I looked up to see that Bello’s jaw’d dropped. “I ain’t never heard’a you been speechless afore, Sheriff. Mind if I have a look?”
I shook my head an’ read the thing again.
Bello let go of the critter’s lead rope an’ took the papers outta my hand.
“Hey,” I said. “He’s gonna take off. An’ I’ll be in even deeper shit.”
Bello gimme a look, then glanced at the jackass. “We got a understandin’, him an’ me.”
I don’t know was he pullin’ my leg and the critter was just too stupid to notice he weren’t anchored to anything, or was everything I’d always heard about Bello true. In any case, the jackass just stood like a statue until Bello finished readin’ the papers an’ handed ’em back.
“Ash Jackson’s place is still empty, Sheriff. His pappy might make you a deal on it if you hit ’im up ’fore word gets around that you’re desperate.”
Bello picked up the lead rope an’ started toward the back yard. He didn’t even have to tug on the rope. The jackass followed him just like a old dog. An’ neither of ’em give me another look.
• • •
Nina ain’t a bad cook—hell, anybody can read, can cook. An’ Nina sure can read. But seein’ as we both work, we eat out a lot. So soon as I picked up my jaw an’ had a shower, I collected Nina an’ we headed fer the Truck Stop.
Hardsetter’s—the truck stop’s official name—was jumpin’. As usual at suppertime. Half a dozen big rig drivers was chowin’ down, along with several West Wheelin’ families, an’ folks I figgered was refugees from the Interstate.
There wasn’t any tables free, so Nina an’ I took seats at the counter an’ studied the menu board. Charity hustled over to take our orders.
• • •
We was halfway through our appetizers, when Rye slid in on Nina’s other side. He said, “Howdy,” to both of us, then asked why was I lookin’ so down all of a sudden.
“You want the whole list or just the last straw?”
“Mebbe you better be specific,” Nina said.
“I’m gettin’ evicted.”
“You? You’re the one does the evictin’. How—”
“Yeah. An’ I ain’t figured out who killed Harlan or that trucker. Or caught the hijackers. Or found somebody to take them horses off the county’s hands. An’ Wilma Netherton’s been ridin’ me to do somethin’ about her new neighbor, an’ Mrs. Latham’s been bitchin’ about gypsies…”
“What gypsies?” Rye demanded.
“Ain’t no gypsies. Mrs. Latham just don’t like that new lady entrepreneur moved in next door to the Grassy-ass. Wants me to run her off.”
“Well she will want,” Nina said.
“Yeah, she’ll get over it,” Rye said. “An’ Wilma’ll find someone else to bitch about.”
“But the horses…”
“Sell ’em,” Nina said. “Ain’t you allowed to do that with unclaimed property?”
“They’re gonna be hard to sell if you can’t put a halter on and lead ’em around a auction ring.”
Rye shook his head. “So just run ’em in a truck an’ haul ’em off to the dog food fact’ry.”
“Rye!” Nina half shouted. She punched him on the upper arm
Rye rubbed his arm an’ shook his head, but he had more sense than to complain or argue with Nina. “So what’s he s’posed to do with ’em?”
“Hire Bello Willis to gentle ’em.”
“Whose gonna pay fer that?” I asked.
“You can pay Bello with the money you’ll get when you sell the horses.”
“I doubt we’ll get enough to pay Mars fer their keep, much less to hire Bello. It’s costin’ a hundred dollars a day.”
“So—”
“Not to change the subject much, but I got a more immediate problem.”
“Which is?”
“Where’m I gonna go when I evict myself in two weeks time?”
plantin’ Harlan
A law enforcement rule a thumb is killers often show up at their victim’s funerals. I ain’t dealt with enough murders to know is that true, but on the offside chance it was in Harlan’s case, I put on my Sunday suit ’fore I headed over to the funeral parlor. I didn’t want my uniform to scare off whoever killed Harlan—if he decided to show up. I figured he was the right pronoun in this case—Harlan was a pretty big man an’ there ain’t many females in Boone County could pull off tippin’ him over an’ weightin’ him down heavy enough to burke ’im.
With Festus patrolin’ the streets an’ Rye writin’ down license plate numbers in the parkin’ lot, I was free to study the folks that come to pay their respects. I brung Skip along to eavesdrop on the general gossip ’cause no one but mothers an’ school teachers takes any notice of kids who ain’t makin’ trouble, an’ I didn’t figure Harlan’s killer fit into either of those categories.
“I’m deputizin’ you,” I told Skip. “Keep a ear up fer anyone trash-talkin’ ’bout the deceased.”
Skip seemed pleased as a dog with a new trick.
The viewin’ was held at the Hanekamp’s Funeral Home from 4 to 9 p.m. The funeral director had Harlan fixed up nice, lookin’ like he really was sleepin’. Reverend Elroy steered Miz Harlan to a seat in the front row of chairs an’ hung around for a while passin’ time with his flock. Miz Harlan sobbed into her hankie while half the ladies in West Wheelin’ come up to put a arm around her or to pat her on the shoulder an’ offer her a Kleenex.
I kept a eye on the men.
