Double Barrel

By Jackie Pentecost

My sister-in-law thinks I killed Kenny. The fat old cow also thinks I killed her sister. That's ridiculous. Why would I kill my wife of forty years who I never manhandled, not once, in all that time, and especially now, when she so recently started receiving social security checks? And, why, if I killed my son, would I leave him on my boat in my own backyard?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Pentecost
• Release date: May 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311920805

Jackie Pentecost

Before graduating from college in California with a Journalism major. Jackie accepted a job with a publicity firm, extolling daily the virtues of local hotels and restaurants without having the inconvenience of actually visiting them. This led to the writing of undisguised fiction which I have pursued ever since. Now living in Florida, she tutors English, teaching the unlettered not to say 'I have went' and English for Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL), explaining cheerfully that the usage of vowels in English are incomprehensible to everyone, not just to them.

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PREFACE

My sister-in-law thinks I killed Kenny. The fat old cow also thinks I killed her sister. That's ridiculous. Why would I kill my wife of forty years who I never manhandled, not once, in all that time, and especially now, when she so recently started receiving social security checks? And, why, if I killed my son, would I leave him on my boat in my own backyard?

My name is Kendall Skyler Jr. I found out when I started school that Skyler was a first name, also, although spelled differently, I'm not quite sure how, but I think with a S-C-H something, not S-K-Y. Teachers would ask, 'are you Kendall Skyler or Skyler Kendall?' I liked the attention. I was so proud of being the son of Kendall Skyler. He had a farm equipment rental yard and sales department for replacement parts for motorized farm equipment. He was like a doctor in the old days, making house calls, diagnosing problems and curing what ailed tractors and such.

But Bakersfield grew around him and housing tracts replaced most of the surrounding farms. He went with the changing times and took to renting large equipment for developers. He was popular, being a founding member of the Hunt Club, and all. He's the one taught me to shoot. I'm a crack shot, especially with the double barreled shotguns we use for skeet.

While I was in high school, Mom died; Dad remarried within one year to a witch with a pair of sullen half grown girls who didn't cotton to my boyish teasing. We didn't get along, even though I can get along with just about anyone. I was odd man out there, so after high school, Dad took me into the business as promised; I took care of the yard, mending equipment and such and moved out of the house into an apartment of my own.

By the time Dad died, five years later, I was newly married to Nina and we were expecting our first child, who turned out to be a girl, Norma. Dad left everything to the witch and her surly brood, except for the business and business account, his double barrel shotgun and his Winchester bolt action rifle, which I inherited.

I'm very good with my hands. I can fix anything. But, without Dad, I was faced with the unpleasant desk tasks I hated. Accounts receivable. Accounts payable. Deodata, the fat Mexican, promptly and grumpily retired, so I had no bookkeeper. Nina took over, more interested in the coming baby than in the ledgers, contenting herself with opening envelopes, sorting them, rubber banding them and leaving them in neat little piles on her desk. Bills didn't get paid. Billings remained unmailed. Looking back, I guess we weren’t in business; we were playing at being in business.

I also discovered the rental equipment was never fully paid for before needing to be updated and replaced, resulting in never ending debts. The business’s best customer, Ben Goldman, the roofer, took offense at my inoffensive Jew jokes and pulled out his account. I guess the jokes were bad judgment but I get along with everyone, Jews and Mexicans alike, as long as they don't want to marry my daughters. Others withdrew as the business floundered. I gave up after a scant fourteen months and went to work operating heavy equipment for another customer, Greystone Building Contractors and remained there until I retired as their top roving superintendent at age 65.

Nina and I had three kids. Norma moved to Texas with her boyfriend after high school, then married and divorced him, and moved on to another guy. She came out to visit Nina and me now and then, always maintaining telephone contact with her mother, but she and I never hit it off much. I had my job and Nina had hers: the raising of the kids. She's the one who wanted them. My middle daughter, Selma, was as plain and docile as Norma was pretty and headstrong. I was glad to see someone wanted to marry Selma. Jason is a little runt from an Okie family, but he always is quiet and respectful when around me and I did my best for him, even sponsoring him at the Hunt Club. At least they make a living of sorts. They do rental maintenance. Poor plain Selma is a cleaning lady, right where I guess she belongs.

