Back to Humboldt
It took me over two hours before I felt ready to point the Ford toward Humboldt. I know Liz had mentioned a party and I sure hoped it wasn’t tonight; I wasn’t up to it.
The sun had already said ‘goodnight’ when I finally parked the Ford in front of Cabin 4 at Chief’s. Joe’s car was parked out front of Chief’s and we had some serious catching up to do.
He was dancing with Barbie when I walked in!
I found a stool and Nickie found me a Jack and Coke. She pointed at the dancing couple and said, “Ain’t they cute?”
“As a ‘butter bean’, my mother always said! I take it you’ve already met Joe. Have you spoiled him already?”
“Absolutely. Can I take him home tonight?” she said laughing.
“Help yourself. But I need him tomorrow, so let’s hope Ronnie or Barbie don’t disagree with the arrangement!”
“They better not. Besides, I’ve had enough of Ronnie today; he has been out of control since breakfast,” Nickie snapped.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Anything new?”
“New, old, used – he doesn’t care. If they looked like a woman, he’s been chasing them all day. Maybe if I bring home a new puppy, he’ll act better.”
“Nickie, Joe’s not a puppy. I know he can bite, I’ve seen him!”
“Well, he’s cute as a puppy. Maybe Barbie will want to take him home,” she laughed.
“Whatever. But call your waitress off; I need to spend some time with Joe. Has he eaten?” I asked.
“No, said he was waiting on you. Steaks good?”
“Perfect. Now call off Barbie, and I’ll be outside on the phone. Tell Joe to get a drink and comfortable at the bar so we can talk. Have we got rooms already?” I asked.
“He’s in 3 and you have your usual 4. I’ll get Ronnie working on the steaks.”
From the outside payphone I called Leroy to see if anything new had developed, it hadn’t. He had spent an hour with Joe and complimented me on my choice; Joe had made a good impression with Leroy and his two deputies, and that was good. I told him we should plan on lunch tomorrow; I needed to brief him on a few things. Leroy agreed.
Reluctantly, I called Liz next. She answered on the first ring.
“Hey handsome,” she said. “Glad you could make it. What time you coming over?”
“Liz, I need a rain check. Today started off great and then went downhill in a hurry. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company. You said Mary Ellen was having a party, is that tomorrow night?”
“No, it’s tomorrow afternoon – 4:00 PM at the Country Club. You are coming, right?” I could almost see her face when she asked that.
“Yes, I will be there at 4:00 PM promptly.” I hoped.
“Okay, since you’re no fun tonight, Mary Ellen and I are meeting Judy, Gerald and Jack at the club for drinks. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
“Go have fun,” I offered. “Joe and I have some work to do tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When I walked back in, Joe had successfully separated himself from Barbie and found a stool next to mine. We spent the next couple of hours having dinner, discussing my meeting with Julio Escobar and planning strategy for our next move.
I needed Joe to work on the Harry and Linda Smiley situation. It was my theory that our two Mafia friends had loaded her up with money and suggested she disappear for a few days, but I wasn’t sure why. If they had run down and killed her husband, Harry Smiley, it was for a reason. And that reason probably had something to do with the disappearance of Dr. Jack Preston and/or the missing papers Julio Escobar needed. My guess was Harry had stolen the papers, and he was killed because they believed he still had them. When that didn’t work, they went hunting for Dr. Preston. What I couldn’t figure was them paying Linda Smiley to leave town, unless they figured she knew more than she should and too many bodies lying around would make things more complicated. Or maybe she was dead already, and it was just supposed to look like she left town. In that case, her ‘payoff’ was a permanent one!
I was going to take Billy Grayton’s suggestion and talk with his jockey, Miguel Rivera. It was probably a dead end or information I already had, but it needed to be done.
Joe and I would meet Leroy at the Ramble Inn for lunch tomorrow, and then my afternoon would be spent sipping wine and collecting donations for Mary Ellen’s latest fundraiser. Fun would be had by all!
I called it an early night. Joe stayed to entertain Barbie and Nickie!
~
Joe and I enjoyed Ronnie’s breakfast special and then headed off in our separate directions. He was going to start with another visit to the Smiley residence; mine started with another visit to ‘Sugar Creek Farms’.
