Courtin' Murder in West Wheeling

by Michael Allen Dymmoch

Ben made a noise that sounded like he was stranglin’—laughin’ his head off.

  Martha patted my arm. “You’ll figure it out, Homer. But give a thought to hiring Bello. Save yourself more aggravation.”

  I thanked Martha for the advice an’ let her give me a bag a donuts for the office. On the way to Doc Howard’s, I stopped at Mars Boone’s an’ arranged to have a dozen bales of hay delivered to my back yard.

  • • •

  Doc was nearly done, time I got to the morgue. I suited up an’ joined him in the autopsy room.

  “What’d I miss?” I asked him.

  “The gentleman’s head, heart, and liver.”

  “What killed him?”

  “He was burked.”

  “Huh?”

  “Someone sat on his chest so he couldn’t breathe.”

  “That’d be murder, then.”

  “It would.”

  “Anything more you can tell me about the killin’ or the killer?”

  “Well, Harlan was a big man, in good health generally. Whoever did it was probably pretty large or very strong or quite heavy.”

  • • •

  Took me a couple hours to run down Bello Willis. He was shoein’ a mule for one of the sharecroppers lives on the outskirts of town. I figured either I’d come to the right place or that mule was drugged heavy ’cause it was standin’ real still an’ damn near holdin’ its foot up fer Bello to nail the shoe in place.

  I waited till he was done an’ had set the next shoe in the fire to heat it ’fore I said, “Howdy, Bello.”

  “Afternoon, Homer. How’s your jackass?”

  I looked at the mule, which seemed to have gone to sleep standin’ up, with one rear hoof restin’ on its rim. “You ever worked with donkeys?”

  “Now’n then. You lookin’ to have that one you got gentled?”

  “He ain’t that un-gentle, just stubborn. Anything you can do about that?”

  “Only way to take the stubborn out of a jackass is to shoot him. But maybe I could train him to be more cooperative. I’d have to meet him to know for sure.”

  “I’d be obliged if you’d do that. ASAP.”

  “I guess you would be. I heard he’s been auditionin’ for the choir.”

  “Who’d you hear that from?”

  Bello just grinned. “Donkeys’re like cats. They won’t work to please you. But they can be bribed.”

  “Yeah? Well, I ain’t found this’n’s price yet.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I’d been watchin’ the mule—still dozin’ with his ears swingin’ round like military radar dishes, an’ his tail shooin’ away imaginary flies. I musta looked hopeful when I said, “When can you start?”

  ’Cause Bello said, “I’ll stop by tomorrow. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  Nina an’ Miz Harlan

  What with dead bodies, mail that was missin’ an’ horses that wasn’t, gypsies, rats, an’ all the new-comers in town, I was getting’ so many balls in the air I felt like a circus act. When I got into my office Wednesday mornin’, I wrote a Post-it note for Harlan’s case an’ stuck it on my filin’ cabinet, along with a reminder to find someone to take out Owen’s niece. The notes made the cabinet more colorful but didn’t shed much light on anything.

  Next I spread my files out on my desk an’ reread all the reports. Not much more I could do ’bout the dead Injun, an’ the dead trucker case was already pretty cold. So I decided to concentrate on who killed Harlan.

  I headed across to the post office.

  Nina had a line of customers, so I staked out a spot at the end of the queue. While I waited, I amused myself by studyin’ the wanted posters Nina’d gussied up to draw attention to ’em. She’d put a bonnet on a bank robber, an’ wrote “D.J. Smith is a wuss,” on another. An’ she’d turned Arliss McCoy’s face highlighter yellow.

  When it come to be my turn, I hitched my thumb towards the posters an’ said, “Ain’t it vandalism to deface government documents?”

  Nina gimme a disgusted look. “Not if you’re a government supervisor. You just come over here to her-ass me?”

  I give her a “Gotcha” grin. “No, ma’am. I come over to ask what can you tell me about Harlan?”

  Nina crossed her arms and leaned over the counter on her elbows. “It true you found ’im in a ditch?”

  “No. Len Hartman found ’im an’ flagged Festus down. Surprised he didn’t report it to you yesterday.”

