Tin City Tinder (A Boone Childress Mystery) Read online

  Ronnie picked up the newspaper. “You wanna know what we want?” he said, his face getting redder every second. “We want this shit to cease.”

  “What shit?” I said and pushed Donnie away.

  “This dead Mexican shit. Yesterday, somebody filed a complaint against Eugene. Now, he’s suspended while the captain investigates. That complaint needs to disappear. You got it?” He tossed the paper into the bowl and flushed it. “If that complaint don’t disappear, that’s going to be your head going around the bowl and down the hole. Got that, liberal?”

  “Liberal?” I said, “Why do y’all keep calling me that? It doesn’t hurt my feelings, you know.”

  “Because you ain’t got sense to know when you’re insulted. Come on, Don. We got other fish to fry.”

  “I bet you do!” I yelled after them. “Probably a couple of barns, too!”

  They used the side door, which led to the emergency exit near the parking lot. I heard the alarm sound. After they left, I picked up all my stuff and shoved it into my backpack.

  Stupid ass rednecks. If they thought threatening me would change anything, they were dumber than they looked.

  I heard the sound of tennis shoes squeaking.

  “Turn around,” Dewayne Loach said. “Childress, I’m talking to you.”

  “The twins just left.” I faced Dewayne. “So what are you, the B-team?”

  “Your friend, the Japanese kid. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt. I made the boys lay off after I recognized him.”

  “You just confessed to a felony,” I said. “I’m calling the sheriff, and you’re going to jail.”

  “Your word against mine, Childress. Like the cops would believe you anyhow. You think they don’t know what’s been going on?”

  “Spare me.” Hoyt would never look the other way on an assault. Or would he? Maybe I didn’t know Hoyt as well as I thought I did. “She was Guatemalan.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman who died. Mrs. Vega. Turns out she wasn’t Mexican. She was from Guatemala.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “The way I see it, if you’re going to let somebody die for being Mexican, you should at least make sure they’re from Mexico. Or do they all look alike to Eugene and you?”

  Dewayne balled up a fist. He swung hard, and I ducked, but Dewayne wasn’t aiming for me.

  His fist slammed into a locker and left a dent.

  A trickle of blood ran between his fingers.

  I decided to push my luck. “You say you’re sorry, Dewayne. Prove it. Come with me to the Sheriff’s office and tell him what your boys did to Luigi. Tell him about the boys terrorizing the Latinos.”

  Dewayne shook his head. “You must want me in the graveyard, because that’s where I’d be if Eugene found out.”

  “The sheriff can—“

  “Eugene’s the only kin I got left. My whole family was firefighters. My granddaddy and daddy both died trying in the line of duty. There ain’t nothing like seeing the fire marshal’s white car pull into your driveway, instead of your daddy’s truck. You think you got it all figured out, Childress, but it ain’t so easy to be a hero.”

  5

  After my morning class, my cell rang. I answered, expecting it to be Cedar. I was disappointed when my grandfather’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Meet me at the jail,” he said.

  “Thought you were out of jail.”

  “I’m going back for a visit.”

  “I have a test at noon.”

  “You studied for it?”

  “For three hours.”

  “Then meet me at the jail. It won’t take but a few minutes, and you’re the only one he’ll talk to.”

  “Who?”

  “Stumpy Meeks.”

  Twenty minutes later, Abner led me to the visitors’ area of the county jail. There was a bank of windows, complete with dark green phones for talking to the prisoners. The prisoner in this case was Stumpy, who looked like he’d been put through the wringer.

  As Abner pulled heavy metal chairs in front of the glass, I was stunned by how the man had changed. Stumpy had never been a model of good grooming. Now, he looked like a man who had gone feral and spent his time wallowing in the mud. His hair was thick and matted, his head caked with black dirt, and there were red welts on his forehead and neck. The blindingly orange inmate jumpsuit he wore didn’t help, either. Nor did the fact that it fit him like an oversized tent.

