by With Heart
“I should go back to Hazel’s, but I’m not eager to be in a crowd of women and make small talk. There were six or more ladies there when I left.”
“Stay here then. Come upstairs and I’ll fix us some sandwiches. Paul mentioned going to Claude’s and bringing back hamburgers.”
Kathleen and Adelaide went to the back room where Paul and Johnny were looking at the photos spread out on the ad table.
“It was a big tire. It went over her thighs, came back over her legs, and broke them. It then went over her chest. Damn, but I hope that she wasn’t conscious at that time.” Johnny swore softly under his breath. “That’s about all I can tell from these prints. I’d like for Keith McCabe to see them. I’ll give him a call, but not from Rawlings. Too many ears on the line.”
“You’ll be making a couple of powerful enemies if you stick your nose in this,” Paul said. “Doc Herman has declared it an accident and so has the sheriff.”
“I can’t just stand by and do nothing when I think that girl was murdered.”
“If they could figure out a way to do it and make it appear to be legal, they could blame it on you.”
“Let them try. I don’t see how anyone could pass this off as an accident. Clara’s ribs and her legs were broken when the car ran over her, but it sure as hell didn’t run over her neck and head. Hellfire, Paul, her jaw was broken, her teeth knocked out! I wish I had gotten there before the place was trampled over. I might have found the track he made when he dragged her into the ditch and got a decent footprint.”
“Can you tell anything from the one on her back?”
“It was a boot, and not a very big one according to the space between the heel and the sole.”
Paul snorted. “Doc Herman will never admit that it’s even a bootprint.”
“The best track man in the country is Frank Hamer, the former Texas Ranger, now a U.S. Marshal. I’d like for him to see these prints. Doc Herman would sit up and take notice if he came to town.”
“Do you know Frank Hamer?”
“I know him, but not as well as Keith McCabe does.”
When Kathleen came up beside him, Johnny moved the picture of Clara’s tortured face out of sight.
“Where is Judy?” Adelaide asked.
“She’s sleeping there on the cot. It’s like she hasn’t slept in a week,” Paul replied.
“If she walked and hitched rides all the way from Fort Worth, she probably hasn’t slept much in a week. Johnny, did Paul tell you about Judy?”
“He said she was here looking for her real mother.” Johnny’s eyes shifted from Adelaide to Kathleen. “Are you going back to Hazel’s?”
“Not right away. There’s a houseful of people there, or was when I left this afternoon.”
“I’m going to call on her after I fix your tire.”
“You’re determined to fix that blasted tire, aren’t you?”
“I said I’d fix it, and I will.”
“Then let’s get it over with so I can go home,” she said irritably.
Johnny followed Kathleen through the office and out onto the street where her car was parked.
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad! Well, I guess I am . . . but I’m not sure why.” She got the keys out of her purse and dangled them in front of him. “It’s in the trunk, but I’m sure you know that.”
He swept the keys from her hand. “Get in.”
Later she waited in the car while Johnny carried the slashed tire into the back of the filling station. He was a puzzle to her, always leaving her with a thousand conflicting emotions. It made her angry that her heart fairly jumped out of her chest at the sight of him. How dare he come into her life and make her so miserable?
She watched him come back to the car with the tire. What was it about this man, this cowboy, that, with a look or a word, could bring her so stupidly close to tears.
“How much did it cost?” She began digging into her purse as soon as he got in the car.
“Forget it. It’s taken care of.”
“I’ll not forget it. I’ll not have you paying to fix my tires,” she said crossly.
“I’m not rich like your Mr. Fleming, but I can afford to fix a tire.”
“He’s not my Mr. Fleming.”
“No? Then why are you always hangin’ around his neck?”
“Hanging around his neck! You make me so damn mad! Where are we going?”
“To Hazel’s. I’ve got to pay my respects.”
Not another word was said until they stopped in front of the well-lighted house. A number of people were milling about.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Johnny took the keys from the car and held them up for her to see before he put them in his pocket. “So that you’ll not be tempted.”
Kathleen immediately dug into her purse and brought out the extra set of keys her Uncle Hod had insisted that she have made. She was very tempted to drive off and leave him, but she didn’t. She waited and when he returned he found the extra set of keys in the ignition.
“You’ve got to have the last word, haven’t you?” It was dark, she couldn’t see his face but she knew that he was grinning.
He drove back uptown, turned into the alley behind the Gazette, and parked beside his truck. He turned off the lights and reached for her arm to prevent her from getting out of the car. She said the first safe thing that came to mind.
“How are Hazel and Emily?”
“They’re hurtin’. The reality of it hasn’t soaked in yet. There are plenty of people there, and the table is piled with food.” He paused, then said, “Hazel hasn’t been to the funeral home yet. Eldon sent word for her not to come until morning.”
“It will be a difficult time for her. I was very young when my father was killed, and about Emily’s age when I lost my mother. My grandparents, though, lived to be in their sixties. It was terribly hard when I lost first Grandma, and then Papa.”
“It’s funny, but when you lose someone you care about, you can think of things you wish that you had said to that person, but never did.”
