Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(17)

“The Notebook,” Tom offered.

Ray Ray snapped his fingers. “That’s right. The Notebook. Well, I tried that mess. Wrote the whole story of our courtship out and read it to her every morning. Course it wasn’t as pretty a tale as the one in the movie. Anyway . . . she don’t remember shit, and I’ve stopped going out there every day. Now I go every Friday at lunch and then come out here.” He stopped and took down the rest of his beer in one swallow. Then he crushed it in his hand and set it beside the cooler next to two similarly crushed cans. He opened another one and set his foot on top of the cooler, still watching the water. “No one ever said life was fair, Tommy old boy. I put Doris through hell for thirty years. Boned pretty much every secretary I ever had, drank like a fish, and chased cases and tail like there was no tomorrow. And then one day I wake up and tell Doris it’s all over. I’m quitting the booze. The other women. All of it. She cries and we go on a second honeymoon trip to the Keys.” He took a sip of beer. “A week after we get back, the clerk at Davis & Eslick grocery tells me that Doris is down there and can’t remember why she came. The rest . . . well, you know the rest, Tom.

“Jesus Christ, listen to me,” Ray Ray said after several seconds of silence. He took another long sip of beer and turned to Tom. “So how’s Musso doing?”

Again, Tom winced. “Dead. He killed a bobcat on my farm last year. Saved my life actually, because the bobcat was rabid and was going for me. He died from his wounds.”

Ray Ray whistled. “Goddamn. Sure sorry to hear that Tom. Damn, I loved that dog too.”

“It was hard not to love Musso,” Tom said, clearing his throat. “Got me a new dog, though. Bo gave me a white and brown bulldog last year. I named him Lee Roy.”

Ray Ray smiled. “Good name.” Then just like that the smile was gone. “You came out here because of Bo.”

Tom nodded.

“He’s in a world of shit,” Ray Ray said. “I mean a f*cking F5 shit tornado.”

“He is,” Tom agreed.

“So are you out here as his friend or his lawyer?” Ray Ray asked, and the wide grin was back. Had his face been painted white and his lips red, he would’ve looked a little like one of the main villains from the Batman movies. In fact, Coach Bryant had always referred to Ray Ray as Joker.

“Both,” Tom said. “I plan to make my notice of appearance tomorrow morning.” He paused. “I need local counsel.”

“Oh, hell no,” Ray Ray said, standing abruptly and walking past Tom up the pier. “Hell . . . f*cking . . . no!” he bellowed from halfway down the pier.

Tom watched Ray Ray ascend a rocky hill toward his one-story cabin. Thirty seconds later he was pacing back down the hill, shaking his head the entire way. In his right hand he held a large bottle of brown liquid.

“Tommy, you are dumber than a box of hammers, you know that?” Ray Ray said. The bottle was a handle of Evan Williams whiskey.

“Drinking the good stuff I see,” Tom said.

“Fuck you,” Ray Ray said, taking a pull off the bottle and handing it to Tom.

“I’ll pass,” Tom said, holding his hand up. “I’m still working on this beer.”

“Whatever,” Ray Ray muttered. He started to lift the bottle to his lips but then set it on the pier. He plopped down in the chair again and reached into the cooler and popped the top on another beer.

“What can you tell me about Andy Walton’s murder?” Tom asked.

“Nothing really,” Ray Ray said, squinting at Tom. “Just what’s been in the papers. General Lewis is usually pretty good about keeping a closed lid on information in important cases.”

This Tom believed, having just been stonewalled by the General herself. “Well, how about Andy Walton? What can you tell me about him and his family?”

Ray Ray belched, picked up the bottle of whiskey on the ground, thought about it, and then put the bottle back down. “Goddamnit.” He wiped his mouth and sighed. “The Curtis family was actually settled in Pulaski long before Andy Walton showed up. In fact, the parcel of land now called Walton Farm was where Maggie Curtis and her brother, George, were raised as kids. Andy was from Selmer, Tennessee, over in McNairy County. He made a fortune running bootleg whiskey before Buford Pusser became sheriff. Instead of going to war with Buford like the other State Line Mob folks did, Andy came over this way and started buying up land and businesses. When George and Maggie’s daddy was about to lose the farm, Andy bought the old man out and all the surrounding land too.” Ray Ray laughed as the sun began to seep behind a few clouds and the sound of thunder echoed from a good distance away. “It’ll be on us in a few minutes,” he said.

“How did Andy end up with Maggie?”

Again, Ray Ray laughed. “Some say old man Curtis offered her as part of the deal.” He shook his head. “I never bought that. I think Ms. Maggie just couldn’t bear to part with that land or the status associated with owning it. I think she made the deal with Andy more so than the old man, and Andy took it because a wife like Maggie could help him in a new town. She was big in the church. The DAR. All the little foofoo women’s clubs.”

“What happened to George?”

“He was in medical school when the old man was losing the farm, so there wasn’t anything he could do to help.” Ray Ray shrugged. “I’ll say this for George, he’s a survivor. I’m sure he had to be bitter that the family farm went to Andy, but he moved on and opened his medical practice after the old man’s death and has been a local fixture ever since. But . . .”