Smoke and Mirrors

48

The blue and white restaurant, painted royal blue and white, was located on Highway 61. The Tunica County institution looked like a large roadside restaurant and gas station. Years before it had been a popular truck stop, but all that remained of that was the original cafe structure, the gas pumps long since removed. There was an L-shaped dining room, tables, and a series of booths against the open kitchen.

Brad waved at or made small talk with several diners before joining Winter and Alexa Keen at a corner table.

Brad said as he slid in, “I went over our missing-person files, and some of the people were supposedly headed here, or had called someone from here to say they’d won big. So it’s safe to assume Beals was using his casino job to target people like Scotoni. People he checked out. Maybe he killed them and disposed of their bodies. According to the IRS, four of the missing people paid taxes on winnings at the Roundtable.”

Winter said, “Beals was a security guard, so he would have needed a partner with access to information on the targets. He filmed them leaving, so I think he was off duty when they took their winnings out.”

“Could Styer have been his partner?” Alexa asked.

“I doubt it,” Winter said. “Robbery would be lower than bottom-feeding for him. Styer killed Beals, but Beals’s robbery operation wasn’t their connection. I think the Roundtable is connected to Styer’s presence, and the land Leigh owns has to be why Sherry is dead. Maybe Beals knew about Styer. It’s quite possible the casino wanted Beals killed, so Styer did it, tying Sherry’s murder to Beals so the trail ends there.”

“He knows you’ll know it’s him, but you won’t be able to tie him in officially,” Alexa said.

“The casino may have had Sherry killed as a message,” Brad said.

“Far as the FBI knows, the Roundtable is clean,” Alexa said.

“Doesn’t mean they’re clean,” Winter said.

Brad said, “Albert White knew we were talking about Scotoni and we never used his name. Not proof we can use. White left his job in West Memphis and took the casino position when RRI bought it. Beals went to work there three years ago.”

“Circumstantial at best,” Winter said. “Could be White and Beals were in cahoots, but it still isn’t enough for a search warrant on White’s place. What do we know about RRI?”

“RRI is owned by a German industrial family named Klein,” Alexa said. “Kurt Klein is the present CEO of Klein Industries, which owns RRI. Klein is a billionaire industrialist. RRI is his hobby.”

Winter looked around the room.

“A big-deal German would have access to Styer’s services. He may have brought in Styer to clear the way for the land acquisition. Maybe the purpose of killing Sherry was to put pressure on Jacob. And he killed Beals because Beals could identify him,” Alexa speculated.

Winter said, “Only thing I know is that whatever Styer’s up to, he’s not finished yet.”

“How can you be sure?” Brad asked.

“Because he hasn’t yet made an appearance before Winter,” Alexa said. “And that’s his bow before the curtain falls.”

The trio had finished eating when a slightly stooped white-haired man wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat and a bulky wool coat over a cardigan walked in, looked at their table, and made a beeline for it. A second man, about the same age but twenty pounds heavier, came in behind him.

“Looks like we’re about to have company,” Winter said. “Based on the pictures in your den, I’d say this is the famous Dr. Barnett.”

Brad turned and raised his chin in salute to his father, who was greeting diners as he made his way toward them. “The other man is his best friend, Woody Seiders. They grew up together. Woody is a fixture and a hell of a handyman. He oversees Daddy’s rental properties, keeps my yard straight, and plays nickel-dime poker with Dad and their buddies every other Monday night.”

Woody smiled and waved at Brad as the two men approached.

Brad stood and pulled out a chair beside him, which the doctor lowered himself into. Woody took a chair from a vacant table and sat at the corner to Dr. Barnett’s left.

“Alexa, Winter, this is my father, William Barnett, and Woody Seiders. Dad, Woody, meet Alexa Keen and Winter Massey.”

“Call me Will,” he said, shaking hands with Alexa and Winter. His handshake was firm, his hand warm, the skin loose, bones close to the surface. His bright gray eyes locked on Alexa’s. “My, what a delightful dinner companion you gentlemen have. Ms. Keen, you bring sunshine into an otherwise dreary evening. Is there a Mr. Keen?”

“Alexa,” she said, smiling.

“Cut the crap, Dad. You’re about forty years too late for her,” Brad said, shaking his head.

Woody guffawed. “Doc’s just window-shopping these days. Sex at his age would be like playing the drums with cooked spaghetti.”

“Nonsense. Some younger women appreciate the added value and benefits offered by a mature gentleman. Especially when he’s a Harvard-trained physician who isn’t going to live forever or leave his considerable estate, which includes an above-average coin collection, to his surviving son.”

“Where’s my shovel? It’s knee-deep in here,” Woody said.

Alexa smiled. “Most women do appreciate a mature gentleman,” she said. “It’s nice to meet a handsome man who is also a physician,” she went on. “Not even counting a coin collection.”

“General practitioner for forty-four years,” William said.

“Alexa is with the FBI. Winter is…”

“Been helping you find Sherry’s killer,” William said. “I know all about him, and he did a great job wrapping it up. Little of consequence, or without, escapes my network of ever-faithful patients. Speaking of which, I saw Cynthia yesterday afternoon at the office.”

“She came to see you for….?” Brad asked.

“That’s about six miles into none of your business, Bradley. Beautiful child, Cynthia. So, Agent Keen, before my son interrupted, you were about to tell me about your present marital prospects.”

“I didn’t have any before tonight,” she said, smiling.

“You were once married, I bet,” William said.

She shook her head. “Not yet, Will.”

“Well now, my dear, that has to be a situation of your own choosing.”

“Just haven’t found the right gentleman,” she said teasingly.

“I don’t suppose my son mentioned that I am an accomplished ballroom dancer.”

“Mostly he accomplishes flattening toes,” Woody said.

“Daddy,” Brad said, “Alexa’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“I often wish I’d had a daughter,” William said, frowning at his son.