  Abner yelled through a vent in the glass. “You look like death warmed over. Good god, man. Didn’t they bathe you?”

  Stumpy blinked slowly. “Do I know you, old man?”

  “He’s my grandfather, Abner Zickafoose. He’s here to help.”

  Abner leaned down to the vent. “You got a lawyer yet? You didn’t talk to the cops, did you?”

  “Sure, I did,” Stumpy said. “I told them to kiss my ass and get Mr. Childress here.”

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “Cause you’re the only one who believes I didn’t burn that house.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” Abner said. “Anybody with any sense would know that. The thing is, there’s not a lick of sense to be had in this county. So you need an attorney.”

  “Like I got the money for a lawyer. Ain’t got two cents to my name.”

  “The court will appoint one for you,” I said. “He can petition the court to lower your bail.”

  “You actually believe that?” Stumpy laughed. “Shoot, they’re going to let me rot under the jail.”

  It was hard to argue with a man wearing swamp mud for makeup. “At least give it a try.”

  Abner took the phone. He spoke softly, so that the jailer couldn’t hear. “Why did you take the chemicals out of the school storeroom?”

  Stumpy jerked slightly, and his mouth turned down. “How’d you know about that?”

  “You just told me,” Abner said. “Got an answer to my question?”

  “They’ll kill me.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Ain’t as stupid as I look. Folks like this, you don’t mess with.”

  “That’s why you’ve been hiding out in the swamps?” Abner said. “You’re afraid?”

  “You’d be afraid, too, old man.” He chewed on a piece of dead skin on his thumb. “Between you, me, and the wall, I got myself into a bad spot. To get out of it, I had to do this…thing. I had to take a few things from the storeroom and then leave them in the janitor’s closet for pick up. But that’s all.”

  “Who picked up the chemicals?”

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  “Who asked you to steal them?”

  “Y’know, now that I think about it,” Stumpy said, “maybe it’d be good idea if I was to stop talking.”

  I took the phone from Abner. “Listen to me, Stumpy. We can help, but you have to help us prove you’re innocent.”

  “That’s the problem. I ain’t innocent.” Stumpy signaled the jailer. “I’m guilty as sin.”

  6

  “That didn’t go as planned,” I told Abner as we walked down a long concrete corridor to the waiting area.

  “I wish he’d told us more about the chemicals,” Abner said. “That’s the key to solving this thing.”

  I signed out at the jailer’s desk. “He’s just afraid. I would be too, if they were accusing me of arson.”

  “The arson charge isn’t scaring him. He knows he’s not guilty. There’s something more going on here.”

  The jailer buzzed the door, and we walked into the waiting room. “Don’t you think Hoyt is going to be pissed about you investigating?”

  “What Hoyt doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He can arrest me again if he wants, but the charges won’t stick. He’s just trying to scare an old man.”

  “But why? You’re helping him solve the case.”

  “Some men,” Abner said, “don’t want to be helped.”

  I tailed Abner out. “So, what leads do we follow now?”


  “You interviewed that band teacher, right?”

  “Not yet. Eugene Loach—”

  “Loach. That name keeps coming up, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Doc,” I said, “It does.”

  “He’s got nothing to with this case, Boone. Leave him to the experts.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc.”

  But I had no intention of letting Abner throw me off the trail. Stumpy Meeks was counting on me. The chemicals stolen from the schools were all alkali metals. Highly reactive. Highly volatile. Very difficult to remove once they were handled. Easily discovered with spectra analysis. I had to get Eugene near a spectra analysis machine. Obviously, that wasn’t going to work. I needed a lord high substitute, something capable of identifying minute traces of alkali metals.

  We reached the main entrance to the jail area. I opened the door for Abner again, and in walked a middle-aged woman wearing heavy sunglasses and a kerchief over her hair.

  “Dr. K?” I said.

  “Oh!” she said. “Boone! I didn’t see you there. Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

  “Visiting Stumpy Meeks.”

