Three Times Lucky (7 page)

“I … What I mean is, I’ll just show the ladies out the back way,” he said, edging toward the hall door.

“Well, don’t wake up Lavender’s daddy,” she said. “And don’t you drive, either. You smell like a brewery. And tell Dale to get in here with that ice.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Mo, you want a ride home?”

“Go on, Mo,” Lavender said, winking. “You’ve saved me enough for one day.”

“Wait,” I said, grabbing Miss Rose’s hand. “Let me call the Colonel and see if I can stay over. Please,” I begged.
“I’m Doctor Appointed.”

For the first time since Lavender walked through the
door, Miss Rose actually looked at me. Her face softened, and she reached up to brush the hair from my eyes. “Sometimes I think you love Lavender near as much as I do,” she said.

“Gag me,” Dale said, handing his mother a towel full of ice.

“Call the Colonel, then,” she told me. “Tell him you’re invited.”

I darted across the room and scooped up the phone. The Colonel answered on the first ring. “This is the Colonel,” he said. “Speak to me.”

“Hey, Colonel,” I said. “It’s Mo.”

“Soldier,” he said. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Dale’s. I’m invited to spend the night, and—”

“I want you home,” he said.

“Yes, sir. The thing is—”

“I want you home. Now. That’s an order.”

“I see. Hold on a second, sir.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Miss Rose?” I said. “The Colonel would like to speak with you, to work out the details of my visit.”

Miss Rose glided toward me, reaching for the phone. “Good evening, Colonel,” she said. “I hope you’re well. We’d be delighted for Mo to stay with us tonight if—” She nodded as she listened, her smile fading away. “I see,” she finally said. “Sam is just leaving. I’ll send her with him.”

Her face went ashen. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

Her knees buckled and she sank onto the high-backed chair by the phone. “Certainly,” she said. “I’ll keep her safe until you arrive.” She let the phone clatter into its cradle, and a sharp-edged silence filled the room.

“What’s wrong?” Lavender asked, swinging his feet to the floor.

For a moment, she looked at us as if we were strangers. “There’s been a murder at Fool’s Bridge,” she said, her voice distant and off pitch. “Jesse Tatum is dead.”

“Mr.
Jesse?
” I yelped. “
Our
Mr. Jesse?”

“Who killed him?” Lavender asked.

“They don’t know who killed him, or why. Or where the murderer is, for that matter,” she said, glancing toward the door. “They found Jesse’s body adrift in his own rowboat. The one somebody stole … when was it … Monday? Tuesday?”

I looked at Dale.

The blood fell from his face in a single, swift curtain as Lavender stood up, crossed the room, and locked the door.

The Colonel’s face looked gaunt in the dashboard’s glow as the Underbird bounced out of Miss Rose’s drive and onto the blacktop heading to town.

“Dead? Are you sure they mean
our
Mr. Jesse?” I asked.

“I’m sure.”

I settled into the Underbird’s bucket seat and took a deep breath. It felt like a thousand spiders had spun their silk inside my head. “Somebody’s made a mistake,” I said. “I served Mr. Jesse his lunch not eight hours ago. He stiffed me on the tip, just like always. He’s fine. Turn by Miss Blalock’s barn up here,” I said, pointing. “We can take the back way to Mr. Jesse’s, through the woods. He’ll straighten this out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said, cruising past the turn.

My anger jumped like a cat and took a few quick, hot
paces around my chest. “Turn around,” I heard myself shout. He didn’t blink. “Fine,” I muttered, scrunching down in the seat. “I’ll take my bike. I’ll find Mr. Jesse myself. Or the police will find him. You’ll see.”

The Colonel placed his hand on mine. “The police have already found Jesse Tatum,” he said. “That’s how we know he’s dead.”

They’re rough hands, the Colonel’s, with a touch soft as nightfall.

“Death always shocks, even when you expect it,” he said. “This is your first experience, and Jesse’s death is anything
but
expected. Take some time to get your bearings.”

I slumped, watching the pines flicker by in the headlights’ glow. “You may not know this, but Mr. Jesse was like a father to me,” I said. The Colonel’s right eyebrow drifted up. “Okay, not like a father,” I said. “More like an uncle, maybe. A stingy, selfish uncle who was secretly nice inside.”

The Colonel sighed. “Jesse Tatum was a miserly, fetid old goat. The truth is you didn’t particularly like him and neither did I. Still, we are accustomed to him,” he said. “He’s part of our world. I will miss him and I expect you will too.”

We rode in silence to the edge of town. “Colonel, who would kill Mr. Jesse?”