Billy was on his tractor as I pulled into his long driveway. I stopped and he pulled over to the fence where I was parked.
“Hi, Carson, anything new?” he asked.
“Some, but the clues are hard to find and mostly misleading. I’ve taken your suggestion and stopped to talk with your jockey, Miguel Rivera. Is he around?”
“Yes, he’s working out one of our horses. You’ll find him somewhere around the training track or at the barn. Do you need me?” he asked.
“Not now. I’ll let you know before I leave.” I got back in the Ford and headed up the hill to the main house and training track.
Miguel was working a beautiful black stallion, and he was in full stride when I pulled up and parked. Evidently, he was expecting me, because he soon brought the horse to a walk and then turned him over to a stable hand for cooling down.
Miguel quickly came out of the track gate and walked over to where I had parked. He was short, as are most jockeys, but stout. He introduced himself, shook my hand and suggested we go inside the stable to talk.
“Miguel, thanks for talking with me; Billy had suggested that I do so. Is there anything you can add to the mysterious events that happened at ‘Nunamaker Stables’?” I asked as we took seats around a small table.
“First, I want you to know that Todd Randal did not kill Mr. Nunamker,” he said frankly.
“Okay, I accept that,” I said. “But if he didn’t, who did?”
“Probably those Mafia people that he owed all the money to, maybe, but I do not know.”
“Okay, but there are some problems with that theory, are there any other suspects you can think of?” I asked.
“No, none,” he replied shaking his head.
“Okay, I have just two other questions, and then I’ll let you get back to your work. Why is Todd Randal lying about his relationship with Mrs. Nunamaker?”
“I don’t know. You’ll need to ask him that question,” he said without blinking.
“Okay, second question. Where does Dr. Jack Preston fit into this whole mess?”
“You want me to guess?” he asked with a frown.
“Sure, I’ll take guesses. What do you think?”
“I think Aaron Nunamaker was making him add false certifications to the Jockey Club on a lot of his stock. I think Nunamaker was using his real stock to pay those Mafia guys for his debts, and Dr. Preston sobered up one day and got tired of it. That’s what I think,” he answered frankly.
“Do you think Dr. Preston could have killed him?” I asked.
“Possible, but I doubt it. You’ll need to ask him that question.”
“I will, when I find him. Miguel, thanks for your information; you’ve been a big help.” He hadn’t.
I left and waved at Billy, as I made my way down the highway and back to the main road.
~
Leroy and Joe were already at the Ramble Inn when I arrived. Unlike most days, it wasn’t crowded and we had no trouble finding a suitable table to eat and talk.
Ramble Inn
I stopped at the counter to order a burger and fries before joining Joe and Leroy.
“You guys eating healthy today?” I asked them both.
“Carson,” Leroy replied, “it isn’t possible to eat healthy at the Ramble Inn. You know that.”
“I thought hamburger was one of the 5 food groups. Have I been misled?” I laughed.
“You are living proof that hamburgers are required to sustain life,” Leroy laughed. “But let’s talk about something more serious. Joe has filled me in about your encounter with Julio Escobar and his two muscle men. Do we need to be concerned with their threats?”
“Leroy, I’m not sure, but something is really troubling me. Let’s assume that our suspicions are correct, and the Mafia has taken some very valuable horses from ‘Nunamaker Stables’ in payment for gambling debts. And let’s assume that Dr. Preston has some important papers that belong to Julio Escobar. Escobar did, in fact, tell me that, but it makes no sense that he would be concerned about the thoroughbred Jockey Club certifications. First, he is taking the horses to Columbia for sale, racing or stud, and I’m not sure these certifications mean much in South America. Second, if they did, he would just have them forged. I suspect that is what Dr. Preston had been doing for other horses at ‘Nunamaker Stables’ anyway, so why go to all the trouble?” I said.
“Okay, if it’s not the thoroughbred certifications, then what does Dr. Preston have that Escobar needs?” Joe asked.
