Read Online The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) by Phillip Quinn Morris - Free Book Online
Authors: Phillip Quinn Morris
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old girlfriend. I get drunk on your moonshine and cold-cock Pelfry Junior McAllister. Is that redneck enough for you?”
“You are guilty of your own accusations of me,” Rusty said, trying to sound profoundly philosophical. Gloria seemed to like it. She threw him a kiss and then negotiated out of the slip.
Rusty negotiated in, moored, and went up to the café. Betty was acting as hostess. She had on one of the new caps. It had some big eyes on the front, the bill had catfish lips and a big whisker was falling down either side of the bill. Two big fins flopped along the side. Clear Springs Catfish Rodeo was stitched on the front.
Rusty thought it was good job. Gloria designed it herself.
Betty wore one of the new T-shirts. On the front was the picture of a huge, cute, happy-looking catfish with the inscription--Grabblers Get Down Dirty in Muddy Water.
Rusty walked on and found Ray back in the same booth they had sat the other day. Someone had left a Sunday morning copy of The Dolopia Democrat on the seat. Ray was straightening it up with that one hand of his.
Rusty slid in opposite him. Ray had a cup of coffee sitting there waiting for Rusty.
“Hey, Rusty, guess what I caught yesterday afternoon?”
“The clap?”
“Naw. A three pound bass.”
“Hot damn. Did you catch him and then release him?”
“Yeah, I released him into a skillet of hot grease.”
Both of them laughed. Rusty said, “Catch and release. What’s the use in catching it in the first place, if you not going to eat it?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Ray responded, “None at all. I hate to eat a damn bass. Not like it’s a crappie or perch or bluegill, but shit.”
Ray picked up a section of the paper and started scanning it. Without looking up, out of the blue, Ray said, “What were you doing to Gloria Thursday night?”
“What are you talking about?” Rusty flinched. The very question jolted him, made him feel invaded.
“I had a mess of bluegills I cleaned. I caught them with a cane pole on the backwaters of the Tennessee. I was bringing you some. I come up toward your house and heard the wildest screaming of a woman in the throes of passion. And hell I was plumb out in the channel of the Elk with my rebuilt Elgin outboard quarter throttle. Damn, Rusty, you need to shut your windows.”
“How do you know it was Gloria?”
“Hell, her daddy’s old shiny wooden boat was tied up on your pier.”
“Oh. You didn’t tell anybody did you, Ray?”
“I didn’t tell anybody. But Alice was with me.”
“Oh, shit. What did she say?”
“Not a damn thing. But it stirred something inside her. I had to perform some husbandly duties when I got home. I owe you one there, good buddy.”
Some new girl came over. They ordered. Ray went back to his newspaper. Without looking up, Ray said, “Seems like the Katfish King had him a cousin Ray.”
The name sent a chill down Rusty’s back. Another invasion. “Catfish king, who?”
“You know. Me and you ate at one over in Lauderdale County.”
“Naw. I don’t know. All catfish places are named Catfish King, Catfish Cabin, Catfish Kettle, Catfish Cook.” Then something started to click in Rusty’s mind.
“It hit it big when you were off on your thirty year
“You are guilty of your own accusations of me,” Rusty said, trying to sound profoundly philosophical. Gloria seemed to like it. She threw him a kiss and then negotiated out of the slip.
Rusty negotiated in, moored, and went up to the café. Betty was acting as hostess. She had on one of the new caps. It had some big eyes on the front, the bill had catfish lips and a big whisker was falling down either side of the bill. Two big fins flopped along the side. Clear Springs Catfish Rodeo was stitched on the front.
Rusty thought it was good job. Gloria designed it herself.
Betty wore one of the new T-shirts. On the front was the picture of a huge, cute, happy-looking catfish with the inscription--Grabblers Get Down Dirty in Muddy Water.
Rusty walked on and found Ray back in the same booth they had sat the other day. Someone had left a Sunday morning copy of The Dolopia Democrat on the seat. Ray was straightening it up with that one hand of his.
Rusty slid in opposite him. Ray had a cup of coffee sitting there waiting for Rusty.
“Hey, Rusty, guess what I caught yesterday afternoon?”
“The clap?”
“Naw. A three pound bass.”
“Hot damn. Did you catch him and then release him?”
“Yeah, I released him into a skillet of hot grease.”
Both of them laughed. Rusty said, “Catch and release. What’s the use in catching it in the first place, if you not going to eat it?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Ray responded, “None at all. I hate to eat a damn bass. Not like it’s a crappie or perch or bluegill, but shit.”
Ray picked up a section of the paper and started scanning it. Without looking up, out of the blue, Ray said, “What were you doing to Gloria Thursday night?”
“What are you talking about?” Rusty flinched. The very question jolted him, made him feel invaded.
“I had a mess of bluegills I cleaned. I caught them with a cane pole on the backwaters of the Tennessee. I was bringing you some. I come up toward your house and heard the wildest screaming of a woman in the throes of passion. And hell I was plumb out in the channel of the Elk with my rebuilt Elgin outboard quarter throttle. Damn, Rusty, you need to shut your windows.”
“How do you know it was Gloria?”
“Hell, her daddy’s old shiny wooden boat was tied up on your pier.”
“Oh. You didn’t tell anybody did you, Ray?”
“I didn’t tell anybody. But Alice was with me.”
“Oh, shit. What did she say?”
“Not a damn thing. But it stirred something inside her. I had to perform some husbandly duties when I got home. I owe you one there, good buddy.”
Some new girl came over. They ordered. Ray went back to his newspaper. Without looking up, Ray said, “Seems like the Katfish King had him a cousin Ray.”
The name sent a chill down Rusty’s back. Another invasion. “Catfish king, who?”
“You know. Me and you ate at one over in Lauderdale County.”
“Naw. I don’t know. All catfish places are named Catfish King, Catfish Cabin, Catfish Kettle, Catfish Cook.” Then something started to click in Rusty’s mind.
“It hit it big when you were off on your thirty year
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