brooded over the events of that morning. “Don’t know what got into her.” Of course he knew exactly what had gotten into her. She hated him. He sort of accepted that, but he was still convinced that she also loved him. He loved her, so she had to love him. What really bothered him was that she’d gotten feisty, went and actually took one of his guns. She’d always had a smart mouth, but she’d never so much as thrown a dish at him. Now she was pumping buckshot over his head. “Got to be that time of the month. That’s it. PMS. Pigheaded Monthly Shit.”
He was sure he’d gotten the better of the argument, but that was true only if he discounted his bladder letting loose. He hadn’t really evened the score on that one, so he tried to forget it happened. But he couldn’t forget it. “That bitch.”
He would have dwelled on this more, but he had a whole new problem to think about—Mr. Keith Landry, ex-boyfriend of Miss Annie Oakley.
He drove past the Landry farm and noted the black Saab in the gravel driveway. He noted, too, that there was a man on the porch, and he was certain that the man noticed the police car driving by.
Cliff used his mobile phone and called his desk sergeant. “Blake, it’s me. Call Washington, D.C., Motor Vehicles, and get me whatever you can on a Keith Landry.” He spelled it out and added, “Drives a black Saab 900. Can’t tell the year and can’t see the plate number. Get back to me ASAP.” Cliff then dialed information. “Yeah, need a number for Landry, Keith Landry, County Road 28, new listing.”
The information operator replied, “No listing for that name, sir.”
Cliff hung up and called the post office. “This is Chief Baxter, put me through to the postmaster.” A few seconds later, the postmaster, Tim Hodge, came on the line and said, “Help you, Chief?”
“Yeah, Tim. Check and see if you got a new customer, name of Landry, RFD, from Washington. Yeah, D.C.”
“Sure, hold on.” A few minutes later, Hodge came back and said, “Yeah, one of the sorters saw a couple of bills or something with a forwarding sticker from D.C. Keith Landry.”
“How about a missus on that sticker?”
“No, just him.”
“This a temporary?”
“Looks like a permanent address change. Problem?”
“Nope. Used to be a vacant farmhouse, and somebody noticed activity there.”
“Yeah, I remember the old folks, George and Alma. Moved to Florida. Who’s this guy?”
“Son, I guess.” Cliff thought a moment, then asked, “Did he take a P.O. box?”
“No, I’d have seen the money if he did.”
“Yeah. Okay… hey, I’d like to take a look at what comes in for him.”
There was a long pause, during which the postmaster figured out this wasn’t a routine inquiry. Tim Hodge said, “Sorry, Chief. We been through this before. I need to see some kind of court order.”
“Hell, Tim, I’m just talkin’ about lookin’ at envelopes, not openin’ mail.”
“Yeah… but… hey, if this is a bad guy, go to court—”
“I’m just askin’ for a small favor, Tim, and when you need a favor, you know where to come. Fact is, you owe me one for your son-in-law’s drivin’ while totally fucked-up.”
“Yeah… okay… you just want to see the envelopes when they’re sortin’—?”
“Can’t always do that. You make photocopies of his stuff, front and back, and I’ll stop in now and then.”
“Well…”
“And you keep this to yourself, and I’ll do the same. And you give my regards to your daughter and her husband.” Cliff hung up and continued to drive down the straight county road, oblivious to his surroundings, contemplating this turn of events. “Guy comes back, no phone yet, but wants his mail delivered. Why’s he back?”
He put the cruiser on speed control and chewed on a beef jerky. Cliff Baxter remembered Keith Landry from high school, and what he remembered, he didn’t like. He didn’t know Landry well, at least not personally, but everyone
He was sure he’d gotten the better of the argument, but that was true only if he discounted his bladder letting loose. He hadn’t really evened the score on that one, so he tried to forget it happened. But he couldn’t forget it. “That bitch.”
He would have dwelled on this more, but he had a whole new problem to think about—Mr. Keith Landry, ex-boyfriend of Miss Annie Oakley.
He drove past the Landry farm and noted the black Saab in the gravel driveway. He noted, too, that there was a man on the porch, and he was certain that the man noticed the police car driving by.
Cliff used his mobile phone and called his desk sergeant. “Blake, it’s me. Call Washington, D.C., Motor Vehicles, and get me whatever you can on a Keith Landry.” He spelled it out and added, “Drives a black Saab 900. Can’t tell the year and can’t see the plate number. Get back to me ASAP.” Cliff then dialed information. “Yeah, need a number for Landry, Keith Landry, County Road 28, new listing.”
The information operator replied, “No listing for that name, sir.”
Cliff hung up and called the post office. “This is Chief Baxter, put me through to the postmaster.” A few seconds later, the postmaster, Tim Hodge, came on the line and said, “Help you, Chief?”
“Yeah, Tim. Check and see if you got a new customer, name of Landry, RFD, from Washington. Yeah, D.C.”
“Sure, hold on.” A few minutes later, Hodge came back and said, “Yeah, one of the sorters saw a couple of bills or something with a forwarding sticker from D.C. Keith Landry.”
“How about a missus on that sticker?”
“No, just him.”
“This a temporary?”
“Looks like a permanent address change. Problem?”
“Nope. Used to be a vacant farmhouse, and somebody noticed activity there.”
“Yeah, I remember the old folks, George and Alma. Moved to Florida. Who’s this guy?”
“Son, I guess.” Cliff thought a moment, then asked, “Did he take a P.O. box?”
“No, I’d have seen the money if he did.”
“Yeah. Okay… hey, I’d like to take a look at what comes in for him.”
There was a long pause, during which the postmaster figured out this wasn’t a routine inquiry. Tim Hodge said, “Sorry, Chief. We been through this before. I need to see some kind of court order.”
“Hell, Tim, I’m just talkin’ about lookin’ at envelopes, not openin’ mail.”
“Yeah… but… hey, if this is a bad guy, go to court—”
“I’m just askin’ for a small favor, Tim, and when you need a favor, you know where to come. Fact is, you owe me one for your son-in-law’s drivin’ while totally fucked-up.”
“Yeah… okay… you just want to see the envelopes when they’re sortin’—?”
“Can’t always do that. You make photocopies of his stuff, front and back, and I’ll stop in now and then.”
“Well…”
“And you keep this to yourself, and I’ll do the same. And you give my regards to your daughter and her husband.” Cliff hung up and continued to drive down the straight county road, oblivious to his surroundings, contemplating this turn of events. “Guy comes back, no phone yet, but wants his mail delivered. Why’s he back?”
He put the cruiser on speed control and chewed on a beef jerky. Cliff Baxter remembered Keith Landry from high school, and what he remembered, he didn’t like. He didn’t know Landry well, at least not personally, but everyone
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