“I think when the doctor took the thoroughbred papers; he also took the medical records for the horses. Those would include health and wellness, injuries, treatments and most importantly vaccination records. I think Escobar has these horses somewhere, but is having trouble getting clearance to ship them out of the country. I think these horses are sitting in some equestrian warehouse, being held by US Customs waiting on proper medical clearance. Clearance he can’t get without those documents Dr. Preston stole.”
“Carson, you’ve had some wild theories in the past, but now you might have surpassed your previous efforts,” Leroy said.
“Leroy, think about it,” I said. “He wants these horses for himself. Besides, he couldn’t sell them in the US anyway, and getting them quickly out of the country makes sense. We know Escobar needs something from Dr. Preston, and I’m betting it has nothing to do with Jockey Club certification. Harry Smiley got himself killed because he probably assisted Dr. Preston in stealing the documents. The bad guys went after him when they couldn’t find Dr. Preston, but evidently Harry had already gotten rid of them. Next, they go to his wife, Linda, and give her some money to go away. But she fooled them, and left that house full of kids behind with her sister. The bad guys will search that house, if they haven’t already. So, if anybody needs protection, it is probably those kids. What do you think?”
“I think I’m going to have someone from the County or State go and take custody of those kids,” Leroy said quickly.
“Good idea. Now Joe, did you have any success looking for Linda Smiley?” I asked.
“None. I talked with her sister and it was mostly a waste of time. Their parents are dead and they have no other siblings. I talked with neighbors and no one has seen her. It seems she got into her car and drove off; however, they did believe it strange that she would just walk away and leave her kids.”
“So do I,” I added, “which makes me think she is probably dead. What kind of car does she drive? Did you find out?”
“A 59 Volkswagen – dark blue.”
“Leroy, I think it might be a good idea to get an APB out on her car. I also suggest you have Jeff and Scotty give that house a good search, when you get the sister and kids out. I doubt that anything is there, but we know the bad guys will search it, maybe we should do it first.”
“Okay Carson,” Leroy said. “You’re giving me a lot of work, but you’re not giving me any reason to believe Todd Randal didn’t kill Aaron Nunamaker.”
“I know, but this is all tied together – somehow. Jack Logan has got a preliminary hearing scheduled for Todd next week, and I’ve got to give him some ammunition. Joe and I are going to work on some strategy to do that.”
Leroy got up and said, “You guys share my burger. I’ve got to find somebody to take care of those kids. You’ve got my attention.”
Leroy left Joe and me to finish our lunch and do some planning.
“Joe, I’ve got some difficult assignments for you. You ready?” I asked as we finished our burgers.
“I’m ready, boss. Just point me in the right direction.”
“First, I need to know where our two Mafia friends are staying. James Henry Lewis and Johnie Gibson are bunking in some local motel, either close to Humboldt, in Humboldt or maybe Jackson. I think that information will come in handy.”
“Okay. What else?” Joe asked.
“Second, I want you to secure the license plate numbers from the personal vehicles of everyone involved in this mess: Aaron and Susan Nunamaker – Billy and Amanda Grayton- Eddie Merrick, the Nunamaker jockey – Justin Avery, the Nunamaker trainer – Miguel Rivera, the Sugar Creek jockey and don’t forget Todd Randal. I also need you to get the license numbers of all farm vehicles and trucks associated with ‘Sugar Creek Farms’ and ‘Nunamaker Stables’.”
“Okay, but why?” he asked.
“I have a hunch somebody in this group might have been taking some airplane flights we don’t know about. Airport parking companies collect license numbers of all vehicles that use their lots. When you get the numbers, we’re going to check your information with McKeller Field in Jackson and the Memphis Airport to see if any of our suspects have parked there recently.”
“Okay. What else?” Joe asked.
“Here’s the tough one. We need to find an equestrian shipment that is being held in US Customs. Since we don’t know the port and we don’t know the ship, it might be difficult. The ship’s registry could be any country, not necessarily a South American one. The port could also be anywhere, but my first choices would be New Orleans and Houston. My next choices would be Fort Lauderdale and Miami – not every port would handle these types of shipments.”
“That is a tough one,” Joe added.
“I know. Go to the sheriff’s office and have them set you up with an office and phone. Use your head and instinct, I can’t guide you any further than that.”
