Part 23 (1/2)
”This is the time for deliveries, or repairs, whatever I need done before we open at three. In antic.i.p.ation of this meeting I called in one of my waitresses to help. Corinna is back there subbing for me.” Then he grinned. ”It's like a different place in the daylight and with the lights on and the music off, isn't it?”
”It is,” Connor agreed. He turned his attention back to the meeting.
”I'm confused,” O'Malley said. ”How's getting his fingerprints going to help us? You said he couldn't be charged because of the statute of limitations.”
”It eliminates supposition,” Mel said. ”So that we know for certain the man we are dealing with is Ralph Baxter.”
”That's only going to be our first step,” Connor said.
”You want him to implicate himself in the murder of that lawyer,” Patrick Owen said. ”That's what you're going after him for. Not for theft or misdirection of funds.”
”That's right. And if we can't do it by the book, we'll be sneaky and underhanded,” Mel said.
”Sometimes you do what you gotta do,” Kemp said. Then he smirked. ”Remind me to tell you a story sometime about duct tape.”
Connor had actually heard a story about the somewhat laconic investigator and duct tape. He fought his smile.
”Is that why we're here?” O'Malley asked. ”To do something sneaky and underhanded?” He didn't look too displeased by the prospect.
”In a way,” Mel said. ”First we positively identify Smith as Ralph Baxter. Then, the next time he's in town, we need to keep him here beyond the time he usually spends running his errands. We have to come up with a stalling tactic so Connor can work his magic.”
”It will take me at least as long as he's usually here in town to search his house. When I planted those bugs, I was just in and out. But I also want to cover the outbuildings. h.e.l.l, it would probably take me at least a half hour to pick all the locks of the sheds he has out there.”
”Sheds?” O'Malley looked from Connor to Ethan. ”What kind of sheds?”
”Jack said they were fancy-a.s.s garages.” Ethan looked over at Connor. ”You met Jack Warner, one of my best friends and a partner in the Divine Creek Horse Ranch, when you were here a while back with Miss Bancroft. Jack is a contractor, and the man that Mr. Smith hired to erect a shed not long after he moved into his place. Jack took the job because, back then, he was hungry to get himself established and was happy enough to take any job. The man paid cash, that wasn't a problem. Jack just said the guy never took his eyes off him, gave him bad vibes. Then a couple of years later, he hired Jack to build three more sheds. Jack said he did it, but he wouldn't work for the guy again.”
”I take it you jogged your friend's memory about Smith?” Connor asked.
”Yes, but it didn't take much jogging,” Ethan said. ”Jack has a good memory, and Smith really stood out. Adam's also been out to his place a couple of times, to repair the A/C.” Then Ethan grinned. ”Sorry, Adam Davis, my other best friend and partner in the Ranch. Adam said the same thing. Guy watched him like a hawk, then paid him in cash. Adam didn't mind being watched. He says it happens sometimes, because he works in people's homes.”
”Smith, or Baxter, sounds like a man with a reason to worry about people snooping around,” O'Malley said. ”Maybe you'll find the reason why when you go out there. It'd be good if Chloe and her sister could get some justice.”
”What are you going to do if you don't find anything?” Owen asked.
Connor looked at Mel and then over at Ace and Kemp. All three were smiling. Ace nodded, which meant he was sure both O'Malley and Owen would keep their mouths shut.
”All right then.” He rubbed his hands together because there was a part of him that really hoped they got to enact this particular part of the plan. ”Let me tell you what Mel and I have come up with, just in case all else fails.”
Chapter 22.
”Hey, buddy, do you want to make a fast twenty bucks?”
Bruce Smith looked around, trying to figure out who'd called out to him. There, in the parking lot behind The Dancing Pony, a large refrigerated truck had been parked close to the building. By the back of the rig, with the door only half-open, stood a young man who motioned to him.
Normally, Smith would just ignore anyone calling out to him, and in fact almost just walked away.
But what if that brought him under even more scrutiny? What if this delivery guy b.i.t.c.hed to the man who ran the place? Then that guy-Grant, Smith recalled-would likely tell everyone what a rude b.a.s.t.a.r.d he was. Then folks would start watching for him, looking at him with their eyes narrowed, and their lips curled up in a snarl.
