CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

Breakfast was over when the door to the deck slid open and Nudge ambled in. He was followed, almost immediately, by Stitch. Danni grinned as she watched him shuffle into the room, his hair loose, his posture somewhat twisted and bent.

“’Bout time you got here,” she said. “How ya doin’?”

Stitch walked behind her getting to the coffee pot and rubbed her back as he passed by. “Damn, girl!” he said.

Danni patted him on the butt as he poured his coffee. “Not my fault if you outlived your youth,” she said.

“Be your fault if ya freakin’ kill my ass.”

“You bragging or complaining?”

“Ah, since your mother is in the room, I’m complaining.”

“Want me to step out for a minute?” Satin asked.

Stitch peered at her. “Wouldn’t help,” he said. “I don’t have the strength to brag right now, ya know?”

Satin laughed, gathered up her coffee cup, and began clearing dishes. Crockett, a little off balance, moseyed out to the deck and sat in the swing. He had just leaned back when Stitch showed up.

“You okay with all this, man?” he asked.

“I will be. Gimme a little time to adjust.”

Stitch smiled. “Just remember, Crockett. I’m a gentleman from the word no, dude.”

“Never a doubt, Stitch.”

“Far out. I don’t want you to go all Baptist on my ass or somethin’.”

Crockett chuckled. “You are a piece of work, hippie.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, man,” Stitch went on. “I’m sure as hell not as young as I used to be. Holy shit!”

“You bragging or complaining?”

Stitch checked behind himself to make sure nobody else was in earshot.

“I’m braggin’, dude. Ha!”

Crockett’s reply was interrupted by the sound of Dundee’s barking. He peered around the side of the cabin in time to see Lyle Higgenbotham’s truck roll to a stop, and the old man dismount and walk toward the deck. Same gabardine suit, same Stetson stockman’s long oval tilted on his head. In a moment, a large brown envelope in hand, Lyle carefully climbed the steps to the planked floor of the porch. He smiled at Crockett.

“Mornin’ boy, am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

“Not a thing, Lyle. Good to see you.” Crockett made the introduction to Stitch, as Satin delivered Lyle a fresh cup of coffee and took a seat beside Crockett in the swing.

“Thank ya, hon,” Lyle said, turning his attention to Stitch as he eased his way down into a folding chair. “Ya know,” he went on, “I sold this here land to Crockett, then I turned around and sold it to Miz Satin, then I sold it back to Crockett agin. Got to be right confusin’ fer a while.”

“Anything that’s got Crockett around always gets confusin’, dude. It’s some kinda pretty out here, though.”

“He said he wanted wild and cheap. He got it.”

“Kinda fits ol’ Crockett, man,” Stitch said, attempting to finger comb the rats out of his hair. “Overgrown, unimproved, an’ not worth much.”

Lyle removed his hat and ran his hand over his nearly bald pate. “I allus figured that hair an’ brains don’t mix, son,” he said, “but, by God, I believe you may be the exception to that rule.”

Crockett’s protests were sidetracked by the arrival of Nudge on the deck. The cat sauntered halfway across the expanse, levitated to the railing, and sat.

“Godamighty,” Lyle said. “I just cain’t git over that cat, Crockett. He drug down any deer?”

“Not yet.”

“Seein’ a cat that big has gotta be hard on my heart,” Lyle went on, reaching for a hip pocket. “Any a you folks care for a little sightin’ oil to sweeten yer coffee?”

Crockett and Satin declined. Stitch held out his cup and accepted a tot.

“Now lookit them settin’ there just as nice as ya please,” Lyle went on, nodding at Crockett and Satin. “They was a time when if ya had a porch like this here deck, ya had a swing, but not no more. Air conditionin’, television, an’ the damn internet has ruined the whole durn thing. Decline a western civilization, the way I figger it. An’ now, Crockett here has plum lost his mind. Got all this good livin’ around him, an’ here he comes rentin’ some seven thousand square foot glass an’ brick monstrosity so he can rub elbows with all them rich idiots waitin’ on Better Homes and Gardens to show up an’ tell ‘em how wonderful they are. Damn shame if ya ask me.”

“Always was a social climber,” Satin said.

“Standin’ on the backs of, ah, of all the, you know, little people, man,” Stitch said.

Crockett bristled. “Is there a reason Higgenbotham Realty is on my deck, other than to fatmouth somebody who just forked over eleven thousand dollars for one month in that glass and brick monstrosity?”

Lyle grinned. “Oops,” he said. “Guess my commission slipped my mind for a minute. Nice cat ya got there, Crockett.”

When the chuckling settled down, Lyle went on. “I brung ya the rest a the papers on the place, the contract for the cleanin’ crew and the grounds service, the number for the alarm people, keys and such. Yer lease starts in six days, but I, as the official representative of the owners of that fine monstrosity, do hereby give ya permission to take possession of the property at your convenience, doncha see.”

