“Did the man who got killed ever come in here?’’
“No, he sure didn’t, Mace. Although …’’
“What?’’ Marty and I both said at once.
“Well, I get my hair done at Hair Today. Rosalee, you know that.’’
Mama nodded, her chin cupped in her left hand with her ring finger splayed across her cheek.
“That sweet girl D’Vora and me were talking about how Jim Albert loaned people money. Some of the ranchers up here have been having a hard go of it. I’ve heard certain people were in the habit of visiting him before he got killed.’’
“Who, Miss Ruth? We need names,’’ I said.
She pursed her lips. The café’s owner for thirty years, her customers were her family.
“Please,’’ Marty said. “It’s important.’’
Still no answer.
“You know Jeb Ennis?’’ I asked.
She shook her head unconvincingly and moved across the restaurant to wipe down an already-spotless table. “I need to get back to work,’’ she said over her shoulder.
Every seat in the place was empty.
“If y’all can find Old Jake, you might ask him.’’ Head lowered, she continued swabbing the table. “He’s been here longer than I have. He used to work downstairs in the pens. Now, he mostly hangs around. He knows everything about everybody. And he don’t have a problem telling what he knows.’’
Mama touched Ruth’s wrist, her fingers stretched all the way up her arm. “Thanks so much, doll.’’
“You’re welcome.’’ Ruth tried to pull away. Mama held tight. Ruth finally looked down. “My, oh my.’’ Her eyes widened. “Would you look at that ring!’’
“Oh, this?’’ Mama lifted the ring to the light. “Well, honey, my boyfriend just proposed. I’m gettin’ married.’’
“Again?’’ Ruth said.
I grabbed Mama’s elbow and steered her out the door.
“Congratulations,’’ Ruth called after us as we started down the stairs.
We found Old Jake under the building, sitting on an upside-down milk crate in the shade of the pens. He looked up as we approached, his grin spreading across his white stubble beard. A few teeth were missing. Those remaining were stained brown from a chaw of tobacco, and thousands more before it, bulging in his jaw.
“Well, lookit you, Ma’am,’’ He took off his hat and beamed. “You’re as purty in that purple as a speckled pup in a red wagon.’’
Mama fluttered her lashes. “It’s boysenberry. And thank you kindly, suh.’’
Had we wandered onto the set of an old cowboy movie?
“You must be Jake,’’ Marty said.
“Old Jake, that’s what they call me.’’ He ran a hand over his head. It was mostly bald, with brown age spots and a fringe of gray. “I’m so old now, some days I’m not sure I even remember my name.’’
“Why, you don’t look a day over …’’ Mama hesitated, trying to find a number that would flatter without sounding ridiculous. “Seventy,’’ she finished.
Jake, who’d probably passed that landmark fifteen years before, smiled so broadly we got a peek of his spit-softened chaw.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’’ I said.
“Depends.’’
He put his hat back on and spit. A brown stream hit the ground, sending up a puff of dust. Mama took a careful step sideways in her boysenberry heels.
“Do them questions have anything to do with unpaid taxes or immoral women?’’
Marty blushed.
“No,’’ I said, laughing. “Nothing like that. You remember hearing about the owner of the Booze ‘n’ Breeze, the man who was murdered?’’
Jake knew all about it, even down to the fact that the body was discovered in the trunk of “some lady’s convertible.’’ We didn’t mention the “purty’’ gal in front of him was that same notorious lady. He also knew about Albert’s loans to strapped ranchers.
“Yep.’’ A stream just missed my boot. “Some of these boys ’round here bit off more than they can chew. Ranching’s a tough bidness. Only the strong survive.’’
“Who was borrowing?’’ I asked.
Jake opened his lips just enough to spit. Not a word escaped.
“Clarke Simmons?’’ I named one of Florida’s best-known cattle men. Jake’s thin shoulders shook with laughter. When he started wheezing, Marty patted his back until he quit.
“Simmons has got more gold than Midas,’’ he said with a final cough. “That fellow from the drive-thru could have borrowed money from him.’’
“Jeb Ennis and I go way back,’’ I said. “I know he’s been having some cash-flow problems.’’
Jake narrowed his eyes at me. “Yep.’’
“It’s a shame. Jeb sure did work hard to build that ranch,’’ I said.
“Now, that might be true. But Jeb’d do better to keep his mind on his bidness. You can’t serve two masters.’’
I waited for the wizened old man to go on. He straightened the hat on his head.
“He borrowed money from just about ever’body here, even a few bucks from me. But he always had one excuse or t’other about why he couldn’t repay. Don’t piss on my back and tell me it’s rainin’, that’s what I always say.’’
Marty leaned down so she could look under the hat brim, directly into Jake’s rheumy green eyes. “What do you mean? Was Jeb in trouble? Who were his masters?’’
“The cattle, that’s one. They’ll keep a man up nights, always needing something. You feed, you breed, you sell for what you can, and then you start all over again. Year in, year out. Raising cattle is gamble enough for most men. But not for Jeb.’’
“Jake, honey, just tell us what you got to tell us,’’ Mama said. “Who was Jeb’s other master?’’
“More like ‘what was,’ Ma’am.’’ He spit. “Gambling got t’hold of Jeb Ennis. He’s lost near all that he owned. That boy never took to heart that old advice about not betting the ranch.’’
“I don’t believe my eyes, Mace.’’ Mama gripped my arm so tight I was afraid the skin was going to pop like an overcooked sausage. “It’s that awful man.’’
I followed Mama’s gaze through the front window of Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow, where I’d brought her after the livestock market. Pastor Bob Dixon stood in the salon behind his wife, hands resting on Delilah’s shoulders. Seated in a mauve chair, she was covered from the neck down with a drape in deep purple. She looked like a large grape with a stem of wet hair.