  “He knows better’n to do anything ’fore he finishes his route. You think it’s a coincidence—Harlan bein’ left in a ditch an’ that ole Injun bein’ found in a ditch? Think there’s somebody here-abouts don’t like Injuns or Injun lovers?”

  “Harlan was a Injun?”

  “No. But nobody knows—knew Harlan was a Injun expert.”

  “What kinda Injuns was he expert on?”

  “I dunno. Whatever kind used to live around here ’fore Ole Hickory run ’em off.”

  “Nina, you’re a genius!”

  “Well, yeah. Wait! What’re you talkin’ about?”

  “Tell you later. I gotta talk to Miz Harlan.”

  • • •

  Miz Harlan had black bunting decoratin’ her porch, an’ the red flowers in the tire-planters and coffee cans was dead. Seemed like Mother Nature’d decided to mourn Harlan, too, though most likely, Miz Harlan just hadn’t had the heart to keep up waterin’ ’em.

  The front door was open a crack, and when I come up to it, the dog didn’t sound the alarm—not a good sign. I rung the bell an’ knocked, but didn’t wait too long fore I drew my gun an’ made a cautious entry.

  “Miz Harlan?”

  Didn’t get a answer, so I went through the first floor lookin’ out fer burglars or home invaders—though they usually wait for the funeral to add insult to the bereaved’s injury by breakin’ an’ enterin’.

  The place had a abandoned feel. Things were outta place and just dusty enough to embarrass a house-proud woman like Miz Harlan. No sign of the dog, either. In the kitchen, the drain-rack was empty, the sink full of dirty dishes.

  “Miz Harlan?” I called out again. “You home?”

  Still no one answered.

  I went upstairs—two steps at a time, but careful—so as to be on balance if somethin’ jumped out at me. Nothin’ did.

  I found Miz Harlan in a bedroom—the one she’d shared with her husband, I’d’ve bet. There was two dressers an’ two chairs—a rocker an’ a recliner. Miz Harlan was sittin’ on the edge of the king-sized bed, with the dog curled up on her feet. Dog put his head up an’ stared at me. Miz Harlan stared at the open closet door, still as Lot’s wife. She looked like a bitty girl holdin’ her blankie, but it was a man’s brown suit she had smothered in a bear hug.

  “Miz Harlan?”

  She didn’t move.

  ’Fore I stepped in front of her, I put my pistol away an took off my hat. “Miz Harlan?”

  She come aware with a jerk. “Sheriff!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The dog jumped to his feet an’ put his head on her lap, keepin’ a eye on me.

  “Your door was open,” I said. “You okay?”

  It took her a long time to say, “No, Sheriff. I’m not.”

  I waited. Dog whined.

  After a while, Miz Harlan took a shuddery breath like someone who’s all cried out. “I can’t do this, Sheriff.”

  “What, ma’am?”

  “They want me to put some clothes together for Harlan and bring them to the funeral home.” She held the suit out at arm’s length, then let it drop on her lap. “I can’t….”

  I shooed the dog away an’ took the suit from her, laid it on the bed. “Lemme help you.”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure.” I pointed. “This the suit you want?”

  She blinked like she didn’t understand the question. I stepped over to the closet an’ looked inside. The only other suit was a black one. I brought it out an’ held it up. When
she didn’t seem to notice, I touched her arm. “You like this’n or the brown one?”

  When my question finally penetrated, her eyes widened. “Lord! Harlan only wore that for funerals.”

  She realized what she’d just said an’ buried her face in her hands, sobbing. I put the black suit down on top of the brown one and sat next to her. The dog trailed back an’ put his head on her lap, an’ the three of us sat there until she was cried out. When she stopped cryin’ an’ started snifflin’, I handed her my handkerchief.

  “I been with Harlan most of my life,” she said. “I was only fifteen when we tied the knot. I’m fifty-four now.”

  I just patted her arm.

  “I don’t know how I can go on.”

  “You got friends an’ kin, ma’am. You ain’t alone.”

  “But I can’t even drive! Harlan always took me everywhere. He never seemed to mind.” She dropped a hand onto the dog’s head, an’ he wagged his tail till his body shook them both. “Harlan was my best friend.”

