Page 52 of Cougar Point

Lucas was facing Mac, but he saw Anderson shake her head a little out of the corner of his eye. He turned to her. “You don’t think so?”

Anderson folded her arms, looking irritated that Lucas had read her reaction. “I don’t know. I don’t like to jump to conclusions.”

“Sometimes, you just have to accept the conclusion staring you in the?—”

Mac broke off as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at the screen and answered with his name.

“Tony? You at Greenwood’s place? Tell him I?—”

He stopped again, and his eyes widened. Lucas and Anderson exchanged a glance.

“Jesus. Okay. Okay. I’ll be there in a half hour.”

He hung up and ran his hand over his bald head.

“What happened?” Anderson asked. “Is he still coming?”

“He ain’t coming anywhere. They just found Greenwood’s body in his study. He shot himself.”

THIRTY-SIX

What Lucas told me of the kidnap/murder disturbs me. I won’t tell Ronnie’s family. There’s no need to frighten them. Yet.

But I can’t help but see parallels between that poor woman from Ohio and Victoria’s disappearance. Jack denied he and Victoria were having bad marital issues, but it was the first thing that came to mind for both Ronnie and Rebecca. And Jack didn’t want to involve the police. He was pissed Rebecca had called Ronnie. And then I show up. Surprise! He’s making all kinds of excuses for her absence, but they all fall short of being remotely believable. I make a mental note to have Ronnie check Jack’s personal finances. See if he’s moving large sums of money around to hide it from a divorce attorney.

A road sign announces we’ve arrived in Custer. It’s a wide spot in the road kind of place. The kind of place you leave if you walk outside. I look behind at the sign and say, “The other side of the sign says, ‘LEAVING CUSTER.’”

Lucas slows and watches for our destination. “Custer’s only claim to fame is Loretta Lynn. The country singer, may she rest in peace.”

I’m young but I know who Loretta Lynn is.

He feels the need to continue. “Loretta lived here when she started her career.”

“Wow!” I can see why she left.

The houses we pass coming into town are newer ranch-style brick and stucco with swimming pools, but as we get closer to the center of town all the houses are trailers or wood cabins. It is a shanty town. More shanty than town. One or two homes have rusted and tireless cars or trucks on cinder blocks in front of the house. The wealthy ones have both a car and a truck on blocks. Another has lawnmower parts strewn across the lawn and front porch. A sign on one mower advertises “Mowr and Small Ingne Repare.” I want to tell Lucas to stop and let me correct the spelling. But I’m being unkind. These people are probably happier than those that measure happiness by possessions. Take Jack for example.

The address Lucas is looking for turns out to be a tavern on a corner that boasts the only stop sign we’ve come across. There’s no signage on the place but I’m sure it’s a tavern because of all the pickup trucks parked outside and the neon beer mug sign in the window. I imagine this place to be too small to have a police presence, but I’m wrong.

We park outside the tavern among the work trucks and go inside. It’s only 8 p.m. but every person inside looks as though they’ve been there for a while. Five men inside and a middle-aged woman bartender, who is bigger than any of the men, turn and look at the newcomers. I’m expecting someone to say,Ya’ ain’t from around here, are ya’?I only hope they don’t say,You sure got a pretty mouth. But the bartender says to the men, “Make room for the paying customers. I’ve got a business to run and don’t have time for all this chatter.” The men grumble but it’s friendly and they make way for us newcomers.

“What would you like?” she asks. “Wait. Let me guess. The lady wants Scotch, no ice. The gentleman wants Jack Daniels with ice on the side.”

She doesn’t wait for our answer to pour our drinks, drops some ice cubes into a glass and puts our drinks in front of us. One of the men down the bar says, “Tammy’s a mind reader. She tells fortunes too. She told me not to marry my wife and, boy, I should ’a listened.”

After the guffaw dies down, another man says, “I thought you was widowed, Hank?”

“I am.” He holds up four fingers. “Three times now.”

Someone can’t count or he’s already stupid drunk. All of them are grinning so I sip my Scotch and watch the show.

“What happened to ’em, Hank?”

“First two died from mushroom poisoning.”

They all fake a shocked expression. “No! What happened to the last one?”

Hank looks around with a wicked grin splitting his face and says, “She wouldn’t eat the mushrooms so I took her and her cat out in the country and left them. She never came back.” Even Tammy is laughing so hard I think she’ll spit her false teeth on the bar.

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