  “Stumpy? You mean Henry.” Her mouth pinched so tightly, her lips disappeared. “How, how do you know Henry?”

  “We’re friends. Sort of. He asked me to come down. They’re trying to charge him with arson. He doesn’t have a lawyer.”

  “He certainly does now.” Her shoulders drew back, and her spine straightened. “I’ve seen to it.”

  “So you’re friends with Stumpy?”

  “Not really.” She removed the sunglasses. She’d been crying. “Henry Meeks is my brother, and I’m here to see me through this ordeal. We Blevinses always stick together.”

  “Wait,” I said. “His last name is Meeks.”

  “Henry is my half-brother,” she said and excused herself.

  As we walked across the parking lot, my mind reeled with the implications of what my science professor had just revealed. If she and Stumpy were half brothers, then so were Stumpy and Mr. Blevins. That meant that Stumpy had an interest in the same property that Blevins had sold to Landis.

  Funny, Stumpy didn’t look like someone who had recently inherited valuable property.

  “That was interesting,” I said as we climbed into Abner’s Range Rover.

  “Downright peculiar,” Abner agreed. “But it does make your job easier.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s no reason for you to interview the band teacher. I just found out all I needed to know.”

  “Great. Now, I can go after Loach.”

  “No, leave Loach to the—“

  “Experts. I know.”

  Luckily, the US Government and the United States Navy both thought I was an expert at gathering intelligence.

  I had the service medal to prove it.

  7

  “You need to borrow my what?” Cedar asked me a few hours later.

  We were on the courthouse green, where volunteers were setting up tents for the YamFest vendor fair. My mom had reserved three booths for the fair—one for her vet practice, one for Lamar’s business, and one for the Allegheny County Historical Society. The Society had launched a petition against the Tin City development, and they were hoping to collect hundreds of signatures to stop the re-interment of the cemetery.

  “Your nose.”

  Cedar clapped a hand over her face. “No way.”

  “Not your nose, you’re N.O.S.E. Your device for detecting smells. I need it to gather evidence against Eugene Loach.”

  “Just teasing.” She said. “I knew what you meant. But seriously? You’ve got Loach on the brain.”

  “What if I told you that he is a serial arsonist and that I need to find traces of alkali metals on his person to prove it?”

  “Alkali? That’s like sodium and lithium.”

  “And potassium, rubidium, cesium, except for francium.”

  “Which hardly exists on Earth. I know. So you’re looking for all of them?”

  “Sodium, definitely. Maybe others. The chemicals in the school lab.”

  “The one’s that were stolen?”

  “Bingo.”

  “You think Eugene Loach stole them?”

  “Bingo.”

  “And you think Eugene Loach is suddenly smart enough to use alkali metals without blowing himself up?” she asked. “If you say bingo, I’m never kissing you again.”

  “Bin—“

  “Boone!”

  “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. No, Loach isn’t smart enough. Stumpy admitted that he himself stole the chemicals and left them for someone else to pick up.”

  “And based on this crackpot theory, you’d like to borrow my research experiment, a project that I’ve worked on for months, for hundreds of hours developing the software, the N.O.S.E device, calibrating data, and crunching numbers?”

  “Yes?

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Absolutely not. You’re not holding it up to a redneck version of Bigfoot and risk getting it crushed. Besides, it’s too unwieldy. I use a shopping cart to transport it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I do have another idea.”

  “Oh?”

  She whistled. “Chigger! Here, boy!”

  The beagle bounded out of her VW, which was parked on the green near the stature of General Allegheny. He raced across the grass, zigzagging through the rows of metal folding chairs, until he reached us.

  “Here,” Cedar said, rubbing the dog’s ears, “is your answer.”

  “Chigger?”

  “Hello? Five million scent receptors and trained by US Customs to detect bombs.”

  “Chigger flunked out of bomb sniffing school.”