Lately, Smith had been feeling more and more paranoid. He knew his thinking was paranoid, too, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Something was up. He just had to try and figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on.
The last thing he needed was to draw even more attention to himself by acting like a rude a.s.shole.
So instead of ignoring the summons from trucker boy, which he really wanted to do, he nodded and walked over to him.
”Hey. What can I do for ya, buddy?”
”The f.u.c.king wheel came off my large dolly at the last delivery. a.s.shole pub owner and his f.u.c.king pothole-covered parking lot. I'll pay you twenty if you help me unload these canisters of soda syrup and lug them inside. Usually I can do it on one trip with my dolly, but h.e.l.l, that's busted and if I have to carry them all myself, I'm going to be even more late for my next delivery.”
Carry a few canisters for a twenty? Kids sure as h.e.l.l didn't know the value of money these days. ”Sure. I could use a fast twenty.”
”Great. I figure just a couple of trips for each of us, and we're out of here. Here.” The man handed him the bill, and Smith stuffed it in his pocket.
He loaded Smith up with two stainless steel canisters, and took two himself. The kid hit the door buzzer with his elbow. The door swung open. But it wasn't Mr. Grant standing there, it was one of the waitresses. ”Hey, Corinna! How're ya doing? Where's the boss man?”
”I'm doing just great, Tommy. Come on in. Ethan's out front having some sort of a big meeting with those two detectives from out of town. Just put the canisters in the usual spot, and hand me the invoice when you're done, please.”
”No problem. It'll just take us a couple trips. We have to carry them because the dolly broke.”
Smith got an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. What detectives from out of town? Likely, it was just some business to do with the club, but still.
He carried the canisters in and tried to get a look into the bar area. Or were they meeting in Grant's office? He couldn't shake the feeling that if he could just have a look at what was going on, then he'd know if he had anything to worry about, or not.
He thought back to all the times in the last few months when he'd felt as if someone was watching him. He'd done his best to shake it off as just irrational fear. But the voices in his head would not be quiet any longer.
What if it those voices had actually been right all along? What if he really wasn't being paranoid? What if he really was in some sort of danger?
One thing Smith knew for certain, the cops wouldn't be after him for the money he'd taken. The statute of limitations had pa.s.sed on that. They wouldn't waste their time and taxpayer dollars when he couldn't even be charged with anything.
But taking money wasn't all he'd done, and for the other thing, there was no statute of limitations.
And if they were the other kind of detectives...he didn't think about it often but he knew he still owed that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Brody Carp a lot of money. h.e.l.l, did loan sharks even hire private d.i.c.ks in this day and age? Would Brody Carp go to so much trouble just to get his quarter of a mil back? Smith worried his bottom lip. It had been a lot of years, more than fifteen, since his payment deadline had come and gone. Loan sharks didn't write off outstanding balances. Not unless the person they'd loaned the money to was dead. And sometimes, he knew, not even then. Figuring in the rate of interest Carp charged and it was a f.u.c.k of a lot more money than a quarter mil by now.
It was d.a.m.n sure a h.e.l.l of a lot more money than he had left.
Smith's mind shot back to a time when he'd been waiting to see the man, waiting to ask him for more credit for the c.r.a.ps table...at one time he'd thought c.r.a.ps was his game, but now of course, he knew his game was Texas Hold'em. He'd overheard Carp order one of his goons to go and pay a visit to a man who was late paying him, and told his lackey exactly what he'd wanted done to the poor, unfortunate sap.
Carp had looked over, seen him shudder, and known he'd overheard. And what had that b.a.s.t.a.r.d said to him at the time?
You can't let anyone get away with anything these days, Baxter. No, siree, that just sets a bad example, and that's bad for business.
Smith swallowed hard. His head spun a little and his pulse raced. Desperation filled him. I have to find out what the h.e.l.l is going on here!
He hefted the second load of canisters, then reentered the club. He set them down neatly where he'd put the first load. He turned to the woman. No recognition lit her face. He didn't think she'd ever served him. He usually sat at the bar, so it was one of the two owners who grabbed his brew for him.