Kenny was a different matter. He was handsome; he had Nina's features including her green eyes, but he was lazy from the getgo, always avoiding work. Nina spoiled him rotten; he was a real mama's boy. After his spotty education, I got him a job with Greystone, but he managed to get fired for absenteeism. He had always found girlfriends to shack up with but never married. When he was 21, I finally got him to join the army to make a man of him. It was shortly after the war in Afghanistan started in 2001.He served his hitch there and came the hell out, but not what I called a man. Riddled with alcohol and drugs, he never straightened out. Girlfriends would end up throwing him out of their apartments and Nina would take him back in until he found another willing female for awhile. The only arguments Nina and I had were over him. He fell to pieces after her death. I threw him out forever and he ended up in a coma in my backyard.

Now I hang out at the Hunt Club, spend a few hours a day getting the house ready to sell but never seem to make any headway. I still intend to restore the boat, but never seem to get to it, though the parts for it lie idle in my garage. Selma and Jason pretend to look after me. Norma never calls or visits but Selma says she's o.k., still in Houston and still married to the same guy.

I miss Nina. I did not kill her.

CHAPTER 1

Birdie missed Oliver, of course, who had returned to his oil production job in Saudi Arabia for another six month stint but, at the same time, she was happy to be in Oleta's bungalow on the corner of Houston and Cantaloupe again, seated comfortably in one of the two easy chairs by the picture windows in the living room.

I came out to the front yard early to turn on the sprinklers and guess what I saw? She asked Oleta with arched eyebrows and a knowing grin. Birdie lived on the middle of the block on Cantaloupe.

Her best friend, seated across from her, smiled smugly and unapologetically.

Oh, why don't you marry him, Oleta? Then he won't have to sneak out of your house at 6:00 in the morning, Birdie said.

Oleta's smile vanished. What would I do with Wade? she said shortly.

Birdie shook her head. He's your ex, I repeat ex, husband and has been for years! Why don't you introduce him to another one of the women at the bingo parlor?

I've tried! I managed to get him to take Ruby Walken out and all he said was, She's no ruby."

He meant 'she's no Oleta'!

I can't introduce him to one of the girls at the dances. He can't and won't dance. I've run out of suitable women. He'll just have to find one of his own.

What about that new gal at bingo, the widowed one with the friendly smile. I liked her. I know she's at loose ends and wants to meet new people. She's about our ages, too, not too young or old. I forgot her name.

Now, that's a possibility. Her name is Faith. If she shows up, I'll pay more attention to her. Oleta and Birdie played bingo on Tuesday nights at the social center over on Olive and on Thursday evenings at Birdie's Presbyterian Church on Houston unless something better came up to attract their interest. The bingo games provided gossip. One could learn plenty from gossip. I'll find out if she wants to be a farmer's wife, baking biscuits, feeding chickens, and listening to endless farm reports, Oleta said with some disgust. I grew up on a farm, then married a farmer. What was I thinking?

You were too young to realize you were a big city girl, Birdie said. Bakersfield had grown considerably, but it would never be considered a 'big city', perhaps because of its sprawl in the agricultural San Joaquin Valley, but it was grand enough for Oleta. I promised Oliver I'd get up to the cabin in Three Rivers a couple of times a month. It's a village, not a big city, but I hope you'll come with me again, Birdie remarked.

Of course I will. I want to see what all he's done with it this time. Oliver was a ceaseless tinkerer when he was home.

It's beautiful what with the extra touches we've added and that spectacular view. Three Rivers lay at the 1200 foot level of the Sierras, a gateway to Sequoia National Park, a little over 100 miles from Bakersfield. That redwood table you picked out fits perfectly in the main room. Cantrell had one, too.

Anything new about Oaklawn Ranch? Oleta asked. Oaklawn Ranch was the scene of her last detection efforts a year ago.