“Okay. What are your plans?” Joe asked.
“I need to have an interview with Susan Nunamaker, but the rest of my day is booked. I’ll plan that for tomorrow. Meanwhile, this afternoon I’ll be at the Humboldt Country Club at a fundraiser with Liz. You can reach me there if you need me. Just call the bar and have the bartender Nuddy find me.”
We finished our lunch and I went back to Chief’s to freshen up and dress for this afternoon’s event.
~
Mary Ellen Maxwell was a widow, a Humboldt socialite and the owner of Maxwell Trucking. She and Liz are best friends, and we met during a case that involved the murder of Mary Ellen’s husband. Judy Strong works as executive vice president at Maxwell Trucking. She and Jack Logan met during the same case and have become very close friends. Gerald Wayne is the owner of Wayne Knitting, and he and Mary Ellen have recently become a pair in the Humboldt social circle.
Wayne Knitting
This afternoon’s event was a social fundraising sponsored by Mary Ellen for the benefit of a local homeless shelter. All the Humboldt elite were there, invited to write their checks for another worthy cause. Carson Reno, Memphis private detective, was there as a guest of Elizabeth Teague and right in the middle of it.
I spent the first hour upstairs shaking hands with old friends, and eventually writing a generous check for Mary Ellen. Liz was bouncing from table to table and conversation to conversation, this gave me an opportunity to slip to the downstairs bar and visit with Nuddy, the bartender, and get a real drink.
Nathan Crouch was the owner of Humboldt’s Cadillac dealership, the owner of a couple of dirt stock car tracks and the owner of some fine horses. He stopped at the bar while I was talking with Nuddy.
“Nathan,” I said. “Good to see you. Have you left all your money upstairs with Mary Ellen?”
“Ha! Not yet but my wife is still there. It isn’t over yet!” he laughed.
“Have you got some time to visit with me?” I asked.
“Not now, I need to get back upstairs and protect my check book! Stop by the track tonight,” he suggested. “I’ll be in Gadsden racing tonight, come see me there.”
“Will do,” I said as he headed back upstairs.
I had just ordered my second drink when Jack Logan took the stool next to mine.
“Carson, I’ve got a hearing next week! What have you got for me?” Jack asked.
“We’re working on it, and I know you don’t want to hear that. But we have a lot of people telling us a lot of lies. I’ll have something for you before the hearing, promise. Has Todd changed his story yet?” I asked.
“Not really, and that’s strange. He knows that I know he’s lying, but he’s protecting somebody. I’m not going to be able to do much unless you give me some ammunition for my hearing,” he said shaking his head.
“We’re working on it,” I said again.
Eventually Liz, Judy, Mary Ellen and Gerald came and joined us in the downstairs bar. We found a table and had an uneventful evening over drinks, dinner and wine. Mary Ellen had raised a lot of money, so that part of the day had been successful.
~
Dinner was finished when Liz asked, “Okay, Carson, what are doing for the rest of the evening, dancing and a movie?”
“Liz, we’re going to a stock car race. You ever done that?”
“No, and it’s not going to start today! I have my limits, Mr. Reno, and that is outside of them. You find yourself some hotrod honey and forget me!” She was being difficult.
“Come on, Liz! You can stay in the car. I won’t be long. Then we’ll go to the VFW for some dancing. Okay?” Was I begging?
“You’ll have my company for 15 minutes at this fiasco, and leave the car keys with me. If you take longer, I’ll leave your ass with the rednecks,” she was not kidding.
“Deal,” I said nodding.
We left the group with a promise to do it again soon. Jack and I would talk tomorrow, Monday at the latest.
~
The Gadsden Speedway was a quarter-mile dirt track located 6 miles southwest of Humboldt on Highway 70/79.
Saturday night was race night, and the ‘good old boys’ brought out their stock cars for a fun night of racing, rubbing, wrecking and drinking.
In addition to owning the local Cadillac dealership, Nathan Crouch owned the speedway, and usually had a few of his own cars in the weekly show. Nathan was also a horse owner and had several thoroughbreds that were housed at ‘Nunamaker Stables’ and had all been reportedly lost in the fire.
