The Later Years: CD Grimes PI, #2

By C. D. Moulton

Mysteries in the style of the 60's
Takes the original CD Grimes from the early 60s to the mid 70s

Critics comment
A lot like book one. The detective ages and has a family in a realistic enough way, and the stories are the type printed in the magazines. I personally liked a couple of them and thought they were above average. Moulton shows some talent, which is more than can be said of too many writers anymore. – JM Rtng: I'd buy it

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201279820

Book preview

CD Grimes

Book two

15  shorts

The Later Years

© 1986 & 2019 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, either electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any other information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Mysteries in the style of the 60's

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Critics comment

A lot like book one. The detective ages and has a family in a realistic enough way, and the stories are the type printed in the magazines. I personally liked a couple of them and thought they were above average. Moulton shows some talent, which is more than can be said of too many writers anymore. – JM Rtng: I’d buy it

Contents

About the author

Screwups

Murder Can Be Fatal

Of Thee I Sing

Death of a Host

Bad Gamble

Sharpie

Round Trip

Sinisteria

Death in the Family

Interim

Life Goes On

Company Policy

He Did

Don’t Mess With Grimes

Forever

About the Author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida, in 1938. He is educated in genetics and botany. He has traveled over much of the world, particularly when he was in music as a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager and landscaper – among other things.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published as of 3/15/16 in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides in Puerto Armuelles, David, and Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. Several have adopted him as their father. He funds those he can afford through the universities where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money. Culturally, they are very wealthy) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

- Estrelita Suarez V. de Jaramillo – 3/15/2016

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He has studied botany, and was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook group, Natural medicine research. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Screwups

¨Yo, Cool Mama! What do you call that one?" Willis Turner, Deputy Sheriff, asked.

Sophrolaeliocattleya Naomi Kerns 'Fireball' AM AOS, Sheila, my knockout rich wife answered.

Neat, he said. I still don't know what it is!

You worked for Birney's Orchids for awhile, so don't hand me that crap! I said.

I'm C. D. Grimes of the C. D. Grimes Detective Agency.

"It's a nice little bronzy-chocolate colored orchid with a very red lip, Sheriff Buford said. Does it always have so many at once?"

Averages three to a stem and there are four stems on that one, JR pointed out. He's J. R. Crane, multibillionaire – and Sheila's father.

See how cleverly I introduced us all?

I'm going to cross it on that good Blc. Llewellyn, JR continued.

It's been done, Sheila said. I already looked it up. Try it on the Orient Amber instead for a better match.

They've both been around since before fifty one, I said. What makes you think it hasn't been done?

It's not listed, if it has, Horace Greely stated from the records' desk – Oh, yeah. Horace is the kid who helps with the orchids, not the famous one. Willis recommended him for the job and he's perfect. Smartest one kid I ever saw when it comes to orchids, and maybe the dumbest when it comes to life.

I don't see what the point would be in crossing them. Not much to be gained, he went on. The Naomi would muddy the color of the Amber, and the Amber would ruin the form of the Naomi.

¨That's about what they said when they crossed Blc. Malvern a lot of years ago, Sheila said. Cross them, and we'll raise a few. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.Uh, Mr. Grimes?" Horace said.

Yo!

Er, could I, uhm, talk to you – in private?

I looked at him sitting there staring through those oversized glasses, and thought of a black barn owl. Sheila always said he was too darling for words when he was worried about something. He would hum and haw and beat around until you drug it out of him, and it was usually nothing.

Sure, I said. I was just going to the house for some refreshments, anyhow. Come along and we'll talk.

The refrigerator is full of refreshments! Sheila cried.

We don't keep tequila in the refrigerator, I said.

Scotch, for me, JR requested.

She shook her head as Horace and I went out. I used to drink a lot when I met Sheila and I smoked like a chimney. Her one demand of me was to quit smoking, but I cut way down on the booze at the same time.

It was late evening, was dark out, we had eaten a delicious dinner, and I always had a tequila and grapefruit with one ice cube about this time of day. Now, when I'm around a smoker, I almost gag from the smell. I'm damned glad I quit!

We were on our way back to the house, and Horace mumbled a bit, then just blurted, My sister's being black mailed, and I don't know what to tell her to do!

Why should you be the one to tell her? I asked.

¨Because she says I work for a detective, and he would know. I'm supposed to be real cute, and find out without letting you know why I want to know, but I think I should probably ask you outright."

I nodded. What's she being blackmailed for? I asked.  She won't tell me, he said.

I'll meet her tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock at the Trucker, I said. Tell her it's all confidential, and it won't cost her anything, because you have automatic detective insurance when you work for me.

She won't believe that! he cried.

Why not? I asked. It's true.