  I didn’t tell her she could learn how to drive. Or that she’d make other friends. First she’d have to learn to live without Harlan.

  “You just got to take it one thing at a time, Miz Harlan. How ’bout we start with Harlan’s suit?”

  She sniffed an’ nodded. “He hated that black suit.”

  “Then how ’bout we let him wear his brown one?”

  “I’ve rumpled it all up.”

  “I’ll run it by the cleaners. He got shoes to go with it?”

  She nodded an’ pointed to the closet. I dug out a pair of brown shoes an’ a white shirt—thankfully the only color he’d had. The tie took longest. Harlan’d had two favorites and his widow couldn’t decide which he’d want to go out in.

  I said mebbe we could toss a coin for which he’d wear an’ put the other in his shirt pocket. She went along with that. So Harlan’s outfit was assembled.

  When she went in the little girls’ room to put cold water on her face, I let the dog out an’ called Nina.

  “How ’bout you round up some church ladies to keep a eye on Miz Harlan till she can pull herself together?”

  “She tell you about the Injuns?” Nina demanded.

  “Not yet.”

  I hung up.

  When Miz Harlan came outta the little room, she seemed a mite better. So I asked her about Harlan’s hobby. She brightened up considerable.

  “Oh, Harlan was an expert on Native Americans. There was nothing he didn’t know about the local tribe.”

  “He ever get into it with anybody about that?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t talk about it—most people around here aren’t too sympathetic.”

  “I hear that. He have anything to say about the Injun skeleton turned up in Silas Hanson’s ditch?”

  “Just that he was trying to figure out where it came from.”

  “Had he?”

  “Not that he mentioned. But you’re welcome to look through his notes if you like.”

  She led me to Harlan’s office. It had a computer, fax an’ printer, an’ walls covered with maps an’ pictures of Injuns and Injun artifacts—bow an’ arrows, lances, beaded belts and feathered God-knows-whats.

  I didn’t see no notes, but Harlan’d maybe had ’em on the computer. When I asked about it, Miz Harlan said I could go through it if I liked, or take it with me. She didn’t have no use for it. “I wish I could be more help, Sheriff,” she said. “Harlan used to tell me about all this, but I’m afraid I didn’t listen very carefully.”

  “You been plenty helpful, ma’am.”

  ’Bout then, the door bell rang, an’ the dog started barkin’.

  “Miz Harlan, you decent?” Nina called out.

  Miz Harlan said, “Oh. Company. I have to—Take as long as you like in here, Sheriff. Harlan’d be pleased you took an interest.”

  Mary Lincoln an’ Wilma Netherton

  On the way to drop off Harlan’s suit, I stopped at Mary Lincoln’s place to see how she an’ Priceless was gettin' on. When I pulled up, they was in the yard, gardnin’. Least Mary was—pullin’ weeds. Priceless was diggin’ ’round the piles of junk, waitin’ fer a rat to show its nose. He stopped when he spotted the cruiser, an’ he started barkin’ when I got out.

  Mary said, “Quiet, Priceless.”

  An’ he was. He come up to me waggin’ his tail an’ sniffin’ my boots, then went back to his rat hunt.

  I said good mornin’. Mary took off one of her gardnin’ gloves an’ shook my hand, then offered me coffee.

  “Much as I’d love to stay, ma’am, I’m on a schedule.”

  She nodded an’ waited.

  “It occurred to me that you mighta found some old mail amongst the things you picked up off the roadways.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “You find anything suspicious? Even a little off?”

  She thought on that a minute, then nodded an’ marched over to a pile of rusty metal scrap. I followed. After a minute of shiftin’ stuff around, she handed me a pair of rusty old license plates. From outta state. That seemed a tad off.

  “You remember where you got these, ma’am?”

  “In a ditch. Down the road from the house of that man who was found dead.”

  “Harlan?”

  “That’s it.”

  “An’ you didn’t think to report you found ’em?”

  “Well, no. They were expired, so I thought someone just dumped them when he got new ones.”

  “You mind if I take ’em?”

  “Of course not. And if I find any more, I’ll call you immediately.”

