’s dancing around a topic.
“You wanna tell me something, Jack?”
His mouth opens, then shuts and opens again.
“I hope you don’t mind Lisa hangin’ around the Rooster,” he says.
What I really want to say is when in hell is she going back to wherever she came from. But I’ll be nice. It’s Jack’s bar. And I don’t want to come off as a jealous wench.
“It’s okay,” I answer. “How long is she planning to stay anyway?”
“I thought not long, but I heard from Fred she’s changed her mind,” he says.
“Oh,” I say although I feel like saying a whole lot more.
He plays with a strand of my hair.
“I just want you to know she doesn’t mean anythin’ to me,” he says. “We were married and all, but that was a long, long time ago.”
“From my end of the bar, it did look like you two were having a fun time dancing.”
Jack grins.
“You weren’t jealous, were you?”
A sigh.
“A little.”
He chuckles.
“Aw, Isabel, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about there.”
“If you say so, Jack.”
At the Pit Stop
My mother and I get a rowdy welcome from Marsha and Annette when we step inside the Pit Stop. They stand behind the counter with Barbie Woodrell, who gives us a rather shy smile, but a smile nonetheless. Paperwork is spread over the counter.
The Floozy nudges Barbie.
“See? I told you she’d come,” she says. “And she brought her mother. Hey, Maria, nice to see you.”
My mother smiles and says hello.
“Marsha and Annette told me about the sale,” I say. “How are you doing, Barbie?”
She half-shrugs.
“Okay, I guess. It’s been kinda hard. This thing with Pete… ”
Barbie’s face is taut. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. No high hair for her today. I catch her eyeing my sling.
“Yes, I do, and I’m afraid it’s not over,” I say. “But I’ll be there in court when you need me. Don’t you worry about that.”
Barbie forces a bigger smile.
“You have a nice daughter,” she tells my mother.
“Yes, I do,” Ma says. “But maybe next time, she won’t crash my car when she takes it for a drive.”
That gets Annette and Marsha laughing and slapping each other. Barbie laughs softly when she finally catches on my mother is only joking.
I glance around the store. I note Pete’s paraphernalia, like the NASCAR stuff, is already gone. Nothing has been put up in its place.
“Got big plans for the store?” I ask.
Annette nods.
“We were just goin’ over that right now, but we’re startin’ out slow. Barbie’s leavin’ the store in great shape for us.”
Marsha snorts.
“But we’re thinkin’ of changing the name. What do you think of Cousins? Barbie says she wouldn’t mind.”
“Cousins? I like the sound of that. What about you, Ma?”
“I do. Good choice.”
The Floozy and the Tough Cookie elbow each other.
“It’s gonna take a while to get everythin’ done,” Annette says. “We gotta get a new liquor license and other stuff. It’s a royal pain in the ass.”
I nod.
“You gonna move into the mobile home next door?” I ask Marsha.
“Nah, I’ve got my own place in Conwell. We’re gonna rent it to Annette’s boy, Abe.”
“Abe?” I say.
Annette presses her lips.
“I’m sick of him crashin’ at my place. He’s such a slob,” she says. “But there’s gonna be some rules, and he better not break ’em cause we’re hardly chargin’ him anythin’ for rent. I’ll evict the little bastard if he does.” She tips her head. “Besides, he can keep an eye on the store when it’s closed. And maybe he can put in some hours workin’ here. We’ll see.”
So, Annette’s plan to reform her aimless son continues. Barbie stays to the side, overpowered, I’m guessing, by the sheer force of these two women.
“I heard you’re moving back near your folks,” I tell Barbie. “When are you leaving?”
Barbie doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches beneath the counter and walks toward me. She holds a small, white box.
“I’m moving in a couple of weeks.” She hands me the box. “I wanted you to have this to remember me by.”
I set the box on the counter top, so I can remove the lid with my one free hand. The pair of amethyst earrings that matches the necklace Barbie is wearing is inside. I found one of them in the mud at Annette’s junkyard. It’s how I was able to solve her father’s murder.
“Barbie, I can’t take these. They’re too valuable. And they go with your pretty necklace.”
She shakes her head.
“I’ll never wear ’em. They’re much too fancy. They’d look real good on you.”
I can’t refuse them.
“Could you help me put them on?” I wiggle my right hand. “It’s kinda hard with only one hand.”
I stand still as Barbie gently removes the hoops I’m wearing and replaces each with one of her earrings. I hold up my hair as I turn my head this way and that.
“What do you think?”
Barbie gives me a careful hug. I feel myself tearing up.
“They look beautiful,” she says.
I walk to the mirror on the other end of the room. I glance back.
“Yes, they do. Thank you.”
Dave
We’re ready to split this town, but while I hold open the Subaru’s door for my mother, a pickup truck makes a last-minute swerve into the parking lot. I instantly recognize the vehicle and the driver. You guessed it. Dancin’ Dave Baxter is at the wheel.
“Crap, Ma, I can’t get away from that guy.”
“Be nice, Isabel.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’ll try to make this quick. If I take too long, beep the horn, why don’t you?”
“Very funny, Isabel.”
Dave stops his pickup right next to my car on the driver’s side. He’s all-smiles as he lowers his window.
“Fancy meeting you two here,” he says.
Ma gives him a wave from inside the car.
“Barbie wanted to see me.” I lift my hair and midway I wonder why in the hell I’m doing that. “She wanted to give me these earrings.”
He nods.
“Very nice. They suit you.” He pauses. “How’s your case goin’?”
“It’s just the start.”
He keeps nodding.
“Hey, I’ve got somethin’ for you. I was hopin’ to run into you sometime.” He chuckles. “And here we are.”
He reaches across the front seat for a paper. I recognize the handwriting immediately.
“Looks like you have one of Cary Moore’s poems.”
“That’s right. He wrote it one night at my place. Some asshole was makin’ fun of him for writing poetry. Called him a pussy. He bet Cary ten bucks he couldn’t write one on the spot. Cary took the bet. This is what he wrote.”