But ... you get a hundred bucks a day and all, er, expenses! he protested.

I get three fifty a day plus expenses, with a minimum of one grand, I said. My wife's a millionairess. I only do this so people won't say I'm a bum living off of her.

Oh, but they say that anyhow...! I mean, that is we, uh.... he stammered.

I'll tell you a secret, I said. That's exactly what I do! Another little secret is that she knows it! I'm such a great stud she's willing to pay!

Hey! he cried. She's gotta be the best looking bro ... uh, woman around here! She could have anybody she wanted!

"She wants me, I pointed out. That means...."

Aw! You're just putting me on! he said.

Ha! I snapped back. Where would I ever get the money for that jet I fly around? Those orchids out there represent several million dollars – hell! I couldn't even pay the rent on my house when I met her! Now I own it outright. In my name!

He was gawking at me. Aww, he said.

I winked at him, and we went into the house and got the Chivas from Mr. Cliff (JR's butler. Did I mention that we were at his Emerald Lake estate?) and the tequila. On the way back to the greenhouse Horace said, Aw! Naw! She couldn't be that much of a screwup!

As Sheila and I drove back to Nicely (God, but I hate that name!) and our house, she asked, What in the world did you tell Horace? He was giving me the funniest looks all night!

I told her, and she giggled. You're the big screwup! she said. Guess what will be on the front page of the morning's papers?

Something about Korea, I said. Your old man owns the paper, and he wouldn't print something like that. Not on the front page, anyhow!

I was at The Truck Stop Cafe early, having my second cup of black coffee when a very attractive black girl came in and stood looking around, then talked to Lucille, the owner, for a minute. Lucille pointed at me and she came to slide into the booth across from me.

I'm Lacey Greely, Horace's sister? she said.

"I got one really big question here, I replied. How could someone like Horace have a knockout sister like you?"

He got all the brains, I got all the looks, she replied. I almost didn't come, Mr. Grimes. I just don't know where else to turn!

Start at the beginning, I said. Tell me everything. Don't hold anything back. I've heard and seen it all. Lucille brought coffee and a large plate of cinnamon rolls dripping with butter. I raised an eyebrow at Lacey.

"I can eat absolutely anything I want and not put on an ounce until I have my first child, then I can eat nothing at all and get to be a blimp. On distilled water.

"Gramma is two eighty, her sister is more than two fifty, mom is three oh five. All of them were skinnier than models until they had their first, so I enjoy eating.

"You've got to see mom! Three hundred pounds, and five seven! Perfectly round.

"Now that we've made the obligatory small talk, I may as well get this over with.

"I went to college at Unity, where I was an average or maybe a little better student. While I was there, I had a live-in lover, I guess you'd say.

That was OK, but he's white – which doesn't go over too well in these redneck places. Unity was very ... conservative. I was harassed constantly. I was picked up every time I tried to walk down the street, and made to present my ID and all that crap. I was charged with prostitution four times, and all four times it was thrown out of court.

"I had forgotten all about that until four days ago, when I got a letter saying I would be exposed here as a prostitute if I didn't do certain things. There were photostats of the arrest records in the envelope.

Here. She handed me the envelope.

"Whoever this is doesn't want money, they want information about certain things.

It seems harmless enough, but I'd lose my job in a minute, if someone brought all this out. I can't afford that, but I damned well ain't giving in to no scuzzball lousy blackmailer!

Surely nobody would fire you for an old arrest without any convictions. If it was thrown out, it should....

That's what the hell you know! she spat. The only reason I even have a job is because we handle government stuff! Old Hailey would love a reason to get rid of me so he could put his niece in the job!

What is your job? I asked.

I'm the real estate loan officer at Nicely Federal, she replied.

Then I can guarantee you won't be fired, I said. "You know my father-in-law owns Nicely Federal. I've run across Unity before. Does everyone who goes to that school go into blackmail? Cripes!

Who is this from, and what kind of information do they want?

She was shaking her head. I don't know who, and they want the government – state and federal – zone and use guidelines, and information about land purchases at later dates.

Want in on the rights of ways, I said. Buy cheap and stick it to the government. All they have to do is to get a couple of small parcels along a route, let the land all be bought except for their little piece, then demand a ridiculous price. Settle out of court for four or five times what the land's worth.

But there aren't any projects now! she cried. I checked that first thing! Nothing is even planned!

Then they've got inside information about something, or else they've just screwed up, I replied. Act like you're going to go along with them. I'll set something up.

Does your pop-in-law really own all the banks? she asked, finishing a roll, and signaling for more coffee.

Don't you know who Horace works for? I asked.

Shiela Grimes, she said.

And who is Sheila Grimes? I asked.

Your wife. She cocked her head to the side.

