The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land by Gerald W. Darnell Page A
Authors: Gerald W. Darnell
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goes. I’ve only got a couple of weeks before the preliminary hearing – so I need things to happen quickly, if they are going to happen.”
I said good-by to Jack and went in search of my Jack Daniel’s and Coke. As I expected, Nickie had it exactly where it should be.
“Hey Nickie,” I yelled over the music. “What do you know about this party tomorrow night?”
“It is a big deal. And I mean a BIG DEAL. My cousin, Ted Blaylock, runs our little airport and they have hired him to keep it open - starting tomorrow all the way through Sunday afternoon. Unheard of around here.”
“Really?” I said sipping my first Jack/Coke of the day.
“Yes. I also understand they have hired Charlie Rich to perform at the Country Club - and only the Lord knows what else is being planned. This thing must be costing a fortune – good for our little community economy. Make those ‘tight asses’ turn loose of some money – spend it here instead of Miami, New Orleans or somewhere else.”
“You seeing any benefits?”
“Probably will. We’re booked solid and most of the names on the reservations I have never heard of. They are coming from somewhere else – not from around here.”
“I know you and Ronnie are going. Who’s handling Chiefs while you’re at the party?”
“Mr. Reno. We are edging closer to another ‘Murder in Humboldt’ – and that would be your murder! Now you know damn well that Ronnie and I will NOT be attending this affair. First, we weren’t invited. Second, while I could probably find something appropriate to wear, Ronnie would sure look stupid wearing his apron and jeans. He could only wear – apron and jeans – because he has nothing else to wear. That, and his birthday suit, are all I have seen him wear in the past 10 years. So, if you want to keep your room and good grace while at Chiefs, I suggest you bring yourself back down to our level – where you belong. Understood?”
“Yes, Mam,” I was getting on her bad side – a place I did not want to be.
I was still sipping on my first drink when this ‘oddly’ dressed guy walked in the door. He was a big man and his dress just didn’t fit his actions or manner – jeans and a plaid shirt weren’t his style - this was a tailored suit and silk tie person. It seemed, for some reason, he was ‘dressing down’ to perhaps blend in or avoid attention. In my eyes, it did just the opposite.
He rented a room and quickly exited back through the front door.
“Who was that?” I asked Nickie when she walked back over.
“Register card says Brad Knuchols – Memphis, Tennessee. You know him?”
“Looks familiar – but I’m not sure why. Is he here for the party?”
“I can’t say, but suspect he is. Made a reservation last week. Two men - one room. He’s in Cottage 5 – next to you.”
“Do me a favor. Let me know who else checks in – strangers I mean. Can you do that?”
“Probably go to jail for it – but I know a detective who can get me out of trouble. Sure, I can do that. You expecting trouble?”
“No, not at all. But this guy doesn’t fit – somehow. Wonder who made up the guest list – any ideas?”
“None. But I suspect that many of the town elite had a hand in who is and who isn’t invited. I understand some of the former Strawberry Queens and Hostess Princesses will be there with family and friends. Maybe Mary Ellen is trying to get her son hitched – nothing surprises me anymore.”
I added one of Ronnie’s burgers to my next drink order and reminded myself that I really needed to eat better. Burgers for every meal were not healthy.
Calling it a long day, I headed for my Cottage. The car parked in front of Cottage 5 was a dark blue 1961 Chrysler with Memphis plates. I wrote down the number – ‘1-4J745’ - with plans to have Leroy Epsee (Gibson County Sheriff) check on it later.
I
I said good-by to Jack and went in search of my Jack Daniel’s and Coke. As I expected, Nickie had it exactly where it should be.
“Hey Nickie,” I yelled over the music. “What do you know about this party tomorrow night?”
“It is a big deal. And I mean a BIG DEAL. My cousin, Ted Blaylock, runs our little airport and they have hired him to keep it open - starting tomorrow all the way through Sunday afternoon. Unheard of around here.”
“Really?” I said sipping my first Jack/Coke of the day.
“Yes. I also understand they have hired Charlie Rich to perform at the Country Club - and only the Lord knows what else is being planned. This thing must be costing a fortune – good for our little community economy. Make those ‘tight asses’ turn loose of some money – spend it here instead of Miami, New Orleans or somewhere else.”
“You seeing any benefits?”
“Probably will. We’re booked solid and most of the names on the reservations I have never heard of. They are coming from somewhere else – not from around here.”
“I know you and Ronnie are going. Who’s handling Chiefs while you’re at the party?”
“Mr. Reno. We are edging closer to another ‘Murder in Humboldt’ – and that would be your murder! Now you know damn well that Ronnie and I will NOT be attending this affair. First, we weren’t invited. Second, while I could probably find something appropriate to wear, Ronnie would sure look stupid wearing his apron and jeans. He could only wear – apron and jeans – because he has nothing else to wear. That, and his birthday suit, are all I have seen him wear in the past 10 years. So, if you want to keep your room and good grace while at Chiefs, I suggest you bring yourself back down to our level – where you belong. Understood?”
“Yes, Mam,” I was getting on her bad side – a place I did not want to be.
I was still sipping on my first drink when this ‘oddly’ dressed guy walked in the door. He was a big man and his dress just didn’t fit his actions or manner – jeans and a plaid shirt weren’t his style - this was a tailored suit and silk tie person. It seemed, for some reason, he was ‘dressing down’ to perhaps blend in or avoid attention. In my eyes, it did just the opposite.
He rented a room and quickly exited back through the front door.
“Who was that?” I asked Nickie when she walked back over.
“Register card says Brad Knuchols – Memphis, Tennessee. You know him?”
“Looks familiar – but I’m not sure why. Is he here for the party?”
“I can’t say, but suspect he is. Made a reservation last week. Two men - one room. He’s in Cottage 5 – next to you.”
“Do me a favor. Let me know who else checks in – strangers I mean. Can you do that?”
“Probably go to jail for it – but I know a detective who can get me out of trouble. Sure, I can do that. You expecting trouble?”
“No, not at all. But this guy doesn’t fit – somehow. Wonder who made up the guest list – any ideas?”
“None. But I suspect that many of the town elite had a hand in who is and who isn’t invited. I understand some of the former Strawberry Queens and Hostess Princesses will be there with family and friends. Maybe Mary Ellen is trying to get her son hitched – nothing surprises me anymore.”
I added one of Ronnie’s burgers to my next drink order and reminded myself that I really needed to eat better. Burgers for every meal were not healthy.
Calling it a long day, I headed for my Cottage. The car parked in front of Cottage 5 was a dark blue 1961 Chrysler with Memphis plates. I wrote down the number – ‘1-4J745’ - with plans to have Leroy Epsee (Gibson County Sheriff) check on it later.
I
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