Silenced by the Yams

CHAPTER Seventeen

Clarence used the conference room phone to intercom the receptionist and find out why Susan Golightly was in the building. He was told that she wanted to discuss the possibility of arranging a celebration of action films, dedicated to the memory of Kurt Baugh.

Okay, so my paranoia abated and I started feeling lucky again.

Colt, on the other hand, wasn’t even ambivalent. He wanted nothing of my plan. I pointed out that he’d come this far—why did he even show up at the ACL if he wasn’t going to take it all of the way?

“Truthfully?” he said. “Despite some mildly interesting theories, I figured I’d come up empty handed. I would leave able to tell you that all roads were dead ends and that, sadly, Frankie’s goose wasn’t just cooked, it was deep fried. You’d go back to taking care of your family and writing your movie reviews and I would take Meegan to Ocean City for a few days. Happy ending.”

“Not for Frankie.” I folded my arms and pouted.

Seated next to Colt, Clarence had just chomped deep into the meatball sub. His cheeks bulged and red sauce trickled out of one side of his mouth. He put the sandwich back on its wrapper, wiped the sauce away with a napkin and chewed while indicating, with a raised index finger, that he had something to say. A much-anticipated swallow finally allowed him to speak. “I don’t think Meegan will be interested in Ocean City.”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. Admittedly, I was surprised by the statement myself and wondered what the heck he was talking about. I guess I’m not always as smart as I think I am, because I really didn’t have a clue, but Colt seemed to be stewing, as if he did. “Have you been following me?” he asked finally.

Clarence grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap off. “In a manner of speaking. I had a spy.” He tipped the bottle back and guzzled. “On the inside.”

Uh oh.

I may be slow, but I was catching on. “You know Meegan?”

He nodded. “Really well, actually. She’s my sister.”

Double uh oh.

A little part of me (okay, maybe a big part) was laughing inside. But holy cow, I thought Colt was going to bust a gasket. I don’t ever think I’d ever seen him so serious or so angry. He had that look on his face that Howard gets when I’ve done something silly, like walking into a den of mafia crime bosses or blowing up a building with a hand grenade. Although really, it wasn’t my hand grenade.

I tried to diffuse the ticking time bomb by asking Clarence to clarify his statement. “You mean, you’re such good friends that she’s like a sister to you?”

“Nope. Like, my mother gave birth to her, so she’s my sister.”

Kaboom! That one blew up right in my face.

Here I was with a plan to expose Kurt Baugh’s killers just like a perfect episode of Murder She Wrote, and we were playing out a bad version of a twisted Greek tragedy. Or a really sick sequel to the Crying Game.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what was going on in Colt’s mind. He started pacing like a nervous hyena, uttering unintelligible phrases like: “whaaaoher uhhhhh” and “maahal guhkew.”

Clarence’s gaze followed Colt around the room. “She got on a plane this morning. Going back to Bakersfield. It’s her dad’s birthday tomorrow.”

Phew. There is a God.

Was he trying to mess with Colt, or was Clarence really just odd and not familiar with proper procedures for doling out pertinent information? Hard to tell, but the immediate crisis was over and my plan needed some direction. I was expecting a text from Guy any minute alerting us to his arrival with Randolph Rutter in tow. And who knew how long we’d have Susan Golightly in the building?

“Okay, okay,” I said, working to calm the turbulent air. “Crisis averted. Colt, you’re not guilty of incest.” I snapped a finger in front of his glassy eyes. “Stay with me Colt. Come on, baby.”

“Is that what you’re thinking?” Clarence shook his head and readied his sub for another bite. “She didn’t sleep with him. That was our deal.”

Way more information than I needed to know.

***

Thankfully, it took just minutes rather than hours, to convince Colt to follow through on my idea of getting three of our suspects in a room together. And having satiated his hunger for food, Clarence was now hungry for some action.

The terms of Colt’s agreement were simple and not negotiable: we’d round them up, ask a few subtle but indirect questions and see what happened. If, at any time, he thought things were getting dangerous or out of hand, he’d give the signal and we’d skedaddle our hineys outa there. Those kind of terms were A-OK in my book—I’d had enough kidnappings at gunpoint and escapes from explosive environments to last a lifetime. Subtle and indirect and safe. I was all over that.

My plan required a safe, secluded location where we could collect Jorge, Randolph, and Susan Golightly together. Ideally, our targets would believe they had coincidentally run into each other, with us along for the ride. And we needed to be far away from innocent bystanders so we wouldn’t create a scene if things got heated.

Clarence said that public walk-ins were rare, but they did happen, so a confrontation in the lobby was definitely a no-no. “Why not just call everyone in here?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, that’s awkward. I want it to look like we walked in on them.”

Clarence thought about this for a minute, then picked up the phone and buzzed the receptionist again. “Stacy, are you bored today?”

I assumed that she answered him, because he laughed. “Good. Stay tuned. We’re going to have some fun.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and smiled. “I know just the place.”

My phone buzzed with the anticipated text from Guy Mertz. I read it out loud. “The eagle lands in 5.”

Showtime.