Crockett smiled. “That’s nice of you.”

“Ain’t nothing, boy,” Lyle replied. “I just like throwin’ my weight around.”

“There’s a cleaning crew and a grounds service?” Satin asked.

“Yep. Cleanin’ bunch comes in durin’ the afternoon on Tuesday and Friday to clean the place up, do the laundry, an’ like that. The grounds bunch shows up ever Wednesday, if it ain’t rained, an’ does all the mowin’ and trimin’ and stuff. Trash pickup is early Monday mornin’. The cost is included in the rent.”

“I’ll move in tomorrow.” Satin said.

“You?” Crockett said.

“Yes, me.”

“You would do well to remember that she also serves who only stands and waits,” Crockett replied. “Of course we might need kitchen help.”

“What kinda place did you guys get?” Stitch asked, sidetracking Satin’s snappy retort.

“It’s one a them A-frames with the top cut off flat,” Lyle said. “Got a big ol’ livin area that’s open to the roof, a kitchen, pantry, three baths and two bedrooms on the ground floor, the master suite an’ exercise area on the second floor overlookin’ the livin’ room, and even one a them circular metal stairways from the second floor to a settin’ deck up on the roof, ‘bout thirty feet above ground level.”

“No shit?”

“That ain’t all. They’s a wing off each side. One has storage, two more bedrooms and baths, and the laundry and mudroom. The other side is a four car garage an’ a little apartment for live-in help.”

“And this is all, like, on the lake?”

“Nossir. “Bout a quarter-mile from the lake, but slip rental for a boat comes with the deal.”

“Who owns this big-ass fucker?”

“Couple a folks that run off to Europe for a year or so. It’s all furnished. Pots an’ pans, toaster and coffee maker, even dishes. TV’s an’ everthing. Only bills Crockett has got, ‘cept the rent, is utilities and payments to one a them satellite companies for the televisions.”

“Far out.”

“Yessir, it shore is,” Lyle went on, draining his coffee cup. “Well, folks,” he went on, rising to his feet, I gotta hitch up the horses. Got a feller lookin’ for some pasture out around Lexington I need to git with. Thanks fer the coffee.”

He stared to leave, then paused to peer at Nudge for a moment. “Godamighty,” the old man said, and disappeared down the steps.

At that moment, Danni, carrying a plate smothered in scrambled eggs and corned-beef hash, came through the sliding doors and deposited her burden carefully in Stitch’s lap.

“Jesus Christ, Crockett said. “Breakfast was almost two hours ago.”

Danni leaned down and kissed Crockett on the cheek. “Gotta keep his strength up,” she said. “You old guys need special attention.”

 

A couple of hours later, the girls, on the pretext of having to do some shopping, vacated the area. Stitch and Crockett affixed license plates to the bikes and took about a fifteen-minute ride. When they got back, Stitch wiped down the bikes while Crockett made tuna salad sandwiches. They tried eating on the deck, but the gnats were out in midday force, so they repaired to the kitchen.

“So,” Stitch said as he ripped open a bag of bar-b-que chips, “what’s really goin’ on, man?”

Crockett shook his head and chewed for a moment. “I wish to hell I knew. What I know for sure is next to nothing. What I think has a little more substance. I think Paul McGill was assigned as an undercover investigator to infiltrate the group at Leoni’s Cycles in an effort to find out more about the Hansen boy’s murder and about the business of the cycle shop. I think Paul McGill found out something he should not have found out, or was caught gumshoeing around the joint, or something else that got him killed and hidden. I think his wife, Cheryl, needs to know what happened to him, and I think her kids need the benefits due the family if it can be shown that he is dead and that his death was directly related to his employment as a trooper with the Missouri State Police.”

“Sounds about right to me, dude.”

“And, I think that Martha McGill will not find the peace she deserves until this whole mess is put to bed.”

“Yeah,” Stitch agreed. “That old chick needs to go on to the next phase, man.”

“So,” Crockett continued, “you go in with a broken bike, hang around, tell ‘em about the rich guy you work for and how he’s just come to town, you stay vague about how I make my huge piles of money and generate a little curiosity who and what we are. Meanwhile, we move into the monstrosity along with Danni and a friend of hers, and set ourselves up…”

“Wait a minute. Danni and a friend of hers?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember her name, but she and Danni used to work together.”

“Two chicks?”

“Yeah. Two attractive young women to be seen with me. ‘Arm charm’ is the way Danni put it, I think.”

“Oh! Okay. That makes sense, man. Where’s ol’ Satin gonna be?”

“At the cabin. She’s volunteered to take care of the cat and dog and watch out after the place while we’re off being rich.”

Stitch grinned. “She ain’t gonna be our maid, dude?”

“You go right ahead and offer her the position if you want to,” Crockett said. “I’ll heat water and get the first-aid kit.”

“No thanks, man. Her daughter damn near killed me, and she was bein’ nice.”