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

to the corner of the store. “Your dad a boxer?” Dee asked. Robert didn’t answer but dropped his eyes. “Well, he moves like one,” Dee continued.
    Then I remembered something. I couldn’t recall the details, but there was a news story years ago about a young contender from Arkansas people thought might be the next Muhammad Ali. He was strong and fast and remained undefeated. Then, out of the blue, he quit just as his career was taking off. I couldn’t remember his name, but it wasn’t McNutt.
    I became aware of Dee and Robert staring at me. Dee had apparently asked me something, but I had no idea what it was. “Senior moment,” I said. “Be sure and do the outhouse, too.”
    I looked to Robert, who was staring at the outhouse and frowning. I could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind, trying to puzzle it out and not wanting to ask. I nearly laughed. Then I remembered what I wanted to know when his dad broke in. “What about it, Robert? Did you see anyone hanging around back here a day or two before the celebration.”
    He shook his head, still staring at the privy. “How about here? Did you see anyone here at the outhouse?”
    This time he nodded. “Yeah, one man.”
    “Did you recognize him?” Robert’s short answers were beginning to get to me and from the look Dee gave him, I could see he was losing patience, too. Yet, it would not help to push Robert faster than he wanted to go. He wasn’t holding back or trying to balk. Growing up with his dad, he had learned to ponder before speaking.
    “Did you recognize him?” Dee repeated the question.
    Robert nodded. “Yeah, it was him. The guy that got shot.”
    “Smiley Jones?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
    “Yeah, it was him. He waved at me.”
    “When was this?” Dee asked. He was done sealing the blacksmith shop.
    “That day,” Robert told us. “The day he got shot.”
    “Really,” I asked. “How was he dressed?”
    Robert shrugged. “Like everyone else. You know, Sunday go tomeeting clothes.”
    “He was wearing a suit and a tie?” Dee asked and Robert nodded.
    “Do you remember if he had his suit jacket on? Or was he in shirt
    sleeves?”
    Robert thought a moment. “Shirt sleeves. He didn’t have a jacket.”
    “Do you remember what color his coat and tie were?” I asked. The only reason I asked was habit. I didn’t think it was significant, but the more details we had, the better.
    Robert nodded, animated for the first time. “Yeah. I thought it was a cool tie. Sort of all different colors. Looked like a snake.”
    “A snake?” I asked. “You mean with its mouth open?” I held up my hand and cupped it like a cobra about to strike.
    Robert shook his head. “No, like a regular snake, lying on a log. Sort of brown and shiny. Almost black.” I tried to imagine what he meant, but couldn’t. Maybe it was one of those fabrics that reflected light differently from different angle. I was about to ask what color pants and shoes he had on when Dee spoke up.  
    “What about his shirt?” Dee interjected. “What color was that?”
    Robert pointed to me. “About like his, only no checks.” I was wearing a tan and brown plaid.
    “You mean tan colored?” Dee asked and Robert nodded.  
    I looked at Dee. This was a strange development. “Are you thinking what I am?” I asked. He nodded. “Why didn’t the shooter take care of him back here?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Why not take the easy shot? Why wait until he was out there and risk missing the shot? Or being seen?”
    “There you are,” a familiar voice said from the direction of the store. I looked abound and saw Spinks and his partner coming toward us. “What you got?” he asked when they got to us.
    “We’re not sure yet,” I answered.
    Spinks pointed to the tape on the blacksmith shop. “What about this?” he demanded. He pulled the yellow tape loose and grabbed the handle of the door.
    I threw my weight against the door, jerking it out of his hand. Blood