Still vacant. The remaining partners are trying to sell it as a dude ranch. The cattle grazing business didn't bring in enough money to justify the expenses of keeping it up.

The remembrance of that exciting investigation brought enthusiasm into Oleta's next words.

Cantrell has a new case, she announced happily. A mystifying one, at last! Much more interesting than his usual cut and dried cases of gang killings and domestic drama.

The one in the papers?

The one where the preacher got shot.

Tell me what the paper didn't say! Birdie said enthusiastically.

They can't get to first base on it. The man was universally loved, Oleta said with relish. He didn't have an enemy in the world!

Well, he must have had at least one! Birdie said happily. She didn't wish the preacher dead but an interesting case aroused her adrenalin. You're so lucky to have a detective for a boyfriend!

He made me promise not to interfere with the case, Oleta said, adding as usual.

And, as usual, you'll ignore that! Birdie gurgled. I never heard of that reverend.

I have. He ran a soup kitchen and a food pantry at his church in that transient section right near the middle of town. Corinne at the Albertson's told me the market contributed food supplies to him regularly. Vicky Furlong called to tell me that Rose in the Attic was just a few blocks from the church and she got many of their members as customers. She wanted, of course, to get my permission to 'grill them', as she so enthusiastically puts it. I told her to hold off until we knew more. Betty was a longtime friend who took over the second hand store after the murder of the owner and the arrest of his partner for the deed. That was Oleta's case, too. Only Detective Ramos, Cantrell's partner, grudgingly refused to admit that after he growled at her meddling.

Tall, lanky, dark haired Birdie was dressed neatly in her dark brown slacks and matching top even though it was June and the temperature outside had climbed into the eighties; Oleta, short and curvaceous, wore a carefully blonde perm and a cotton slacks outfit in her favorite color, pink. They may have seemed the odd couple, but they shared inquisitive personalities that kept them close to windows facing the street.

He was at a picnic, wasn't he? Birdie prodded.

At Hart Park last Sunday after services. His flock brought food and, after eating, they were watching the kids play soccer with their fathers. Everyone was having a great old time until two shots were heard in quick succession and their pastor went down, shot twice in the back as he watched the game. No one saw the shooter. No casings were found. The forensics people think it was a double barrel shotgun that killed him, which is interesting. They say that's a gun which uses pellets mainly for skeet shooting, not killing people, Oleta said somewhat inaccurately.

Isn't that what they do at the hunt club Cousin Billy belongs to? Birdie asked. Cousin Billy was Wade's nephew but was always called 'Cousin' Billy.

Almost every male around here belongs to a hunt club, Oleta said. Maybe it's the skeet and maybe it's the beer and boasting. Wade didn't belong to one; neither did Cantrell, but a lot of the local men did.

That narrows the field to a few thousand suspects, Birdie observed wryly.

That's the problem, Oleta agreed, plus the fact he had no enemies. A well-used van labeled SuperClean turned onto Cantaloupe and parked in front of her house. I'm glad you're with me. There's nothing like confronting a determined woman, no matter how off base she is. Back me up on this.

Selma and Jason, who comprised SuperClean, were her go to maintenance crew for the twelve rental properties she had bought with her settlement money from her divorce. Without the couple, she would always be awash in ammonia and paint. She felt she owed them, even though she paid them well.

Oleta rose to open her front door as two women emerged from the van.

Selma came in with a heavy set woman, no more than five feet six, but with strong shoulders and a more muscular than flabby build and mannishly cut gray hair, dressed in a summer cotton blend dress of a matronly understated blue pattern, who promptly fished for a handkerchief in her oversized purse to mop her brow.

I could never live here. It's too hot in summer in the San Joaquin Valley, she complained before introductions were made. I tried to get Nina to move up to Novato to be near me but Kendall refused to budge. His little world is confined to Bakersfield.

Wait until it climbs to 107 degrees in July, Oleta agreed.