He shook his head, and his lips went tight. “I don’t know. The police are wondering the same thing,” he said, “not that they have enough sense to figure it out. Never underestimate the idiocy of our criminal justice system, Soldier.”

“No sir, I won’t. But—”

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Keep your eyes and ears open, and keep your opinions to yourself. Bring anything you learn about Jesse to me. Or, if I am away, to Lana. To no one else. Stay close to us until further notice. We are safe, but there is a killer among us. We must prepare to defend ourselves if necessary. And the best defense is what, Soldier?”

“A good offense,” I said. “You’ve told me a million times. I just don’t see how—”

“Leave the ‘how’ to me. Here we are,” he added, hanging a right at the café. “Maybe my spot by the door is still open.”

I surveyed the packed parking lot. “Karate Night,” I muttered as the Underbird shuddered to a stop. “I forgot.”

He nodded. “And other people have stopped by to see about Jesse. They’re scared. Nothing like this has ever happened in Tupelo Landing.” He opened his door and gave me a quick smile. “Mr. Li’s karate class is nearly over, but maybe you’ll feel better if you practice your kicks.”

“Maybe,” I sighed, heading for the café door. “I can’t feel much worse.”

Mr. Li started Karate Night at the café two years ago. The Colonel keeps just the counter open after the supper rush, and lets Mr. Li push the tables to the walls and use the floor space. In return, Mr. Li gives Dale and me free lessons for life. Dale hates it. I enjoy kicking others, but would do better in an art that allows spitting.

The Colonel offers Karate Night as a public service, same as Jaycees on Tuesdays and Miss Jennifer’s Ballroom on Mondays. Wednesdays we hold open for Emergency Bridal Showers. As we entered the café, the Colonel draped a wiry arm across my shoulders. “Keep your wits about you,” he whispered. “There is an enemy among us, and you are new to the ways of war.”

Mr. Li, dressed in his trim white gi and faded black belt, spotted the Colonel at once.
“Rei!”
he shouted, and his students turned to the Colonel and bowed. We bowed back.

Some say the Colonel earned his black belt in Okinawa, and killed a man to get it. Others say he bought it used at a Fayetteville flea market and never had a lesson in his life. Either way, Mr. Li always bows—just in case, Miss Lana says.

“Miss Mo, will you please join us?” Mr. Li said. “Miss Anna needs a partner. No spitting.” I grabbed a set of
pads and sprang in front of Anna Celeste Simpson.

“Hey Mo-ron,” she whispered, an evil glint in her eyes.

“Hey yourself, Attila Celeste,” I hissed.

Mr. Li clapped. “Ten-way block drill. Begin!” I went at Attila, swinging with all my might. Sadly, she blocked every punch. Mr. Li blew his whistle. “Roundhouse kick! Lean and twist your body when you kick. Throw your weight behind it. Begin!”

“What’s that smell?” Attila panted after our third set.

“Sweat,” I said. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

“At least I have a mother, Mo-ron,” she said. “And I don’t mean the sweat.”

I sniffed. “Seaweed salads,” I said. “Miss Lana stocked them for Karate Night. She says they’re thematic. The Colonel’s giving them away before they go bad.”

Mr. Li clapped. “Mo! Stop talking!” As we practiced, more townsfolk drifted in, hungry for information and the comfort of friends. At quarter past nine, Mayor Little burst through the door, glistening and out of breath. We froze.

“Everyone settle down,” he gasped, fanning his red face with both hands. “Don’t panic. Detective Starr has things well in hand. The man is a God-send. Stay calm, and have faith in your civil servants. We’ll get past this little speed bump in no time.”

Attila Celeste raised her hand. “I don’t think it’s fair to
call Mr. Jesse a speed bump just because he’s dead,” she said. “It’s not like he can defend himself.”

For a brief instant, I almost liked her.

The mayor zigzagged by, holding his tie to keep it from brushing our sweaty arms.

“Is it true, then, Mayor?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton warbled from the end of the counter. “Is Jesse Tatum officially dead?”

“Dead is such an unflattering term,” he said, sliding onto his stool. “I prefer to think of Jesse as … passé.”

The Azalea Women gasped.

“What’s
passé
mean?” Tinks Williams asked the Colonel, his voice low.

“Dead,” the Colonel said, refilling Tinks’s iced tea.

Mr. Li clapped his hands, snapping the class back to attention. “Line up for kick drills!” he commanded. “Upper belts first!” Thes, in his green belt, and legal whiz Skeeter McMillan, in her brown, stepped to the line along with three high schoolers. “Fighting movement number one!” Mr. Li said. “Front kick, punch-punch, round kick! Begin!”

