Jason gazed at the untouched beer. “I was unavoidably detained,” he said.
“Right,” Burns said.
“I was in rehab for three months without access to my phone. I found out about the murder and Jana’s arrest yesterday, and I came as soon as I could.”
“Rehab, huh?” Burns asked, looking at the can of beer. “For alcohol? Drugs?” He hesitated. “Sex? Gambling?”
“Alcohol,” Jason said.
Burns made a “give me” gesture with his free hand. “Here, you don’t need that, then.” Jason handed the beer over, then watched as Burns downed the rest of his can and crushed it. “Rumor on the street is that you came to town to be Jana’s lawyer. That true?”
Jason scanned past the boathouse to the dark water. “I came back primarily to see my family. But yes, I’m considering taking the case.” He glanced at Burns. “Did the police ever talk with you?”
“Oh, yeah. Several times. At first, I think Nola thought Braxton might be with me. We played a lot of golf together and would go on Jet Ski rides and fishing excursions all the time.”
“Had you seen him on the Fourth?”
Burns popped open the beer that Jason had given him and took a long drink. “Nah. We had a huge sale at the dealership. I was there until ten p.m. With the kids and Shandra gone, I didn’t want to be home. When we closed the lot, I went down to the Brick and had a couple rounds with some of my salespeople. I got home after midnight but was up early the next morning to go fishing. I was on my dock when I heard all the police sirens.” He tipped the can back. “It was crazy.”
“I bet,” Jason said.
“Listen,” Burns said, finishing off the can and crushing it just as he’d done with the last one. “If you’re seriously considering representing Jana . . . which I think would be crazy as hell . . . then there are some things you need to know.”
“What things?”
“You hungry?”
Jason wasn’t, but he decided to be agreeable. “Starved.”
“Good. Come on.” He started back toward the house.
Jason followed. He couldn’t resist pushing the man a little. “What things?” he repeated.
Burns opened the door and looked at Jason. His eyes, while red, were sharp. “Waylon Pike,” he said.
28
They went to the restaurant in Burns’s twenty-four-foot Mastercraft runabout, which Jason had ridden in before during happier times. The boat was still in excellent shape, and despite his hesitancy at riding in anything motorized with Burns given the man’s heavy alcohol consumption, Jason had to admit that he enjoyed the trip down memory lane. Burns never stopped talking and took on the role of tour guide, pointing out the different landmarks along the way. These included the mansions on Signal Point Drive, which, according to Burns, were “nice but not quite up to Buck Island”; the Wayne Farms Chicken and Feed Plant, which was on the corner of Highway 227 and Signal Point and gave off a strong aroma that reached their boat as they passed by; the Paul Stockton Causeway on the right and Wyeth Drive on the left. And, then finally, Top O’ the River sitting perched on a hill on Val Monte Drive.
As they approached the docking station, Jason glanced off in the distance and saw the Hampton Inn, thinking of his sister’s tryst there on the night of the Fourth of July with Tyson Cade. Guntersville was a small town, but the lake made it seem bigger, more mysterious.
Fifteen minutes after docking, they were seated in the upstairs dining room of the restaurant, which smelled like pine trees and fried catfish. It wasn’t unlike the feeling of stepping into the Grand Hotel in Point Clear, Alabama. The vibe was comfortable, and Jason had to admit that he was surprised to feel his stomach rumbling, his hunger piqued. When a waiter brought them a tin plate covered with corn bread, slaw, and onions, Jason and Burns dug in.
With his mouth full, Burns took a long swallow of Miller Lite and pointed at the plate. “This is the best part. The catfish is good, but this right here sets the tone, you know? Kind of like ordering the sausages and cheeses at the Rendezvous in Memphis before they bring out the dry ribs.”
Jason had to agree. The food was delicious, and he washed it down with a sip of cold sweet tea. “Burns, you said you know some things about Waylon Pike.”
Burns’s face was now puffier than when they’d first met, and his eyes had grown redder. Definitely on his way to being three sheets. “I know a lot about him,” he said.