Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) by Joel B Reed Read Free Book Online Page B

did what I asked.
    The neck of the case was small and I nodded. “All right, I’ll take it,” I told him. I laid the other bill beside the first and leaned back. “What I really want to know is where you found that.”
    The boy approached carefully. Then, in a flash, he grabbed the two bills and jumped back where he started. I carefully picked up the empty shell casing, using a wire I keep in my pocket for just this purpose. I looked at the base. “It’s a .223, all right,” I told Dee. “Remington commercial casing. Civilian issue, not military.”
    Dee stayed where he was. I took out a self-sealing sandwich bag and put the shell in, tucking the whole works into a shirt pocket. Then I took a five out of my wallet and looked at the youngster. His eyes widened when he saw it was a five, but other than that, he showed no interest. “I was looking for that,” I told him. “Now I’d like for you to show me where you found it.”
    The boy said nothing. He nodded toward the five I still held in my hand and pointed to the bench. “No,” I said. “You have to show me first.”
    He looked at me gravely for a long moment, then shook his head. I put the five back into my wallet. After a moment, he walked back to the door, then stopped and looked at me. I sat for a moment, then took the five out again. His eyes grew even wider than before when I tore the bill and half. Then I laid one half onto the bench. “All right,” I told him. “You take this half now, and I’ll give you the other one when you show me where you found it.”
    “Ain’t no good now,” he told me. I wondered if it was just my ear or if he was losing some of his rural Arkansas accent.
    I didn’t think I would be able to convince him otherwise. So I picked up the torn bill and took two more ones out of my wallet and laid them on the bench. “All right. Two now and three more when you show me.”
    He considered this for a moment, then nodded. This time he walked up to me and did not run back after he picked up the bills. “I’m Jazz,” I said, offering my hand. “What’s your name?”
    He looked at my hand for a moment, then shook it. “My name is Robert,” he told me, his voice completely without accent now. His eyes were solemn.
    “I bet your last name is Jones,” I told him.
    “How much you want to bet?”
    “A quarter.”
    “You lose,” he replied. “It’s McNutt.”
    “All right, Robert,” I laughed and tossed him a coin. “Why don’t you show us where you found it.”
    Robert moved to the door and waved for us to follow. When we emerged, we found ourselves in a small clearing behind the community center. The tree line curved south from the corner nearest the road, making a hidden pocket in what looked like solid forest and brush. It was about fifty feet across at its widest and ran over the edge of the ridge. I looked around and saw we were not standing far from a line of photinias, the same one that gave the privy privacy. Yet, I could not see the outhouse from where I stood.
    Robert stopped just outside the door and seemed to be lost in thought. Then he turned and walked to the west corner of the building. He stopped there a minute and looked out. Then he turned back to us and spoke in a quiet voice. “You wait until I’m across.”
    I heard Dee snort softly, the way he does when he is getting impatient. “What’s the deal with him?” he asked so quietly I could barely hear.
    I chuckled. “He doesn’t want to be seen with us.”
    “So it’s not cool talking to PO-lice around here,” he murmured.
    “Something like that.” I saw Robert wave to us from the other side of the road. “Or it may be he’s got a good deal going, and he doesn’t want his mama to spoil. Let’s move.”
    As we crossed the road, it occurred to me that anyone seeing us would probably think we were chasing Robert. Nor did I think this concept was lost on him. This was what he intended, and it struck me we were dealing with a very