Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 09 - The Crystal Skull Murders by Kent Conwell

looking around when she realized that I
had a woman in the pickup with me. I rolled my eyes. I
would be getting a phone call later today. Then I muttered a curse, suddenly remembering that Janice and I
had a previous date for tonight. Now I was going to
have to break it.
    “Someone you know?”
    With a rueful grin, I nodded. “A friend. We go out together from time to time.”
    When it comes to understanding women, I’m the
best checker player in the world. And once again, I was
mistaken. I didn’t have to wait until later for Janice’s
call. My cell rang immediately.
    Janice’s voice was sweet, but I detected a massive
dose of poison in it. “Hello, Tony”
    “Hey, Janice. What’s up?” Remembering the crystal
skull, I added. “I was about to give you a call.”
    “Well, here I am,” she replied. “What was so important?”
    “About tonight, I-”

    She interrupted. “Why don’t you come over early for
cocktails before we go to dinner?”
    I grinned at the tactful way she was beating around
the bush, then drew a deep breath. “I have to beg off tonight, Janice. I’ve got to work”
    “What? But, we have a date.”
    Hastily I tried to explain. “I know, but I just found
out. I’ve got to run a surveillance tonight.”
    Acidly, she replied, “Who are you going to run a surveillance on, that-that-that woman in the pickup
with you?”
    I rolled my eyes, wondering how I had managed to
get myself in such a predicament. “No. She’s a new PI
Marty hired. We’re working on an arson case on Sixth
Street.”
    Doreen arched an eyebrow at me.
    “I bet you are.”
    “It’s the truth, Janice. I promise it is.”
    “I can’t believe you would do this to me, Tony”
    Frustrated, I struggled to explain. “Janice, I’m not
doing anything to you. Believe me”
    She sniffed. “Well, I don’t believe you. I don’t care if
I ever see you again.”
    “But Janice-”
    She didn’t even say good-bye. She slammed her cell
phone shut.
    After I punched off, Doreen’s eyes glittered with
amusement. “Your girlfriend?”

    I nodded. “Was.”
    “Problems?”
    “What do you think?”
    She laughed. “I think she’s jealous.”
    “You’re crazy.”

     

Doreen remained silent. On impulse I turned down
Sixth Street.
    “I thought we were going back to the office.”
    Slowing the pickup, I scanned the sidewalks and alleys. “Watch that side.”
    “For what?”
    “Goofyfoot, Pookie, any of the old winos.” When we
stopped at the first signal light, I quickly hit the automatic dial on my cell phone for Beatrice Morrison, figuring if I waited until Janice vented her spleen to her aunt,
I might never learn the Morrison source of lead crystal.
    Beatrice’s male secretary answered. Normally, rustic
yokels like me can never speak to the grand dame of
Texas Distilleries, but since I dated her niece, the secretary recognized my name and put me through.

    Beatrice didn’t particularly care for the idea of her
only relative dating a bourgeois and ignorant Cajun, but
she tolerated me for Janice’s sake. The only time Aunt
Beatrice deigned to socialize with me was when she
wanted a pot of my gumbo for one of her dinners.
    “Hello, Tony,” she replied with a big dose of reservation in her tone.
    “How are you today, Aunt Beatrice?” Although she
had requested me to address her as such, I knew the
words coming from my lips rankled her, and each time
I went to confession, I had to admit I enjoyed rankling
her like that.
    “I’m well, thank you.”
    Behind us a horn honked. The light had changed. I
moved across the intersection, and as I pulled into a
Loading Zone, I said, “I hate to impose, Aunt Beatrice,
but I figured you, of all people in Austin, could give
me the name of someone who is an expert on leaded
crystal”
    My request took her aback momentarily. “Crystal?”
I heard a hint of disbelief in her tone. “Are you buying
crystal?”
    “No, ma’am. I just need to