Free Candy Apple Red by Nancy Bush

unless it’s three days before Christmas and the family has six children and an unemployed handicapped father.” I sipped at Chardonnay number two, determining I wasn’t going to guzzle it as quickly as number one. There were a lot of hours left before bedtime and I didn’t want to flame out too quickly.
    “You should take on a real case,” he said.
    I said, baldly, “I have.”
    Dwayne’s brows lifted with real interest. And at that same moment another boat docked in a newly vacated boat slip. I looked at the captain of the craft and recognized the glowing white mane of Cotton Reynolds.

Chapter Four
    I watched as Cotton guided a young woman ahead of him through the short gate into Foster’s On The Lake, one big hand touching the small of her back. I took this to be Cotton’s wife. She looked past me, smiled, and waved fingers at a couple already seated at one of the tables. My head turned as if pulled by a string. Of the couple, I recognized the woman as one of the most successful real estate agents in the area though I couldn’t immediately come up with her name. The man looked like either her son, or a very young, very buff companion. Cotton’s wife sailed past me, clad in blue culottes, white Polo shirt and a red sweater draped across her shoulders Martha Stewart style. The straw hat atop her reddish-blond hair was encircled by a red, white and blue ribbon. Heather, I remembered. She looked as if she were playacting.
    Cotton, his distinctive white hair like a beacon, followed after her and shook hands all around. Waiters hovered and Jeff Foster made an obligatory appearance. Several expensive bottles of wine were deposited on the table with a flourish and everyone looked ready to settle in for a long evening. Cotton hugged his wife and she smiled and turned her face up to his. It was all very loving.
    “What about this case?” Dwayne asked.
    I had been prepared to tell him about Tess Bradbury’s request but faced with Cotton Reynolds in the flesh I found myself suddenly unable to go there. I needed time to think, so I said as a means to collect my thoughts, “I gave a lady a 72-hour notice and her pit bull chased me to my car.”
    “I asked you if you’d evicted anyone today and you got pissy.”
    “So sue me.” I surreptitiously kept an eye on Cotton’s group. Dwayne, who was turned toward me, twisted on one thigh to see what had captured my attention. I asked quickly, “What are you working on?”
    He turned back and lifted his bottle. “A beer. Some R&R.” He squinted through the branches of the oak at the lowering sun. “Maybe a tan.”
    “You were waiting for the call that came in this afternoon.”
    He grunted. “It’s all about scamming insurance money. Bastards. That’s what the world’s come to. Everybody cheating everybody.”
    “Hmmm…” I said. I was miles away but luckily Dwayne wasn’t picking up on my social signals. Either that, or he was simply ready to talk and he’d be damned if I were listening or not.
    “Northwest Beneficial Life comes to me. They want me to check up on this potential scam artist. Think he’s falsified some life insurance claims. I start digging and it turns out this guy’s rounded up a crew of alcoholic, drug addict, derelict types who are at death’s door. He buys ’em policies in their names through an independent insurance agent who’s listed at the bottom of every policy. Clarkson. He’s the broker. In on the deal. This Clarkson goes out and hunts for policies through lots of insurance companies, not just Northwest Beneficial.”
    I managed to pick up the fragments and condense his report. “Scam artist buys life insurance policies for derelicts through an agent named Clarkson.”
    Dwayne nodded. I knew he thought I was paying a hell of a lot more attention than I was. A master trick from one of life’s perpetually distracted. Sometimes I even impress myself. He went on: “Scam artist plans to benefit by the derelicts’ deaths.