They set off in perfect unison, slinking across the floor like a band of lethal ballerinas. “Next group! Begin!” The café door swung open as I kicked at Attila’s head. She lunged out of range just in time, lost her balance, and crumpled to the floor.

“Nice round kick, Biblical Mo,” Detective Starr said from the doorway. He gazed around the café as if he could freeze-frame the faces staring back at him. “I could use a cup of coffee, Colonel, if you’ve got one,” he said, strolling to the counter.

The Colonel hid a scowl as he reached for a clean mug.

Starr’s eyes looked tired, and his gray pants were stained black with mud. “I know you have questions, and I’ll answer all I can,” he told us, tossing his hat on the counter and sitting down. He opened his notepad. “First,” he said, “I have a few.” He glanced up. “If you don’t mind, Sensei, I’ll start with you.”

Mr. Li nodded. If he was nervous, it didn’t show.

“Your class started when, sir?”

“Eight o’clock. After the supper crowd left.”

“Was everyone on time?”

“Everyone except Mo.”

I took my place behind the counter, by the Colonel. “I was late from being Doctor Appointed,” I said. “I can get a note if needed.” I stepped up on my Pepsi crate and peered at Starr’s notepad. “Is that all the clues you got? It doesn’t look like much.”

He moved his notes. “Did any of you pass by Mr. Jesse’s tonight?” he asked, scanning the café.

Attila raised her hand. “That’s Attila Celeste,” I whispered,
propping my elbows on the counter. “She lives down the creek from Mr. Jesse. Her parents drive her around like she’s a princess. If she didn’t take karate, you’d never even guess she had feet.”

He didn’t look at me. “Colonel, could you do something with her, please?”

“Hey,” I snapped, but the Colonel put his hand over mine and shook his head.

Starr picked up his pen. “What time did you pass Mr. Jesse’s place, Miss … ?”

“Miss Anna Celeste Simpson, and I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, tossing her hair. “My mother and I drove by Mr. Jesse’s a little before four o’clock. We came into town early because we wanted to go to the Piggly Wiggly, plus I needed a trim. Unlike some people, I won’t tolerate split ends,” she added, shooting me a nasty look.

“Right,” Starr said. “Did you see anyone near Jesse Tatum’s house?”

“A boy, maybe,” she said. “By the creek. He was pulling something, or … I don’t know. I only saw him through the trees. Who knows what boys do? It’s a mystery to me.”

My heart lurched. She’d seen Dale returning Mr. Jesse’s boat, sure as my name’s Mo LoBeau. I put my hand in my pocket and closed my fingers around my half of Mr. Jesse’s finder’s fee—money we tricked him out of. Suddenly I felt sick.

“Can you identify the boy?” Starr asked.

I tried to slow my heartbeat. What if Attila realized she’d seen Dale at Mr. Jesse’s just before the murder? What if Starr found out Dale had swiped Mr. Jesse’s boat? How much trouble would he be in? How much trouble would I be in? I needed time to think. I turned to Starr. “All boys look alike to Anna Celeste,” I said. “She’s boy crazy.”

“Soldier,”
the Colonel snapped, clamping his fingers into my shoulder. “At ease.”

Attila blushed. “I am not boy crazy,” she said. “All I saw is light hair and a dark shirt. Black, maybe. I didn’t stare. Why would I? I didn’t know Mr. Jesse was dead.”

“Maybe it was Thes,” I suggested. “He’s a boy.”

“It wasn’t me,” Thes yelped. “I got red hair. And a dark shirt, well, that could be half the boys in town.”

Starr looked around the café. “Did anybody else see him?”

Skeeter looked at Attila, then at me. I could see it in her eyes: She knew it was Dale. Panic swirled through me like a flock of blackbirds banking into a tree. I shook my head. She nodded so faintly, her nod could have been mistaken for a breath. She wouldn’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.

“Anna, I’ll need to talk to your mother,” Starr said.

“Betsy Simpson, she’s in the book,” the Colonel said,
finally pouring Starr’s coffee. “You don’t really think a kid killed Jesse, do you?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” Starr said without looking up, and the vein in the Colonel’s forehead jumped to attention. Now I reached over and patted the
Colonel’s
hand. “Colonel, did Jesse Tatum come in for supper tonight?”

“Negative,” he growled, picking up a dishtowel.

“Well, that’s twice a pity,” Mayor Little said. “The Colonel’s teriyaki chicken is simply out of this world. And if Jesse had come in for dinner, he might not be so passé. Oh my gosh,” he added, slapping himself on the forehead. “What am I thinking? Detective, you must be famished. I’m sure the Colonel would be glad to scare you up some supper, even with the kitchen closed. Wouldn’t you, Colonel?”