Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

He’d spent three days already in Mirabeau, not counting today. His schedule, at least as marked down in his calendar went like this:

Tuesday, July 19 10-10:45 Meet with Noone @ Bavary 11:00 Go to county courthouse @ Bavary 12:00 Lunch with Mayor Loudermilk @ Mirabeau 1:45 Meet with Twyla Oudelle (landowner) 3:00 Meet with F. Jacksill @ Mirabeau 5:00 Meet with Dee Loudermilk (landowner) Wednesday, July 20 11:00 Meet with B. Poteet (landowner) 1:00 Meet with B. D. Goertz (landowner) 4:00 Meet with J. @ Bavary Thursday, July 21

[reminder-call Gary with update on progress] [reminder-Lorna arrives @ Austin airport, coming in with rental car-leave J. Poteet to her.] 9-11 Meet with F. 12 Lunch with Chamber of Commerce @ Mirabeau 2:00 Meet with B. D. Goertz 8:00 Meet with Lorna after her meeting with J.

Poteet 10:00 Meet with J. Thursday had been his last full day in Mirabeau before he died. His plans for that day had been: Friday, July 22 8 Breakfast with L. and F. 10 Close deal with B. Poteet 12 Lunch with Mayor, solve any problems with TO. and N.H. He hadn’t lived for that breakfast with (I guessed) Lorna and Freddy, or presumably to give a bunch of money to Uncle Bid, or to “solve any problems with Miss Twyla or Nina.” I scanned back over the list and Greg’s penchant for abbreviations. Some were obvious: J. Poteet being me (and I wasn’t very pleased at the idea of “being left to Lorna”), F. being Freddy Jacksill, TO. being Twyla Oudelle. But who was J.? Another abbreviation for Freddy? Or someone else altogether? A name or a profession? Maybe even Junebug? I thought for a moment, then dismissed it. We finished and I felt a craving for a cigarette. I used to smoke a pack a day, but then I got into running up in Boston, so I quit (repeatedly). I’d started up again with all the stress I’d felt when I moved back to Mirabeau. Candace hated cigarette smoke, so I’d sworn off for the past three months. I needed one now, though. I borrowed two cigarettes and a book of matches from the dispatcher, and Junebug and I sat outside in the late-afternoon shade of a live-oak tree behind the station, having ourselves a good old think. The summer air, heavy with humidity, draped over us. My shirt started clinging to my back. “Well, Nina’s reasons for killing him certainly have gone up, if she knew about that letter,” I said, blowing smoke above my head.

Nasty habit, I reminded myself, but it did make me feel better. As soon as my arm was healed, I’d have a good solid run to make up for my vices. Junebug scratched his chin. “But why kill him over it? If she knew about the letter and the plot with this chemical company, why didn’t she just blow the whistle? She could’ve humiliated him and exposed him for a crook. I think Nina would find that a sight more fulfilling than killing him.” That made sense. I pictured Nina and Greg bickering at the library meeting and her smugness when she challenged him. I thought that she might rather see him squirm than see him dead. “But she’d do just about anything to help protect the river.” I considered the ember at my cigarette’s end. “Including murder? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” “She’d faced off against him before, and lost.” I paused. “I wonder if he tried this same scam somewhere else. But she had confronted him over this same chessboard; wouldn’t she know his tricks?” Junebug shrugged. “That bears looking into. But maybe he’s done regular land development before this and just decided to turn crooked with this deal. I think we better try and find out more about Greg Callahan’s business deals.

I gotta go make some phone calls.” He stood and dusted off the back of his blue uniform pants. “So who do you suspect?” I jumped up to my feet. “Everybody and nobody,” Junebug said. “I don’t suspect you, though, you’ll be pleased to know.” “My gratitude knows no bounds.”

“Well, neither does mine. Thanks for helping me with the computer. I think I’ll quietly sign up for one of those introductory courses over at Bavary Community College now that you’ve got me on the basics. Can I call you if I need more help with it?” “Sure, Junebug.” We shook hands and he went back into the station. I stomped on what was left of the cigarette, picked it up and thumbed it in a trash can and headed to my car. Lorna had a lot of questions to answer. I tore off down the street, ready to go confront her. But as I drove off I caught sight of Tiny Parmalee’s battered red pickup truck coming up quick behind me.

