Murder Deja Vu

willing to talk about Minette. I’m going to call him tonight after he gets home from work. Baker said the guy kind of gagged when he heard Minette’s name. How are you doing down there?”
    “The description Rayanne Johnson’s on-and-off boyfriend gave me might narrow the field. Sounds like someone gone to seed. Pasty, puffy, pudgy.”
    “Oh, the three Ps,” Jeraldine said. “Add another. Psycho.”
    “Doesn’t work for me. It’s not alliteration. Call me after you talk to your snitch.”
    “Will do. Love you.”
    “Me too.”
    Clarence had put away three beers at Rudy’s, but he decided to stop in the Pine House Restaurant for something stronger, then eat dinner. He took a seat at the bar.
    The bartender put a napkin and bowl of peanuts in front of him. “What’ll you have?”
    “Dewars rocks.” Clarence had spent more time with bartenders in North Carolina than he’d spent with Jeri. He was tired, mind running circles. Something nibbled at the corner of his memory, but he couldn’t separate it. Whatever bugged him would probably wake him in the middle of the night.
    He felt a presence move up next to him.
    “Mind if I join you?” The man didn’t wait for an invitation. He sat down and offered his hand. “Harris Stroud.”
    “Please.” Clarence took Stroud’s hand. “Clarence Wright.”
    “I know who you are. I make it my business to know what’s going on in town and in the county. That’s what newspapermen do.” The bartender set down Clarence’s drink. “Put his drinks on my tab, Chaz.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Stroud.”
    “Thanks,” Clarence said. “I owe you one.
    “You can pay me back by telling me why you’re still here.”
    “It’ll take more than a drink to buy me, Mr. Stroud.”
    “Name’s Harris, and I have all night.”
    “I don’t. I’m tired. I need sleep. I planned to stop by your office in the morning.”
    “Looks like I’m saving you a trip. I assume you were going to pump me for information. I’m curious what you know. We could share.”
    Clarence had heard about Stroud. He might get more from him after a few drinks than he would on a morning visit. “Hmm, we could. What do you say we take a table? More private.”
    “Good idea. Chaz’ll take care of us. He’s the best waiter in Regal Falls, aren’t you, Chaz?”
    “If you say so, Mr. Stroud.”
    Stroud leaned closer to Clarence. “Chaz agrees with me because I’m a good tipper.” He winked at the young bartender. “Bring our drinks over, will you?”
    He never ordered, but as soon as they sat down, Chaz served Stroud a large whiskey. The editor was younger than Clarence had imagined, but the effects of heavy drinking were beginning to show on his flushed face.
    “Why were you coming to see me, as if I didn’t know?”
    “Robert Minette.”
    “You’re not asking me to talk about my boss, are you?”
    “Actually, I am.”
    “Hmm. I don’t know if that’s ethical.”
    Clarence laughed, but he didn’t say anything. Harris finished his drink before Clarence had downed half of his. Chaz brought another to the table with barely a nod from the editor.
    “But what the hell. Minette’s not a nice guy. You name any negative adjective, and it’ll apply to Robert.”
    “I’ve heard asshole mentioned more than once.”
    “That’s a noun.”
    Clarence snickered. “You got me there.”
    “There are a bunch of those too.”
    “You think Minette is capable of murder?”
    The drink stopped halfway to Stroud’s mouth. He sat poised for a moment, took a long swig, swallowed, then put the glass on the table. “I take it you mean our local murders.”
    “Only one.”
    Avoiding Clarence’s gaze, Stroud concentrated on the dark amber liquid in his glass. “You think he’s involved?”
    “I do.”
    Stroud appeared thoughtful. “Robert wouldn’t do the dirty himself. He’d suggest to his hire he wanted something done. It would be oblique but clear to someone on the same wavelength. Then Robert would feign surprise when the person carried it out. He’s too much of a coward to ever do anything on his own.”
    “If he were hiring, who would it be?”
    “PI by the name of Harry Klugh, from Atlanta. Now, turn around’s fair play. Whose murder do you think Robert contracted? Rayanne Johnson?”
    “No, the friend.”
    Stroud nodded.
    Clarence could see he was on his way to getting very, very drunk. He needed to grill the editor while he could still talk, although he wasn’t slurring yet.