  “Only because he was too aggressive around men,” she said. “Don’t besmirch the name of my dog.”

  “Besmirch?”

  “Didn’t you get the memo? Girls with extensive vocabularies are hot.”

  Okay, what signal was she sending? Play it cool? Be open and honest with my feelings? Just blurt it out? Yeah, that had worked so well before. “Cedar, about the other night. When I said…that thing.”

  “What about the other night?” she said with a straight face.

  So that’s how we’re going to play it? At least she was still speaking to me, instead of giving me the heave-ho.

  “Chigger will be great,” I said, changing the subject. “Thanks for the offer. Really. I’ll be glad to have him.”

  “You should act quickly, then, Bonne-san.” Luigi walked up to the booth, wearing oversized earphones. He carried an object shaped like a tuning fork in one hand and an ergonomic mouse in the other. “I heard your discussion and thought that I could aid you.”

  “You heard us?” I said. “Where were you?”

  “At Red Fox Java enjoying an iced milk and tea.” He raised the tuning fork. “I listened to you with this.”

  “What is this, exactly?” Cedar asked.

  “It’s his research project.”

  “Hai, hai,” Luigi said. “A small part of it. It allows me to isolate conversations from hundreds of meters away. I am awesome at dropping eaves.”

  “Eavesdropping” I said. “Wait, I have an idea.” I pointed to the corner were Eugene Loach had gathered with Atamasco Company for the parade. “Can you hear those guys talking?”

  Luigi pushed his glasses up with his middle finger. “Just like standing next to them.”

  “Perfect!” I said. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

  8

  The YamFest parade was a big deal. Over two hundred organizations, clubs, businesses, departments, and schools marched the route. There were so many people involved, I wondered how there was anyone left in town to watch it. The streets of Galax were virtually deserted, so Cedar and I had no trouble running parallel with the parade.

  We trotted at first, and the beagle pulled Cedar along. We lengthened our strides and turned on Fremont to cross ahead
of the parade. As we crossed on the WALK sign, the dog padded along, his attention focused on the yummy smells that decorated the sidewalks.

  The Atamasco VFW was number three in line for the parade, while the Allegheny house was near the end, number one hundred seventy three. As we ran with Chigger to catch up with the Atamasco firefighters, we passed several vollies from my own firehouse.

  “Time to get into position,” I told Cedar. “You and Chigger stay here. Wait for Luigi’s order.”

  “Yes sir!” She saluted as Chigger pulled on the leash. He wanted to keep running. “Behave!”

  “He’ll do great!”

  “I meant you, not the dog!”

  Turning the corner of Third and Palmetto, the Atamasco VFW, came into view. There were nineteen firefighters in brown and yellow turnouts lead by the fire captain’s yellow truck. The parade led them down the rivulet of Third Street to the wide channels of downtown.

  The parade turned the corner onto Palmetto Street. The tanker truck sounded its siren. On the corner of Second Street, we passed the public library building and neared the green.

  “Luigi,” I said into my mic, “tell Cedar to cross the street.”

  Through the ear bud Luigi had given us, I heard him give the order.

  Cedar acknowledged it.

  I blew my nose into my handkerchief.

  It was the signal.

  “Let’s go, Chigger,” Cedar said, her voice coming into my ear bud.

  Minutes later, Eugene Loach’s company marched past the public library. Loach was turned waving to the crowd when Cedar crashed into his hip, knocking him flat on the pavement.

  Cedar dropped knees-first on top of Eugene, pinning him to the ground.

  “Get off me!” Eugene bellowed. “You crazy bitch!”

  “Sorry,” Cedar said, “trying to catch my dog. Chigger!”

  “Lucky you’re a girl,” he said. “Or there’d be some ass kicking right here.”

  “Sorry,” Cedar said again.

  The other Atamasco firefighters stopped short, and Chigger raced between their legs until he found Cedar. He leaped into her arms, and she held him still long enough to get a good, long sniff of Eugene Loach’s body odor.