“Who have you lost that you cared about?”
“Ed Henry. He was the nearest thing to a father I had. He said things, quietly, that at the time I didn’t pay much attention to. Later, after he was gone, I thought about them. I’d not been to a funeral before I went to Ed’s. Aunt Dozie ironed one of Ed’s white shirts for me to wear. Henry Ann needed me. I’d never been needed before either. Being needed kind of makes a fellow take heed of his responsibilities.” Johnny’s voice was low as he reminisced about the past. Kathleen hesitated to interrupt him by asking a question, but finally she did.
“I didn’t have an aunt when I was growing up. My mother was my grandparents’ only surviving child.”
“Aunt Dozie is a colored woman who lived with us on the farm. She still lives there with Tom and Henry Ann. She’s getting old. I should get over there more often to see her.” He turned and looked at Kathleen. “I love that old woman and Henry Ann. They’re my family. They cared about me when not another soul in the world cared if I lived or died.”
Kathleen was quiet for a long while before she said, “Are you telling me something, Johnny?”
He looked out the window and fiddled with the steering wheel. Long minutes passed before he said anything. When he spoke, it was as if the words were pulled out of him.
“He told you that he thinks he’s my father, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He can think it all he wants. It makes no difference to me. It could have been him or a dozen others who, for two bits, paid for a half hour in her bed. The woman that had me was a whore not because she had to be one, but because she wanted to be one.”
“Why do you think that you have to tell me this?”
He grabbed her, giving her no chance to resist, and pulled her tightly against him.
“So that you’ll know that the son of a whore and a drunk Indian is going to kiss you.”
His face came to hers and he kissed her long and hard. At first her lips were compressed with surprise, but then they softened and yielded. Her palms rested on his chest before they moved around to his back and she hugged him to her. He raised his head. They looked into each other’s eyes; his had little lights. He kissed her again, softly, sweetly. She was happy, even though she knew it wouldn’t last.
“Don’t talk like that about yourself to me again.” She had not meant to say that at all, and especially not angrily.
“I’m trying to be fair to you.”
“I don’t care about your mother or your father. She could have been Lizzie Borden, and he could have been Attila the Hun for all I care. You are not responsible for what they did. Why can’t you understand that? Are you afraid I’ll interfere in your life? I’m not going to ask you for anything.”
“That, right there, says it all. You’ll never ask a man for anything, will you? You’ll never need a man. Fiery, independent, little Miss Dolan can take care of herself, fight her own battles, fix her own tires.”
“You’ve got it right, mister. I’ve had to take care of myself for the past eight years because there wasn’t anyone there to help me. If what you need is some clinging vine who can’t wipe her own nose, you’ve got the wrong woman.”
“I’ve got the right woman,” he gritted angrily. Even before the words were out, his arms were crushing her to him. She uttered a little grunt of surprise. “Be quiet!” he snarled, but he didn’t kiss her. He held her, his lips against her ear. “You smell so good . . . and feel better.”
His voice was husky, tender, his lips nuzzled her ear. He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but damned if he could stop. The feel of her soft body against his and the scent of her filled his head. He swallowed hard, because he wanted her so much. His hand moved up and down her back and over her rounded hips. He moved his head and found her hungry lips. The kiss was long and passionate, his mouth parting, her lips seeking fulfillment. She clung to him, melting into his hard embrace. The kiss seemed to last forever, both reluctant to end it.
“You are an irritating woman. Why can’t I stay away from you?” He kissed her quick and hard and moved away from her.
“You’re a moody, unpredictable, complicated man. I never know where I stand with you,” she retorted. “On rare occasions you can be very nice and then, like now, a complete horse’s patoot! There are times when I don’t like you at all!”
“You use all kinds of big words. I don’t have the slightest idea what they mean.”
“Irritating is a big word. You evidently know what that means.” She pushed her hair back with shaky fingers.
“Do you like Fleming?” he asked bluntly.
“Of course, I do. He’s a nice man.”
Johnny let out an angry snort. “Nice? Bullfoot! How the hell do you know? If he’s so damn nice, how come he goes around knocking up whores?”
“He did that when he was very young. He’s a well-mannered gentleman. You’d know it, too, if you weren’t too damn stubborn to let yourself get to know him.”
“I’m not sharing a woman with a damn Cherokee half-breed!”
Kathleen opened her mouth, closed it, and gritted her teeth in frustration.
“Look who’s talking? That was a rotten thing to say, Johnny Henry.”
“Rotten or not, it’s what he is, and it’s what I am!”
“Does your Indian blood bother you? It certainly doesn’t bother me.”
“It would . . . after a while, but forget it. I’ve got to get the photos and get on home.”
“Forget it. That’s your favorite thing to say when you don’t want to face the facts. Now listen to me, you mule-headed dimwit!” She held his arm to keep him from getting out of the car. “Mr. Fleming told me that he’d been looking for his son for a long time. He’s had detectives out looking for you. They finally found your sister in Oklahoma City. He was so proud of you at the rodeo. It seems to me the least you could have done was to be decent to him.”
