Bootlegger’s Daughter

24 you really had me going

You scared the holy shit out of me,” I raged.

“Well, how do you think I felt when I saw you waving that pistol around?” Dwight asked. “Bo Poole give you a permit to carry that thing?”

Before I could think of a misleading answer, he thumbed his walkie-talkie and it crackled into staticky life. So much for a radio up on the highway.

“Blue Jay to Baby Bird,” he said. “I’m back on the air. Over.”

“ ‘Blue Jay to Baby Bird’?” I hooted.

“Shh!”

Immediately I heard Jack Jamison’s voice. “Baby Bird to Blue Jay. The Snowball’s rolling. Just passed my position, heading north on Forty-Eight. Over.”

“Give him plenty of slack, Baby Bird. Out.”

Dwight flicked on his own flashlight and stepped from behind the screen. I followed and put on the overhead lights.

“Who thought up those names?” I teased.

Dwight just looked at me and shook his head. “The first thing most women would ask is what I’m doing here.”

“Obvious,” I said. “You’re waiting for Denn McCloy. Soon as I called you about a tapestry panel missing off Michael Vickery’s wall, you remembered how Denn stopped off here this afternoon. And then you figured that he’d probably sneak back tonight to get it.”

“You don’t?”

I’ve got to start remembering that Dwight knows me too well.

“Oh, he’s coming back for something,” I said, “only I think it’s something he left here himself Friday night.”

“Yeah?” He glanced at his watch and walked over to the door. “Come on. Let’s go where we can see him coming.”

Using our shielded flashlights, we walked through the aisles of the theater out to the front lobby where double glass doors overlooked the main drive in from the highway.

I didn’t need to have Dwight draw me a picture to know that he’d stood right here and watched me drive in and hide my car down on the creek bank.

“ ’Preciate the open window,” I said.

“I was afraid you were going to bust one before you found it. Hey, you know something? I always thought cat burglars were supposed to be quiet.” He was a dark shape against the white walls, but I saw his teeth flash in a mocking grin as I punched his shoulder.

“So what’d McCloy leave here?” he asked, turning serious.

“Whatever it was he was going to give me.”

“A pitcher?”

“Made a pretty story, didn’t it?” I said sourly. “Only when we walked upstairs together for him to change clothes for the funeral home, that particular pitcher was sitting on a shelf at the top of the stairs. He thought I wouldn’t remember that he was supposed to’ve had it with him on Friday night when he drove out here to meet me. Kinda insulting, isn’t it?”

The walkie-talkie burst into sound again. “Baby Bird to Blue Jay. The Snowball should be in your view any minute now! Over.”

Up on the highway, headlights slowed, then turned into the drive. Instinctively I drew away from the door as Dwight said, “I see him, Baby Bird. Proceed as planned. Out.”

As the pickup’s headlights flashed through the pines, Dwight turned off the receiver and took my hand and we rushed down the aisle. He tried to get me to hide behind the curtains on stage, but I said no way, José, and there wasn’t time for him to make me. As it was, we barely got ourselves stationed behind the screen again than we heard the outer door thump to. No hiding the truck or cautious reconnoiter for Denn.

A moment later, the prop room door opened and lights came on. The Chinese screen had four hinged panels, and Dwight and I both had our eyes up against the narrow cracks. We saw Denn framed in the doorway, still in his white shirt, but now wearing his usual black jeans and black leather cap.

“No!” he said sharply. “Come on in here and behave yourself.”

A familiar clicking sound pattered along the hall and then, to my utter dismay, Lily trotted past him and began sniffing the air.

Dwight and I both froze.

“Good girl,” Denn said absently and walked over to the racks of costumes.

Lily quartered the room, poking her nose under the dust sheet, checking out the boxes under the worktables.

As Denn started to pull back a dust sheet, Lily suddenly caught our scent. Her hackles rose and a low rumble started in her chest.

“What’s the matter, girl?” asked Denn, hesitating with the sheet in his hand.

Stiff legged, the dog slowly stalked across the room toward our hiding place. Her growl became a snarl and then she was barking fiercely and looking to Denn for instructions.

Without waiting to see who we were, Denn took off through the door.

“Stop!” Dwight roared as the screen fell over with a crash.

Confused, Lily didn’t seem to know whether to run or attack and I used her hesitation to call out, “Good girl, Lily. Come on, you know me. Right? There’s a good girl.”

I don’t know if it was because she did remember that I’d scratched her ears earlier in the evening or because she had always been more Michael’s dog than Denn’s, but she lowered her hackles and came over to me with her tail wagging while Dwight chased after Denn.

It wasn’t much of a chase since Jack Jamison-ol’ Baby Bird-had blocked the pickup’s exit again.

Denn was brought back to the prop room where he tried to bluster it out.

“I have a right to be here. I have a key!” he stormed. “Do you? Where’s your warrant?”

He did a true double take when he saw me standing there with Lily. “Deborah? You here, too? What’s going on?”

“You want a minute alone with your client?” Dwight asked.

“He’s no client of mine,” I said. “I don’t keep clients who lie to me.”

“Lie?” cried Denn.

“Lie,” I said coldly and gave him chapter and verse about the pitcher. “You start telling the truth right this minute or I’m outta here and you can rot in jail for all I care. In fact, jail might be your best bet right now. Hasn’t it sunk in yet that maybe it was supposed to be you lying in a closed coffin at Aldcroft’s? Your car, kiddo, sitting right where you were supposed to be.”

His head came up and his eyes widened abruptly. Clearly this was the first time such an obvious-and terrifying- possibility had occurred to him.

“You’ve jerked me around all afternoon,” I snarled. “I haven’t had any supper, and I’m tired of holding your hand while you think up more lies. Why’d you really leave word for me to come here Friday?”

Denn’s thin shoulders suddenly slumped in defeat. “I was going to tell you who killed Janie Whitehead.”