Tiny’s pickup, resplendent with its battery of dents, smoke-spewing pipes, and oversized Confederate-flag decal in the back window (along with what looked like a deer rifle) stayed close behind me all the way home. I felt a childish fear. I’d never forgotten how Tiny had nearly crushed the life out of me at little provocation. My fear, though, quickly changed to anger as his truck followed barely two feet behind my own back fender. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t a little kid who could be pushed, around again. And I wasn’t about to let a blunt-headed bastard like Tiny Parmalee intimidate me. I’d seen too much pain in life, and backing away never got a soul anywhere. His grimy truck finally backed off as I pulled into my carport and he stopped in front of my house. I wondered for one moment if he’d come out swinging and how I was going to handle that with only one good arm. If he did attack me, I’d be at a serious disadvantage. I decided then and there that the best defense would be a solid kick to his beer gut, followed by another boot to the groin and a judicious retreat into my house. Not a polite way to fight, but mannered combat takes two gentlemen. I’d just emerged from the car when Tiny slammed his door shut and came lumbering across the lawn at me. His whitish hair gleamed like a bald dome in the summer sun. His eyes were a thin, watery blue, but they were narrowed in anger. One hand was already in a fist. “Hey!” he yelled, stopping a few feet ahead of me. “Get something straight, you shithead. You leave Nina alone!” “Excuse me?” I answered, pulling my arm close against my body and tensing my legs. “I haven’t even talked to Nina today. What’s your problem?” “My problem, Poteet, is you. You think Nina killed that Yankee son of a bitch. You told Miss Twyla that.” Obviously one had to be careful what one suggested to Miss Twyla. “I never said that she did.” Well, not exactly. “I just asked Miss Twyla where Nina was last night, and she told me. If you think someone’s bugging Nina, you need to go see Billy Ray Bummel and Junebug.” I wanted to take a step back, but I didn’t. You don’t do that to a bully, and Tiny Parmalee had changed very little since those schoolyard tussles. He had been angry then, with no outlet for releasing it other than torturing other kids; he was angry now, and still hadn’t learned how to deal with wrath.

“Look, Tiny. It’s obvious that you care about Nina. I understand that.” “What the hell do you know about me?” he asked, drawing a heavy hand across his lip. “You don’t know shit about me, mister. Or about what I think about Nina.” He shook his head. “You think you’re so smart, Poteet, you always have. Always looking down on me, always thinking I’m just nothing but a big stupid shit. I’m not. I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever give me credit for.” “Okay, you’re smart. Who killed Greg?” He took one step forward and pushed a finger toward my face. I smelled the nauseatingly sweet odor of a thick wad of chewing gum he had in his mouth and I saw the bulge it made in his unshaven cheek. “Just stay away from Nina. Stay out of this whole mess. Just ship that Yankee bitch of yours back where she belongs and keep out of mine and Nina’s business.” Since I didn’t know what constituted his and Nina’s business and I hadn’t interfered in any way that I knew of, I very much disliked his jabbing his finger at my nose. Not to mention him calling Lorna names. “This is not a joke, Tiny. This is a murder. Someone killed Greg and whoever did that is going to pay for it. Nina and Greg didn’t get along at all, so she’s going to be investigated by the cops. Don’t take it so personally. I mean, you’re sure she’s innocent, aren’t you?” He wasn’t expecting that. The finger receded from my personal space. “Yeah, I am,” he said slowly, as though I’d asked a trick question. “So then you and Nina have nothing to worry about.” I didn’t add my thought: Unless you strangled him, you animal. Tiny blinked repeatedly. “She didn’t do it. Maybe I’ll find out who did, if the cops keep suspecting her.” I didn’t think Tiny would make much headway as a detective, but I kept my mouth shut. “Is that all?” “Yeah. Just stay away from Nina and quit fillin’ folks’ heads full of foolishness about her.” Back on the familiar territory of threat making, he regained his confidence. He turned his back on me and headed back for his truck. “Tiny?” He paused while climbing into the truck. “Yeah?” “Don’t ever follow me that close again, or I’ll shoot out your tires. Understand me?” He wasn’t expecting that I’d threaten back in any way and to my surprise he smiled. Coldly. ‘I’ll remember that.” Slamming his door hard enough to shake the truck, he started the engine and roared off, leaving a bloated cloud of exhaust in his wake. I exhaled a long breath. He’d been pissed, but he hadn’t beaten me up. Unless, of course, he was out to seek vengeance against Junebug and Billy Ray for suspecting his inamorata of being a bloodthirsty garroter. I went into the house, quietly. It was nearly three in the afternoon and I felt exhausted. I needed a nap. I wasn’t going to get one. Eula Mae and Lorna sat on the couch, smiling tightly at each other. I felt I’d walked onstage halfway through a death scene. “Hey, y’all, what’s going on?” I said.