“So he came crying to you, did he?”
“He did not! Johnny Henry, I don’t know why I even bother with you.”
“If he got anything out of Isabel, it was while she was on her back.”
“Get out of my car so I can go home.”
“Gladly. I’ll be back day after tomorrow to go to the funeral. Sunday we’ll go to Red Rock.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going. I’ll not torture myself by spending a day with a stubborn, addleheaded, idiot with . . . feathers for brains!”
“We made plans to go to Red Rock on Sunday, Kathleen. We are going. I’ll be in for the funeral on Thursday.” He got out of the car and waited until she moved over under the wheel before he closed the door. “Go straight home. I’ve not seen Webb and Krome, but that doesn’t mean they’re not around.” He closed the door, but stood there looking at her for a minute before he moved away.
Kathleen was furious as she drove out of the alley, but by the time she turned onto the street, a warm glow of happiness had replaced her anger.
Why can’t I stay away from you?
I’ll not share a woman—
Johnny liked her in spite of himself! He might even be a little in love with her.
Kathleen’s grin blossomed into a full smile.
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as Kathleen arrived at the office the next morning, she pinned the pictures she had taken at the site where Clara was killed on a bulletin board. Beneath the photo of the crumpled heap in the ditch, she wrote:
A few hours before this picture was taken, Clara Ramsey was a living, breathing human being.
Beneath the picture of the sheriff:
A. B. (Pete) Carroll, Sheriff of Tillison County. At the time this photo was taken he stated: “This untimely death is not an accident.” Later he said that it WAS an accident. After viewing the crushed windpipe and the broken jaw it appears to this reporter that Clara Ramsey was beaten, then run over and tossed in the ditch.
Kathleen placed the bulletin board in the office window and soon everyone who passed by the office stopped to view the display. Word spread and at times three or four people at a time were gawking at the pictures.
The display had not been in the window an hour until the sheriff’s car stopped out front and he came into the office.
“I never gave you permission to put my picture in the window, and I didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t have to get your permission. You’re a public official. You posed willingly for the picture, and you did say that. I wrote it down word for word.”
“Hello, Pete.” Adelaide came into the office. “That’s a good picture of you. You look real official. Haven’t you lost a little weight?”
“Ah . . . maybe a little.”
“Are you sticking to your story that Clara’s death was an accident?” Kathleen asked.
“I’ve heard nothing to change my mind.”
“Did you examine the body?”
“That’s not my job, missy.”
“Did the car run over her head? Is that the reason her jaw was broken and her windpipe crushed?”
“Now look here. You have no right to question my decision.”
“Was it your decision or Doc Herman’s to put out the story that Clara’s death was an accident?”
“I was mistaken. I suggest, for your own good, that you drop the matter and tend to your own business.”
“Reporting the news is my business.”
“Then stick to it.”
“If I don’t, will you have me knocked off?” Kathleen made a clicking sound with her tongue, imitating a rapidly fired machine gun, shaped her hand like a gun, and pointed it at the sheriff. He never cracked a smile. “Not funny, huh?”
“Not a damn bit.”
“Sheriff, what does Dr. Herman have on people in this town that makes some of them forget morals, honor, and basic decency? They allow him to rule this town as if he were a king?”
Sher
iff Carroll’s face turned a fiery red as he choked down his anger. “You’re walking on dangerous ground, miss. Adelaide, you’d better put a rein on her. She doesn’t know the lay of the land here.”
“I’ll speak to her, Pete,” Adelaide said calmly. Then, “By the way, Pete, have you ever heard of a family here in Rawlings named DeBerry?”
He took off his hat and turned it around and around in his hands. Kathleen noticed that he had a full head of iron gray hair that was neatly cut.
“Why do you ask?”
“I had an inquiry. It’s not important.”
The sheriff turned his back, and for several minutes he watched a couple of men as they studied the pictures in the window.
“You’ve got quite a little sideshow going on out there.” When he turned his face seemed to have aged. His shoulders had slumped. He looked directly at Kathleen. “You’d best be careful, Miss Dolan, that it doesn’t backfire on you.”
“I’ve taken precautions, Sheriff. I left a letter with my lawyer that if anything happens to me to look in my lock box and to arrest you and Dr. Herman.” She grinned at him.
He slapped his hat down on his head. “If there’s anythin’ I can’t stand it’s a smart-aleck woman.” He left and got into his car without ever taking a close look at the display in the window.
“Did I embarrass you, Adelaide?”
“Absolutely not. You can go after anyone in this town you want to. I just don’t want you to put yourself in jeopardy.”
“If I wasn’t so angry with him, I’d feel sorry for Sheriff Carroll.”
“When we were kids the sheriff was called Pete, I think because his father’s name was Pete. After he died, Mrs. Carroll insisted that her son be called A. B. Basically, he’s a good, decent man, who loves his job as sheriff. When he was growing up, his mother was constantly telling him that he was fat and dumb. For the first time in his life he’s looked up to. He goes along with Doc Herman because he needs that little bit of respect.”