Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends Read Free Page B

your old man, boy”
    I snorted. “Come on, John. Every time I’ve helped you,
it’s ended up with you pawning half my stuff so you can
buy your cheap Thunderbird wine”
    He frowned, feigning hurt feelings. “That ain’t so. A
couple times, I used the money for train fare”
    All I could do was shake my head and roll my eyes.
    I picked up a six-pack of Old Milwaukee beer from a
convenience store before we reached my apartment. Leaving the pickup door open to air out, I escorted my old man
inside, pointing out the shower and my dresser of clean garments, and suggesting he take advantage of them. “Toss your
clothes in the washer. I’ll run them though the cycle tonight.
TV dinners are in the freezer.”
    He nodded, but from the glaze over his eyes, I knew the
first thing he would do was open a beer, guzzle a couple of
swallows, and then pass out on the couch.
    I wagged a finger at him. “Remember. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll find out what I can about what they have against
you. Then we’ll have a better idea of where we stand. I left
my cell number and office number on the pad by the phone.
Call me if you need anything”
    It was noon before I reached the office. To my surprise,
Debbie and her mother were waiting patiently for me. Debbie’s eyes lit when she saw me. Both ladies rose quickly.
Debbie hurried to me and threw her arms around me.
“Thank you, Tony. Thank you. I knew I could depend on
you” Before I could reply, she gestured to the older woman
at her side. “You remember Mother.”

    There was no question from whom Debbie had inherited
her physical attributes. Margaret Edwards was perhaps a
few pounds heavier, but still a striking woman. The black
business outfit she wore was as conservative as it was becoming. She smiled and extended her hand. “Hello, Tony.
Nice to see you again”
    I glanced around for Marty, but he was nowhere to be
seen. One of his typical moves, vanish until tempers cool.
“Thank you, Mrs. Edwards” I hesitated, looking from one
to the other.
    Debbie must have seen the puzzlement on my face, for
she explained, “We gave Mr. Blevins all the information
this morning, but when he said you had volunteered to handle the case, we decided to go over it again, this time with
you in case there are any questions we didn’t make clear.”
    “I see” I drew a deep breath. “That’s a good idea.” I
glanced around the empty office. “I haven’t had lunch yet.
Would you ladies care to join me?”
    Longhorn Mall, across the street from our office, housed
several eateries. We opted for Luby’s Cafeteria, carrying
our trays out onto the colonnade where we found a table
away from the crowd.
    I love good food, but I learned years ago that too much
red beans and rice, too much jambalaya, or too much berry
cobbler were bad for the waistline. I had a salad.
    Debbie and her mother must have believed as I did, for
they each had a small Jell-O and tea.

    “So,” I said before taking a bite of my salad. “Tell me all
that happened at the credit union.”
    They looked at each other. Mrs. Edwards nodded. “Go
ahead, Debbie”
    In a soft voice, she began. “On February 3, the armored
car that was making its regular delivery to the Tri-District
Credit Union was robbed. It carried half a million dollars.
There were three men. They all wore masks. Frank Cooper,
the second vice president, was shot. He said father was the
one who shot him”
    I frowned. Around a mouthful of salad, I asked, “If they
wore masks, how did he identify your father?”
    “By his voice” She paused.
    “And his coat. It was herringbone. The suit was herringbone,” added Mrs. Edwards.
    Debbie continued. Most of her story I had read online.
Her father had vanished, along with his 2009 Impala. What
made it so peculiar was that he had no apparent financial
problems. His investments were sound, although, as with
all investments, subject to the capriciousness of the stock