She's the former Sheila Crane, I said. Ever hear of J. R. Crane?

No shit? she said.

Not a smell of it, I replied. Let me know as soon as these turkeys get in touch with you again.

I went across the street to the sheriff's office to ask Buford if he'd heard anything about any government projects in the area.

No, not since the big cleanup down by the lake, he said. Is it important?

Could be, I answered.

Hennessy's been doing a lot of surveying across the lake, Willis said. He's done state work before. Might check what he's up to.

Thanks, I agreed. Say, Willis! Do you know Lacey Greely, Horace's sister?

Oh wow, Mama! he said. That's one super fox! I'd like to know her a lot better!

Your sons could look like Horace, and she'll look just like Eulalia after she has them, Buford said.

I like big women! Willis said. But I sure as hell don't want kids that look like Horace!

I think Horace is too cute for words! Candy, the sheriff's dispatcher, said from the seat at the radio. You men just don't realize we women find some qualities much more sexy than that macho jock stuff. I wouldn't date some stupid jock who can't say anything but 'Uh' and 'You know' for all the money in Nicely! What a turn-off!

Willis, who's built like a jock, mugged, Mama? What IS you talkin' 'bout!?

Shut up, nigger! she said. Doan gimme none o' your lip!

I'll knock you up side yore haid, woman! he returned.

Yeah? You figger you got 'nuff help? she shot back.

The radio came on before they really got started. She put on the earphones, asked a few quick questions, then turned to me. Hennessy's crew is to the lakeside of route four, she said. Two miles south of Pine Junction. I asked the guys to let me know if they saw them, seeing this superstud mentioned them. I figured you'd want to talk to them without Hennessy around to clam them up.

I owe you one, I said.

You owe me thousands, but you're just some bum who lives off of his wife, so I'll never collect! she retorted. Get out of here and let us get some work done!

I drove out to the area, went into my trunk to get a flyrod and hip boots, then strolled down the little path into the woods between the road and the lake. Hennessy's truck was by the road.

I could see where the brush was cut in a line into the woods. The crew was back there somewhere.

I found them just before the lake, and, being a friendly sort, I stopped to ask how the fishing was. Orney had caught a couple largemouth bass day before yesterday, but sort of small. No life to them.

Day before yesterday? You guys must really be padding this one! I said. There's not a parcel in the county that would take more'n a day to survey!

We got to survey all the way from here to the Coulter River. Straight line shit, George Harmon, crew chief, said. We started at Crow Fork to work this direction, while Warmoth Civil's going the other way. Army corps of engineers were supposed to do it, but the governor pulled them out. Said it was a state project.

Damned crooked politicians! I said.

Hey! Don't knock it! he said. It's a job for us! We don't give a damn how they screw up!

I grinned, and went on down to the lake, then turned around to come back.

What's wrong? No fish? George called.

Scum on the water, I called back. Waste of time!  We waved, and I went on back home, where I checked with JR. He has government security clearance from several of his factories, and usually knows what's going on, but he didn't know anything.

I told him about the surveying, and he said he owned a couple thousand acres square in the middle of that route.

So! J. R. Crane could be depended on to give the state the land for a worthwhile project, so even a ridiculous holdup on some small parcel would net somebody something big!

Senator Barrows asked me for a piece of it just the other day, JR said. Says he wants to buy a hundred acres just this side of the river to build a home for juvenile offenders. Some sort of scheme to rehabilitate them in a good setting. Away from the crime areas.

You're now working for the C. D. Grimes agency, I said. (He wants to chuck all his companies to become a detective. I could almost hear him perk up.)

What's up, Boss? he asked.

I want you to make Barrows think you're going to hand him title to that land for a while longer, I said. "Find a reason to stall him, then get in touch with James Torkington and tell him he'll probably receive a scam offer for his land by the lake. They're surveying there now. Have him push the price as high as it will stand, and that's a hell of a lot higher than it's worth. He's been trying to unload that swamp for a long time. Tell him not to fall for any schemes.

"This is a matter of crooked politics. The fact they'll pay what he asks without much fight will be proof of that.

"I think the boys' home is a good idea. Donate the land below Flint Creek for that, then say you thought that was the land he wanted. It's a lot better for that sort of thing anyhow, and, if this is an honest deal, Barrows should be thrilled no end.

"Make him wait, though. Tell him you'll definitely donate land for the project. You'll deliver him an open title as soon as you can get around to it.

Pull some strings to find out what the project is. They want all the land in a strip between the lake and the river.

Eleven miles, JR said. There was once a plan for a flood control canal between the two, but it was decided that project was pure porkbarrel and would really do more damage than good.

It's been passed as a rider or something, I said. I'll be in touch.

