Murder Takes a Break by Bill Crider Page B

that party.   There was a girl named Kelly there."
    Chad uncrossed his arms, then recrossed them even more tightly in front of him than before.
    "Who said there was?" he asked.   "Who said there was any party?   I didn't go to any party."
    "A young man named Patrick Mullen says you did.   He lives down in Texas City."
    "I never heard of him.   He didn't tell you anything about any party, or any Kelly, either."
    "Well, that's where you're wrong, Chad.   He told me quite a bit about her.   He told me that Randall went to a party with her at a beach house, and that he saw you there, too.   He said there was a lot of drinking going on, and that sometime during the evening Kelly and Randall went off by themselves.   He didn't see them after that, but you did."
    "That's a damn lie.   He didn't tell you all that."
    It was a damned lie, all right, but I certainly wasn't going to admit it.
    "Sure he told me," I said.   "Why wouldn't he?"
    "Because he'd better not, that's why."   Chad was sweating even more than Patrick had.   "He knows better than to say something like that."
    "Why?   Is he afraid of Henry J.?"
    Chad looked puzzled.   It was a look that came so naturally to him that I couldn't tell whether he was faking it or not.
    "Henry who?"
    "Don't kid with me, Chad.   You know exactly who I'm talking about."
    "No, I don't.   You're talking crazy, about parties and stuff that I don't know anything about.   And I don't think you're here from any student retention office, either."
    Chad wasn't exactly quick on the uptake, but he'd eventually found me out.   I decided to reward him by telling him the truth, or part of it.
    "You catch on fast, Chad," I said.   A little flattery might not hurt.   "I'm actually a private detective.   I've been hired by Randall's parents to find out what happened to him."
    "I don't know what happened to him.   I don't know about any party or any girl named Kelly Davis."
    "Who said her name was Davis?" I asked.
    Chad looked panicked.   "You did."
    "I don't think so, Chad.   I left that little detail out."
    "Then the cops must've mentioned her.   I went over all that stuff about Randall with the cops a long time ago."
    "But you didn't tell them the truth.   You lied to them about not knowing what happened to Randall.   You know he disappeared after that party."
    Chad wiped his forehead with one of his hard hands, then wiped his hand across the leg of his jeans.  
    "I don't know what you're talking about.   I was never at any party.   I don't know if Randall was, either.   And I don't know anything about this Kelly person."
    Chad was talking a little more, but he wasn't helping me.   He was as stubborn as his hand was hard.   Maybe a few more lies would crack him.
    "There was someone else at the party," I said.   "Someone who came forward just last week and talked to the police in Galveston.   So you might as well tell me what happened.   I already know most of it."
    Chad's mouth twisted.   "That bitch."
    "Which bitch are you talking about?"
    "You know which one.   That damn Sharon.   I knew she couldn't keep quiet."
    I felt for just a second as if someone had sucker-punched me in the solar plexus, but I tried not to show it.   There were probably hundreds of girls named Sharon in Galveston.   This one didn't have to be the one I was thinking of, though if she were, it would explain something that had been bothering me.
    "Blondish hair?" I said.   "Blue eyes?   Tall?"
    "Yeah, yeah.   That's her."
    I asked him what her last name was.
    "Matthews, I think.   I don't remember."
    I'd been afraid he was going to say that.  
    "I shoulda known she'd talk sooner or later," he said.
    I took a deep breath.   "She did.   So why don't you?"
    Chad slumped in his chair and looked at his feet.  
    "OK," he said.   "I'll tell you."

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