This is my aunt Helen. Helen Adams, Selma said, making unnecessary introductions before they sat on the couch along the wall across from where Oleta and Birdie sat. Oleta immediately itched to redress the woman and change her hair style, but controlled herself. A woman doesn't have to look dowdy just because she is sixtyish, she thought. Even when a child, she had recreated her dolls by sewing new dresses for them and changing their hairdos. She still had a sewing machine tucked away, but hadn't used it in years. Birdie dressed too conservatively for her tastes, but her friend was tall and rangy and could wear a burlap sack and still look good. Vicky Furlong carried her taste for the lurid too far, of course, but, then again, Vicky without the plum color hair and purple dresses would not be Vicky.

She came down to speak to the police, Selma continued, but you two tell her there's no case here before she causes a commotion and embarrasses the family.

I thought this over very carefully before I decided to act. It's been six months now since Kenny died. I also wanted to check up on you, Selma. Now that Nina's gone, I want to keep an eye on you for your sake, Helen contended.

Jason and I are fine, Selma said firmly.

Oleta always did her marketing on Tuesday mornings so she had a fresh supply of Oreos (which she kept for Cantrell) on hand. After presenting her guests with iced tea and the cookies, Oleta sat across from them in her chair and asked, Now, why do you believe Selma's father had anything to do with the deaths of his wife and son? Selma says they died of natural causes.

CHAPTER 2

For some reason I can't fathom, Selma adores her father. Why, I don't know. He's an arrogant, selfish nincompoop! That was Helen's opening gambit.

That's not true! Selma protested angrily.

It is! I spoke with Nina on the phone two, three times a week. I know what was going on and always has been going on! Kendall wouldn't pay for her to have a cell phone, so I got her one and paid the service fees, myself, and I'm not rich by any means. My husband, Douglas, is suffering from diabetes and has been disabled for some years as it has affected his eyesight as well as his feet. I still work part time as a dog groomer. There's no big money there! After she died, by the way, Kendall appropriated the phone. I discontinued the service and now he has to pay for it himself and Selma says he does. He wouldn't pay for his own wife, but for himself, yes. That's your father, Selma!

Pinta, no! It was mother who said they couldn't afford a cell phone!

According to her, they couldn't afford anything! Yet Kendall always had the money for whatever he wanted to spend!

Neglect by adults to other adults is not considered a crime, Oleta said to diffuse the argument. Maybe it should, but it isn't.

Dad always deferred to my mother! He considered her his best friend! Selma insisted.

"Are you deaf and blind? He didn't defer to her! He passed on all the problems to her, is what he did, like with Kenny's drug and alcohol problems, while he escaped to the Hunt Club or went fishing at Pyramid Lake with what he called 'the guys'.

He teaches gun handling at the Hunt Club! He isn't 'hanging out', as you call it!

Because he likes admiration, the macho man with the guns! Why else would he volunteer for an unpaid job like that? He never volunteered for anything else, did he? Like a quiet, unassuming stint that didn't arouse attention? Or anything that required real effort?

Oh, Pinta! You never liked him!

When I met him, he was a young, brash, irritating mouth with a body attached. He's never changed! I looked up to Nina. She was so pretty with her dark hair and large green eyes. I never could figure out what she saw in him!

Pinta, mom died of lung cancer, Selma declared. Kenny died of years of dosing himself with drugs and alcohol. That can't be denied!

When Nina was dying, he bought her cigarettes! She told me! She told me how kind and thoughtful he was! I could have choked with rage!

They comforted her. At that stage, I don't think it mattered much. She preferred cigarettes over the offered marijuana, that's all!

You and your father are both crazy!

Pinta, there's no case! Selma said.

What's with the Pinta? Birdie asked, curious.

Selma and Helen both ceased their heated argument to laugh, relieved to change the subject.

Mom was one of three sisters. She was the oldest. Then came Maria, who's now retired with her husband in Indio. Then came Helen. When the two older girls were in elementary school, they learned about Christopher Columbus and the Nina and the Pinta and the Santa Maria. They had a Nina and a Maria, so, for a prank, they rechristened Aunt Helen 'Pinta'. Norma always called her that and I picked up the habit from her.

Oleta could understand that because of Wade's nephew, 'Cousin