I hung up, and sat back to consider, then got up, told Sheila I was going to the estate, and went out. I was backing out of the drive when she yelled there was a phone call from Buford, so I went in again, and picked up the phone.

Yeah, Buford?

You got some time? he asked.

Sure. What's up? I asked.

Did you go out to see Hennessy's crew? he asked.

Left them a couple of hours ago, I replied.

Anybody see you talking with them? he asked.

Just the crew, I said. My car was parked just behind their truck. Why?

Meet me there, he instructed. I just got a call that George Harmon was shot in the head. They think probably it was a hunter. High-powered rifle.

Nobody hunts this time of year! I said.

No kidding? he replied.

I arrived at the scene about the same time Buford and Willis pulled up. Doc Moore, the coroner, was already there.

What you got, Doc? Buford asked.

"'Cording to the crew, Harmon came back to the truck to get something called a locator lamp. They heard a shot. Harmon didn't come back, so Jim Hartford came to see what was wrong. Harmon was only a few dozen yards farther down the path. Shot in the face from fairly close range with a thirty ought six, I'd say.

Kelly thinks the slug's in a tree down there. Digging it out right now, Doc reported.

"Long range load. Brass jacket, by the looks of the wound. Brass on the skull bone. Reddish. High copper brass. Military load.

Just guessing. I've seen a hell of a lot of this stuff. I'll have a full report on your desk when I have it. This wasn't any accident, though. That won't work from the angle of the shot, and the lack of any obstructions, his killer was staring him directly in the eyes.

The body wasn't far from the road. As Doc said, and there was nothing between the road and where he was coming from the woods.

Buford and I talked a bit, while Willis directed the search of the area, and the slug was dug from the tree. I could see Willis standing around eyeing from behind the tree, then taking an angle check, and shaking his head.

Hey, Buford! he yelled. Stand just in front of the truck, eye where I'm standing and back into the woods. Tell me what's there.

He moved to stand just in front of the body. Buford checked carefully, then said, I see what you mean. A good yard lower.

Buford came over and said, No way that slug was fired from here and hit that tree, if it went through Harmon, even if the killer was laying flat, and he couldn't have seen Harmon if he had been.

Willis moved around for a few minutes, then yelled, Here it is! Bring me a saw!

The slug from the tree was a Savage steel jacket slug that was fired from a hunting rifle. Willis found a .30-.06. Brass jacket. Military type.

We went back to town, but nothing was happening there.

We figured someone had seen my car, gone through the woods to see me going away from Harmon, and killed him to keep him from saying anything.

Harmon didn't know anything! What a screwup!

I went home, then Sheila and I drove to the estate to have a good meal, then to work in the greenhouse under the lights again.

JR came into the range about two hours after dinner, and waved me over to the side.

I just got off the phone, he said. "James was offered one hundred thousand for the land. He told them he wanted two million flat. Cash. They didn't hang up. He figures it's worth around three hundred thousand, so he really believes there's something afoot.

Is the Harmon murder part of this?

Yeah, I said. "Tell Torkington to settle for a million two. I think they'll go for it.

Who made the offer?

An attorney whose clients wish to remain anonymous, he said dryly.

"Not what he said," I said.

Hallister, Cooley, Smartman, Smartman, and Finch – representatives for Allen Compounds Corporation, Inc. at the capital, he replied. You'll never guess who's a major stockholder in Allen!

In a blind trust, of course, I said.

You got it, he said. What can we do?

Wait until James has his money in the bank, then we'll go deliver title to the land below Flint Creek personally – with reporters and all that – to make it known what a wonderful person Barrows is, I said.

He grinned, and we went back to compot some seedlings, then I went home with Sheila.

That was Tuesday night. On Friday morning, James Torkington called to say he had just deposited a cashier's check for one million two hundred fifty thousand dollars. I called JR. He said he'd pick up the title to the land and meet me at High Flyers, the airport where I keep the company jet.

We were at the capital just past noon to go directly to the newspaper offices to gather a gaggle of reporters and lead them to the senate offices. Barrows had been told we would be there with the title, so he was in his offices, waiting for us.

He'd suggested we have the title open so it could be put in the proper department when the funding was given out, later. He didn't expect reporters, and was beginning to sweat.

How could he make a transfer of title to himself if the news media knew about it?

He literally fell back into his chair when we made our little speech, and showed the location of the land on a chart we brought along. JR said we decided on this particular location for so many good reasons – which he listed. Barrows was sweating profusely, trying to beg off as he had caught a touch of the flu, and was feeling ill.

We made apologies and left.

What now? JR asked.

We go to the hotel to wait for him to get in touch, I said. I'm dying to hear his story!

We got our call, but it wasn't from Barrows. It was Mr. Smartman, from the lawyer's group, who came to our