Frederick Zackel - Dead Wrong About the Guy

I asked why.

"Roscoe Lawson was his brother."

I marveled at that. "So Ivy Lawson's the sheriff's niece? And Debra Lawson's his sister-in-law?"

Timothy kept nodding.

"One last thing," I asked. "Whatever happened to Roscoe Lawson's body?"

"It was cremated," Timothy said.

Stu Philips shook his head. "That lil' devil! She shouldn't say the things she does. Her claims are groundless, and her accusations are inaccurate and unjustified. Don't feel bad personally, Mister Bishop, but this investigation of yours is a waste of my taxpayer's money."

I stopped him. "This is not an official visit from the Federal Government."

"I understand. I feel for her, too. I took those accident reports and went over to the Sheriff's Office. We spent hours pouring over those pictures." He gestured behind him. "I have them in a drawer back there, and I can let you look at them. There was nothing there anywhere."

"Roscoe Lawson was a sailor in the Merchant Marine, right?"

"He was a cook," Stu clarified.

"How large was the insurance settlement?"

"Roscoe Lawson was a very frugal man--"

I interrupted. "And the widow got it all."

"The widow is supposed to get it all. That's how the will read. It's a shame Ivy doesn't get to share in the settlement, but it does happen all the time."

"And Debra Lawson bought the Paradise Bowling Lanes."

"She made a wise investment. She started her own business. She provides jobs in the community and she pays her taxes. It gives her a future to build upon and it keeps her busy today."

"She's new to Hawaii, right?"

"Three, four years. Look, Debra Lawson's a welcome part of the islands. She's warm, friendly and generous. She supports a softball team. She's even involved in local politics."

I perked up. "She's political?"

"She's been involved with Saundra Collins for several months now. They're both active in that campaign to recall the county sheriff."

"Her brother-in-law?"

"Her ex-brother-in-law. See, he's in favor of more hotels along the Kaanapali coast, and she's not."

"What kind of man is the sheriff? What kind of sheriff is he?"

Stu considered the question carefully. "Walter Lawson is progressive. Intelligent. Hard-working. He gets solid convictions, but he's also good behind the desk. The island's lucky to have him."

I found this all so interesting.

"Roscoe Lawson?" the shop foreman at Dougan's Wreckers Garage said. "Yeah, I remember his car. Yeah, there was nothing wrong with it." He shrugged. "I'll tell you what happened. A drunk rolled it over."

"Thanks," I said.

I found Flea laying about his office with a pint of Irish whiskey.

"You got it all solved?" Flea asked.

I said I did. "Corky's girl friend was married to the sheriff's brother. He died fishy and now they don't want the sheriff questioning the second kill."

Flea snickered into his whiskey.

I took away his bottle. "No more, Flea, until it's over."

Debra Lawson entered the bar at the bowling alley and found me nursing a beer.

I noticed her. "How ya doing, Mrs. Lawson?"

Debra was filled with cold fury. "What are you doing here!"

I was pensive. "D'you think Ol' Corky's got any misgivings about this scheme of his?"

"None at all," she snapped.

"I wonder if he's got any good memories of that woman. Probably not. She don't mean enough to him to divorce her and let her live." I noticed Debra. "You two planning marriage?"

Debra was cautious. "Yes. Afterwards."

"Think he'll ever divorce you?" I asked.

Debra tried to smack my face. I caught her hand in mid-swing and bent it back without effort. When I released her, she sullenly rubbed her wrist.

"Yeah, I guess not," I mused. "He's not the divorcing kind. But then neither are you. I wonder when you two are gonna stop trusting each other."

"We won't."

"Your husband died in an auto accident? Two years ago?"

Debra gritted down. "I don't see--" Exasperated: "Yes."

"Did Corky kill him for you?" I asked.

Debra was outraged. "Ask him yourself!" She turned, called to Corky. "Corky!"

Corky entered the lounge. He acted like the pit of his stomach dropped a thousand feet seeing us together. Walking up to us must have been like walking those last few yards to the Death Chamber.

He said, "You two shouldn't come out in the open together like this."

"Why didn't you tell me your girl friend is the sheriff's sister-in-law?" I asked.

"She isn't any more," Corky said.

"Did you kill her husband? Is that why you want me to kill your wife? Because the sheriff thinks there something suspicious about his brother's death that might tie the two of you together?"

Corky looked guilty. "His death was accidental. Even the county coroner's report shows that."

"How much did that cost you?"

Debra was smug. "We didn't kill him."

I disagreed. "You did it. And somehow you got away with it. Lady, you musta figured you couldn't get away with it twice. So, now you both need perfect alibis."

Debra could not have been angrier. "Okay. Forget it. We'll do it ourselves."

"No, you won't," I said.

"You're fired!" Debra insisted.

I ignored her. "See, Corky, if you do waste the old lady yourselves, the word goes out about how you both came looking for somebody to ice her. And if anything happens to her, we'll make sure the cops nail you both for it."

"Blackmail!" Debra called it.

I left my bar stool. "I ain't getting paid enough to take the rap for you." I pocketed my money from the bar counter. "Ciao, babes."

Ivy worked her full shift. She found me parked outside the Pier Inn when she got off work. She went over to my Mustang and leaned inside my window, letting me get a clear glimpse of her cleavage. She had nice breasts.

"Hey, sailor, you wanna party?" Ivy joked.

But I got sour with anger. "Get in!" I barked.

Surprised by my ferocity, Ivy got into my rental.

I was pissed. "Don't ever talk like that again!" Then, calming down: "It's not you and it's not me." Then, filled with a sudden remorse, I added, "That's not the way I want us to be." I slammed into first gear and peeled rubber away from the restaurant.

I could see Ivy was astonished. He cares about us!

More than G-forces from the Mustang kept her off-balance.

That night as she lay naked atop me and the covers, while I was cuddling her breasts, nuzzling her earlobes, I guess Ivy found herself thrilled by my proposal, but also puzzled by it.

She said, "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," I said.

She pushed me away from her ear. "How come?"

I didn't know what to tell her. I kept staring at the cottage cheese ceiling of the motel and couldn't add any more to what I was asking of her. How could I tell her how much I hated the hollowness I was becoming from my job? How could I tell her she was a rope tossed to a man swept up in a flash flood? Better I start anew, without any chains to my past.

Ivy didn't know what to think. "No guy ever said to me he wanted to take me away from here." She tried joking. "A guy'll say anything to get whatever he wants."

"You're already sleeping with me," I retorted.

Ivy was confused. "You trying to live with me, Michael?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Then she acted like I was ignoring her. That she wasn't here. That I had run out of words at such a special moment like this really pissed her off.

She shook me angrily. "Why!" She shoved harder. "Damn you! Why!" She had to know.

"I love you."

Ivy stared at me, and I stared back.

I was thoughtful, still mulling over my runaway words.

She said, "Jesus Christ Almighty!"

I said, "Are you saying no, or do you need more time to think about it? We got only one or two more days."