fine. He’s not a bank. I understood.’
‘You asked for a hundred thousand?’
Her eyes went wide. ‘Good Lord, no. I asked for ten thousand. I got it from a friend. It’s being paid off, no problems.’ She tapped ashes into a crystal ashtray on the worktable, her mouth thinned. ‘A hundred thousand. She ought to use that imagination for noble causes.’
‘She said it’s what Patch told her.’
‘She’s dead wrong.’
‘She and Patch seemed to have a good relationship.’
‘Lucy likes people who have things and will give them to her. I’m not one of those people. Patch was. He doted on Lucy, just a bit too much.’
‘Can you think of anyone who’d want Patch or Thuy dead?’
‘He only dated widows, and he was successful at it. I could see he might make another man jealous. Thuy, Lord, no. Gentle and kind as a lamb. Retired teacher, loaded with patience. I adored her.’
‘You and Roy were here in town on Monday night.’
‘Yes. I already gave a statement to the police. We were here, watched the news, turned in.’ She paused, tilted her head, gave him a melty smile. ‘We fucked. Twice. So we were awake until midnight or so. That’s not in the police statement but I don’t mind total honesty with you.’ Her smile shifted; his skin prickled.
‘In a bed or on the canvas?’
The smile widened. ‘You have a good eye.’
Yeah, it’s real tough to make out painted, squashed boobs. He saw the perfection of her face created a sense of emptiness – like a house with no curtains in the windows. ‘Roy’s what to you, social engineering?’
‘Radio Lucy strikes again.’ She shrugged. ‘It was a minor drug conviction, ten years ago. He’s clean.’ She exhaled a cool little stream of smoke. ‘He was here all Monday and Tuesday with me, okay? Working. He’s an artist, too. His studio’s across the hall. Sculptures in metal. Gulls, lighthouses, coastal art for the gift shop crowd. He’s not an artist at my level but he has potential.’
Whit glanced at the body prints on the paper on the floor and thought he saw Roy’s rather limited potential at work.
‘It’s a lot of land at stake. With Patch gone.’
She frowned, as though he had dragged a dirty finger across one of her artworks. ‘Well, the Gilberts have owned most of Black Jack Point since before Texas was Texas. It totals about three hundred acres. Fifty acres is mine. Fifty is Lucy’s. Uncle Patch owns another two hundred.’ She shrugged again. ‘I’ve no idea of the details of Uncle Patch’s will. I would suppose Lucy and I inherit. But we never discussed it.’
‘But if you needed ten thousand dollars, why not sell some of your land?’
‘We’ve always had an unspoken agreement not to sell, except as a group. Patch wanted to hold on to the family land, even when solid offers came in. Lucy and I always deferred to him.’
‘Have you gotten many offers on the land?’ Considering the value of waterfront property in parts of Texas, Whit wondered if the land provided a hard motive.
‘One, oh, a month ago. I got a phone call from a real estate investor in Corpus. I wasn’t interested, but I did refer him to Patch because he was so persistent.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Stoney Vaughn. He’s got a big-ass house up on Copano Flats. Tedious type. I met him once at a Port Leo Art Center function. And another offer, about a year ago, from a company in Houston. We just say no. We don’t want to sell. I don’t know if that will change now, with Patch gone.’
The bottle of Glenfiddich had been from a Stoney. Maybe interesting, maybe not.
He thought of the skeletons. ‘Patch ever mention any archaeological value to the land?’
Suzanne didn’t answer for a second and he wondered if she knew about the bones. David and the DPS team had kept it out of the papers thus far. But a freakish detail like that was hard to muzzle with so many people now involved. She stubbed out her cigarette, glanced up at him through the trail of smoke. ‘An archaeologist wouldn’t find anything except old dead Gilberts and their junk.’
‘No earlier settlement on the land?’
‘Indians must have passed through or hunted there, I guess. Black Jack Point’s always been wild country, though. I don’t think anyone else ever built there but us crazy Gilberts.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘Speaking of crazy Gilberts, what do you see in Lucy? Do you mind me asking? Yes, she’s very pretty but she’s very contrary and a bit too high-maintenance.’
‘She drives me nuts. She makes me laugh. She makes me think. For me that’s pretty good.’
‘Laughing is good. Sexy.’ Her voice went a little lower.
‘I bet Roy’s a real giggle factory.’
‘He can be very sweet,’ she said, letting her smile grow. ‘But I do bore easily.’
‘I’m allergic to paint,’ he said. ‘I’d like to talk to Roy now.’
Her smile – more carefully crafted than her paintings – went flat. ‘Sure.’
They returned to the den. Roy lay sprawled on the couch, drinking a fresh bottle of Dos Equis, watching Jeopardy! He didn’t look up at Whit.
‘Roy, Whit needs to talk to you,’ Suzanne said.
‘I barely knew Patch. What is the Tower of Pisa?’ he said to the television, playing Architecture for $200. He was right.
‘It took a lot of strength to beat a man like Patch to death,’ Whit said.
Roy Krantz didn’t take his eyes off the screen. ‘Probably not. What is photosynthesis? You dumb asses.’
Whit leaned down, grabbed the remote, cut off the television in the middle of Botany for $600. ‘Pardon me. I’m speaking to you. As part of a death inquest. If you don’t want to answer questions here, you do it in a courtroom.’
Roy stood. Whit was tall but this guy was an oak. ‘I told you, I don’t know shit. And I don’t like to miss my program.’
‘Roy.’ Suzanne shook her head.
‘I’m sorry, baby.’ For the first time Whit saw tenderness in Roy’s sun-hardened face. ‘Sorry. Okay.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I never got to know him, Judge. He decided in the first ten seconds of our acquaintance I was trash. So we declined to occupy the same place at the same time.’
‘Let’s talk prison records.’
Roy walked into the kitchen, got another beer, offered a bottle to Whit. Whit shook his head. ‘I ran some dope for a school buddy, I got caught, I cut a little deal, school buddy didn’t. I did a short stint and I’ve been spotless. Now I got my life back together here with Suze, doing my art, and people just want to piss in my beer.’
‘Y’all do much gambling?’ Whit asked.
Roy glanced at Suzanne and she said, ‘Lucy.’ He glanced back at Whit with a smirk. ‘Actually, we do, and we have the means to and we’re not in over our heads. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to anyone that maybe Mrs Tran was the target, not Patch. You grilling her family like this?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘You come after me just because I got a record, that’s the easy thing to do. Just as easy to get yourself sued for false arrest. For reporters to get a call to say some poor ex-con who’s become a model citizen is getting hassled. You can’t fucking bully people, man.’
‘I didn’t realize you felt bullied by me,’ Whit said. ‘Please don’t cry.’
Roy took a step forward. Suzanne put a hand on his thick forearm. ‘Roy. Don’t let him bait you.’
‘I’m not baiting anyone,’ Whit said. ‘Thanks for your time. I can see myself out. I’ll let you know if you’re needed to testify at the inquest.’
Whit drove out of Castaway Key. He remembered the time the land had been developed, this thin sliver of near-island, when he was a teenager. Once this was rough country, not too different from the Gilbert land, thick with salt grass, jutting out into shallow water with a handpainted sign that read PLEASE DON’T PET THE RATTLERS. And how much is this land worth now? Whit wondered. Millions. So how much is that family land really worth to Suzanne Gilbert? Or maybe to her way-smarter-than-he-looks boyfriend?
He didn’t want to think about how much it might be worth to Lucy.
