I lay in the bed on my back, still in pain. Almost everything hurt. I got a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand and fumbled with the book of matches tucked under the cellophane. Nothing is easy when only one hand works. Bunny sat up next to me, took the pack, extracted the matches, and lit my last cigarette ever.
Rodney had dropped me off at Ray’s the day before, and I wound up here at Bunny’s. I’m not sure how that happened, but I was glad.
“It’s good to be back,” I said.
“It’s better when you can move,” she said. She got up to get me an ashtray.
“You always wanted to be on top anyway.”
She handed me the ashtray. I put it on the bed next to me, and she stretched out again.
“I thought you quit smoking,” she said.
“Tomorrow.”
She pulled the sheet up over herself.
“You don’t want me looking at you?” I said.
“You’ve seen better. You married better.”
That hit a sore spot. “Don’t remind me. Besides, what’s wrong with your looks?” “Stretch marks. Cellulite.”
“They’re nothing compared to my scars.”
“On a guy they look tough. On us we just look old.”
“Tough?”
“Well, not yet. They have to heal and scar up. Right now you look like you’ve been in a chainsaw fight.”
“But I’ll look tough? Hell, I’d have paid money for that.”
“Wait’ll you get the hospital bill.”
We lay quiet for a while, looking at the ceiling while I smoked my cigarette.
“You want to talk about us?” she said.
“About us? We’re here now. What’s to talk about?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I always left that up to you.”
She rolled over on her side and faced me.
“Maybe that was the problem, Stan. Maybe you shouldn’t have.”
“You’ve got a point. It never turned out good when you were in charge of tomorrow.”
“Give me another chance?”
“Don’t I always?”
“You do.”
“And then next thing I know you’re gone again.”
“That’s happened.”
“Why would this time be any different?”
“It could be,” she said. “Maybe it will be.”
“You making a promise?”
“No,” she said. She got out of the bed. “I got to get to work.”
“Me too. Help me get my clothes on?”
“Why not? I helped you get them off. Do you want to take a shower?”
“Not with all these bandages. I’ll get a sponge bath later at home.”
“You want one now?” she said.
“Thanks, but I really have to get to work. A sponge bath would take a long time.”
“I’d hope so.”
We got dressed with Bunny dressing both of us. Damn, I felt useless. I was able to get to her car without help. She lived on the first floor. She took me to Ray’s for breakfast.
Afterwards I called Rodney to come escort me to the office and help me up the stairs. He was there in a heartbeat. Always eager to please.
“You remember Rodney,” I said to Bunny.
“Oh, yeah. The nephew. I liked the other shirt better, Rodney, but the shave and haircut is an improvement.”
We walked across the street. The olive drab Chevy was there again. They were still watching. I considered calling Bill Penrod, but by the time we got up the stairs I had forgotten about it.
“Good morning, Willa.”
“Good morning. Amanda called. Just checking up. I didn’t know where you were, so she was worried. Rodney said he left you with Bunny, so I figured you were okay.”
“Did either of you think to call my cell phone?”
“I didn’t want to get you out of the middle of somebody.”
Man, that Willa had a mouth on her.
“Rodney,” I said, “can you get us one of those whiteboards with felt-tip markers? We’re going to need one for talking points for this case. The office supply store should have them.”
“Yeah, I can get one. Am I helping you with the case?”
“Yes. I’d like to bounce some of my ideas off you, and I need the board to organize them.”
“Man, that’s cool. Can I get a badge like yours?”
“Sure. Google ‘private investigator badge’ and you’ll find them. Mine cost about thirty bucks.”
“I’ll do it when I get back,” he said. “Do I have to pay for it myself?”
“You do.”
“What about a gun?”
“No gun.”
“Why not?”
Kids always whine and ask why not whenever you tell them they can’t have or do something. Usually, “because I say so” is a sufficient answer, but in this case I had the law on my side.
“Because you have to be twenty-one to get a carry permit, is why not. Now go get the whiteboard.”
Willa gave Rodney some money from petty cash, and he headed out.
I went into my office and got Roscoe out of the safe. It hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. I took it out of the holster and unloaded it. My gun cleaning kit was in a desk drawer under a bunch of other junk. I got it out and carefully cleaned the piece, enjoying the procedure and the unmistakable scent of gun oil.
I wasn’t going to go anywhere without Roscoe now that the ever-diligent soldier boys were on my trail again. My badge was still pinned to the holster. I reloaded the gun, put it in the holster, and put the assembly into my top desk drawer.
I called Ray’s Diner. Bunny answered.
“What’s for lunch?” I asked.
“How about a taco?”
After the laughter faded, I said, “Can’t make it over there to-day. My orderly is out on an errand and won’t be back.”
“Shall I bring you something?”
“Yeah. Bring something for Willa too.”
In about a half hour, Bunny was there with three club sandwiches in Styrofoam boxes. Willa was pleased that she wouldn’t have to go out and that we’d thought of her. I let her think it was Bunny’s idea.
The three of us ate together. Willa kept looking at Bunny with a suspicious eye. Willa did not hide her disapproval. Bunny would break my heart again. It had occurred to me too.
Rodney was back after lunch with a big flat carton. He took it into my office and took the whiteboard out of the box.
“Hang it over there,” I said pointing to the blank wall opposite the window.
He went to his truck and came back with his toolbox. In a matter of minutes the board was hanging on the wall. Accessories included a pack of markers, an eraser, and a spray bottle of cleaner. We were ready to go.
I told Rodney to stand at the board and make a chart of suspects’ names with columns alongside for means, motive, opportunity, alibi, and the date I interviewed each suspect. I called out names, and he wrote them on the board. Mr. and Mrs. Sproles, Vitole’s wife, Missy, Serena, Sanford, and Ramon.
On another part of the board I had him list witnesses along with the date interviewed and comments about what they saw or knew. So far the witness list was empty.
Rodney had nice block-letter handwriting. I was surprised.
“You know, Uncle Stanley, we could have done all this with a spreadsheet on the computer.”
“Yeah, but then I couldn’t lean back in my chair and ponder them. Call me old-fashioned. This is how we used to do it when I worked homicide.”
Across the top of the board we made a timeline that traced events related to the case by date and time. We’d add to the timeline as we learned new things.
“How about this?” Rodney said. “Every time we update the board, I’ll take a picture of it and upload it to the computer? That way, we’ll have a record.”
“Okay. And print one for Willa to put in the file.”
Willa came in to look at our artwork.
“The Y people,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“Almost everybody’s name ends with a Y. Stanley, Rodney, Missy, Bunny, Jeremy, Mandy, Vitole.
“Mandy, Bunny, and Jeremy aren’t part of this case,” I said.
“But they fit the pattern.”
“Vitole doesn’t end in a Y.
“It sounds like it does. So does Overbee.”
“You left out Mickey,” I said.
“Who’s Mickey?” she asked.
I tapped my watch. She laughed and went back to her office.
Rodney and I spent the afternoon kicking around theories and opinions about various aspects of the case. Rodney’s contributions were superficial at best, but I needed someone to bounce off whatever crazy notion I had. Penrod and I used to do that a lot, and I missed that part of being a murder cop.