  “Much obliged.”

  My visit was cut short at that point by a call from Martha Rooney.

  “It’s Wilma again, Homer. She’s called three times last hour and a half.”

  “Ten-four. I’ll talk to her.”

  Martha must’ve got yet another call, ’cause Wilma was on the porch when I drove up. She didn’t even wait till I got out of the cruiser ’fore she started in.

  “Sheriff, I thought you were going to look into her—” Wilma hitched her chin towards the road. “Running an illegal material yard over there.”

  “An’ I will. Soon’s I clear up some of the serious cases I got pendin’.”

  “Runnin’ an illegal business isn’t—What serious cases?”

  “I guess it ain’t no secret by now. Harlan’s been murdered.”

  Wilma’s eyes got big as cow pies. “No!”

  “’Fraid so. An’ I’m still lookin’ into that truck crash in Car Wrecks. An’ Nina Ross reported someone’s been stealin’ mail—you wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout that, would you?”

  “No! No, of course not!”

  “So you can see where I got a few things to take care of ’fore I can get to your problem.”

  Wilma looked like she’d been pole-axed. But she wasn’t gonna concede. She pulled herself together and said, “How do you know some of that stuff across the street isn’t stolen?”

  “Don’t none of it match anything I got reports about.”

  I thought she was gonna blow a fuse. She stood there gettin' redder an’ redder, openin’ an’ closin’ her mouth like a fish. Finally she said, “Oh you’re worthless,” an’ stormed back into her house.

  • • •

  After I dropped Harlan’s suit at the undertaker’s, I swung by the state cop shop an’ had ’em run the plates Mary Lincoln’d found. Turned out they come off one of the hijacked semis, so it seemed like I was makin’ progress on somebody’s case.

  “You haven’t lost your touch, Vergil,” Sergeant Underhill told me.

  “That’s nice. What are we talkin’ about, exactly?”

  “Your hunch about Loomis’s truck was right on the money.”

  I waited.

  “Stolen from an independent over-the-road trucker a year ago. He didn’t raise enough hell to keep us on point about it. Lucky for him, it was insured.”

  “Loomis’s na
me ever come up in one of these liquor hijackin’s?”

  “Not unless he was using another alias.”

  “Or he just wasn’t caught.”

  Bello Willis

  Skip was stayin’ over night at his cousin’s an’—since my sister’s even less inclined to put up with shenanigans than me—I was able to head home fer a beer an’ a shower ’fore I went to spend some quality time with Nina.

  When I got to my place, Bello Willis was there, leadin’ the jackass around in circles an’ figure eights—gettin’ the critter to go forwards! Impressive. It was such a pleasin’ sight, I just stood an’ watched.

  After a bit the jackass had enough—he planted his feet and wouldn’t budge. Bello hauled off an’ punched him in the shoulder.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  The jackass started forward, but Bello stopped him an’ just stared at me. The jackass stood patient as a carnival-ride pony as Bello yelled back, “What?!”

  “What’d you hit him for?”

  Bello give me a don’t-you-know-nothin’ look. “He’s a jackass. ’Fore you can get him to listen you got to get his attention. You questionin’ my work, Sheriff?”

  His tone said I could get another trainer if I was, so I put my hands up an’ said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Bello nodded. “Looks like you’re the one needs trainin’. Can’t just anybody own a jackass. You gotta at least be smarter’n a goat.”

  I let that one slide.

  Bellow said, “When’s your next day off, Homer?”

  “Sunday.”

  “I’ll be here at seven.”

  “In the mornin’?”

  He nodded.

  Just then, Mrs. Shaklee come bustlin’ outta her house with a stack of papers. “Oh, I’m glad I caught you, Sheriff. I got a eviction notice I want you to serve.”

  “Is that so?”

  ’Fore I could ask on who, she shoved the papers in my hand an’ stalked back to her house.

  I watched her go, then I looked at the top paper. An’ I could see why she skedaddled so fast. The notice was on me, givin’ me two weeks to pack up an’ clear out along with my smart-mouth kid an’ my big-mouth jackass. I had to read it twice ’fore I could believe it.