I left Liz in the car and made my way into the track. I found Nathan sitting in the announcer’s booth watching the action and sipping on something out of a paper cup.
“Carson, my friend,” he said as he stood up to greet me. “Good to see you, sit down and pull up a paper cup. I’ve got just the cure for whatever illness, ailment, lost love or woman problem you might have.”
“I’m sure you do, Nathan.” I never got the chance to refuse. He had already poured me a cup before I got seated.
“What drags you out with the rednecks?” he asked.
“Did you lose any horses in the ‘Nunamaker Stable’ fire?”
“Sure did, son. Three of the finest thoroughbred race horses in West Tennessee and three of the fastest too. But you must have known that already, right?”
“I thought you did, but I wasn’t sure. Would you be able to identify those horses?” I asked.
“Identify? Hell boy, they hardly had enough to bury, much less identify. Everything in that barn was cooked – and I mean WELL DONE,” he laughed.
“What I mean is could you identify those horses if they didn’t die in the fire? Could you prove they were your horses?” I asked.
Nathan gave me a very funny look. “Hell boy,” he said again. “You telling me my horses didn’t burn in that fire? Is that what you are saying?”
“Bare with me a minute,” I started. “Would you be able to provide conclusive proof and documentation that they are your horses – providing they’re alive?”
“Carson, supposedly all the official records burned with the animals or that drunk veterinarian lost them, but I’m no idiot. I never trusted that drunk, and about 6 months ago I had a vet from Memphis do another certification. Those records are at home in my safe. Is that what you want to know?”
“Nathan, that’s EXACTLY what I wanted to know – thank you! Now, if you’ll forget we ever had this conversation, I’ll forget to tell Leroy about this shit that you tried to get me to drink! Is this the same stuff you’re using for fuel in those race cars?” I laughed.
“Ha! No, but now that you bring it up, it might not be a bad idea.”
“Well, I would suggest you don’t smoke for a couple of hours after you drink it, if you know what I mean.”
“Carson, I do know what you mean,” he laughed. “Now, if you find my horses I want to be the first one to know. Okay?”
“That’s a deal, but don’t mention this conversation to anyone until we talk again,” I said as I got up to leave.
“I won’t. And while you’re leaving, watch that number 43 running down there. That’s my car, and it’s been kicking ass for the last year.”
When I got back to the car it was EMPTY! Liz was not where she was supposed to be – sitting in the car.
She had given me 15 minutes and I only used 10, something was wrong. As I’m deciding what to do, I hear her distinctive laugh. It was coming from an area next to the track fence, an area where spectators would watch from their car, or from the bed of their truck.
I walked over to the fence, and there she was. Sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck, swinging her legs and talking to a woman I didn’t recognize.
“Carson, I want you to meet someone,” she said cheerfully. “This is my friend Tammy. Her husband is driving the number 12 racecar; it’s red with white letters. Did you see it?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t. Did it win?” I asked them both.
“No silly, it crashed. I can’t believe you missed it. It was exciting and nobody got hurt. Isn’t that nice?” Liz was actually giddy over the whole thing.
“How do you know Tammy? Did you girls go to school together?” I asked stupidly.
“Well, no – I don’t think so. We just met a few minutes ago. Tammy did we go to school together?” she asked the woman.
At this point, I believe Tammy thinks Liz is crazy and I’m ready to agree with her. They continued to chat about cars, kids and subjects I’m not familiar with, and it was like they had known each other since birth! I stood back and watched the races; it had been a while since I had been dirt track racing.
Eventually their conversation ended and Liz dragged me back to the car.
“That was fun,” she said. “We should do it again sometime.”
I said nothing and pointed the car toward the VFW. Someday I’ll try harder to understand women. For now I just accept whatever happens.
~
It was Saturday night and the VFW was crowded. Some local group was providing the entertainment and actually they were pretty good.
We danced until the band quit, almost 1 o’clock, which was much too late. I had a full day tomorrow and she was headed back to Memphis to catch a flight to the West Coast.
Liz had eggs, so we stayed at her place.
Horse Tales 
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