The usual suspects was all there—Mayor an’ Pappy Jackson; councilmen Cramer an’ Andrews, lookin’ fer votes; Roy Peterman an’ Silas Hanson; an’ most of the volunteer firefighters. I wasn’t surprised when Father Ernie showed up, or Bello an’ Merlin Willis, but I wondered what brought Don Firenzi ’cause I reckoned he hadn’t been around long enough to’ve made Harlan’s acquaintance. I knew the six local Injuns who come in together was friends of Harlan’s. You could tell they was Injuns, ’cause they all had long hair—’cept Stanley Redwine who don’t have any, an’ five of ’em wore head bands. Stanley Redwine wore a bear claw necklace, too. ’Part from that, you’d a never guessed they wasn’t six good ol’ boys in Levis an’ work shirts. None of the men—townsfolk or Injuns—acted ’specially broke up or suspicious. An’—Skip told me later—none of the ladies done either.
Most of the men went up front fer a look at the body. Some—Catholics mostly—crossed theirselves or kneeled down in front of the casket or both. They’d walk over to the widow an’ mumble somethin’ about how sorry they was or how Harlan’d be missed—even men who’d never said a word to him since grammar school. Then—’cept for the Injuns—they’d make their way out back where a jug of West Wheelin’ White Lightnin’ was bein’ passed around.
’Bout suppertime the crowd thinned an’ I had a chance to ask about Harlan’s sudden popularity.
“Curiosity,” Father Ernie told me. Harlan wasn’t one of his flock but he always went to viewin’s to offer condolences or help, or the loan of chairs or a coffee maker. “Word is that Harlan had changed quite a bit before he passed away.”
“That so?”
“You can’t blame people for indulging their curiosity.”
“Guess not. But it makes it harder to figure out who mighta done him in. You know if anyone had a beef with him?”
Father Ernie shook his head. “I’d’ve said that—after Silas Hanson—he was the most innocuous man in the county.”
I nodded an’ changed the subject. “How’s that new brick mason workin’ out?”
“He did a fine job on the church so I recommended him to Reverend Elroy.”
• • •
Next mornin’, after droppin’ Skip at school, I was back at the funeral home. Not bein’ family or close friends with the deceased, I was there in my official capacity—in uniform an’ in my cruiser, which I parked in front of the hearse that was stationed out front.
Reverend Elroy showed up shortly afterwards wi
th Miz Harlan an’ two of her female cousins. A few minutes later, all the Injuns that had been at the viewin’ pulled up in a brand new Chevy Silverado crew cab an’ piled out. I wondered was they part of the Reverend’s congregation ’cause I’d never noticed ’em around on Sundays.
Elroy led the procession inside and stood by while Miz Harlan said her final goodbye to Harlan. Then they sat down an’ the funeral director closed the casket.
’Bout ten o’clock, the Reverend got up in front an’ said, “Harlan was a good man, a member of our congregation all his life…”
He went on like that long enough to make me wonder would he ever quit? What the widow thought of his speechifyin’ was pretty clear—she sniffled an’ wiped her eyes continuous. The cousins nodded an’ said, “Amen,” every time Elroy paused to get his breath. What the Injuns said was nothin’; so what they thought wasn’t easy to guess. They sat in the second row of chairs an’ looked straight ahead—didn’t say a word.
When Elroy finished at last, the cousins said a very loud, “Praise the Lord!” The Injuns all nodded. I felt like praisin’ the Lord myself that Elroy’d finally run outta steam.
But he wasn’t done; he stood back up an’ invited those present to say a word. One of the cousins went up to the front and said, “I didn’t know Harlan all that well, but I ain’t never heard a bad word on him.” That’s all she said. Then she went back to her seat.
Stanley Redwine got up but stayed standin’ in front of his chair. “Harlan was a good man,” he said. “A good friend of the People.” Then he set back down.
Nobody said anything more for a good bit. When it was obvious no one else was gonna chime in, the Reverend signaled to the organist—his mother in law, Hera Latham, and she played Amazin’ Grace—only a little off key.
The funeral director scarcely waited fer her to finish ’fore he motioned to the Injuns, who lined up an’ carried the coffin out to the hearse.
After Harlan was securely stowed, we got in our vehicles—the Reverend Elroy in his car, Miz Harlan an’ the cousins in the funeral director’s limo, the Injuns in their truck, an’ I led the procession out to the cemetery with my flashers blazin’. Rye an’ Festus was waitin’ along the route an’ they got outta their cruisers an’ saluted as the parade passed ’em by. All in all it was more attention than Harlan’d got in his entire life.
• • •
The burial was a anticlimax. Everybody stood around the gravesite waitin’ for instructions. Reverend Elroy said a quick prayer. The cemetery guy hit the switch to lower the casket into the hole. We all—’cept the Injuns—threw a handful of dirt in on top.
Miz Harlan insisted on watchin’ the cemetery guy fill in the hole—which he started doin’ with a shovel. That got old pretty quick, so he fired up his backhoe to finish up. Then the Reverend hustled Miz Harlan an’ her cousins into the limo, and the rest of us got in our vehicles an’ went back to work.
a burglary
“Sheriff,” Martha sounded breathless. “Get out to Harlan’s quick! There’s been a rob’ry. Reverend Elroy sounded hysterical.”
“Is the bad guy still on the premises?”
“They didn’t go inside to see, thank Jesus.”
Without waitin’ to hear the rest, I put my flashers on an’ hit the gas. An’ radioed Rye an’ Festus to join me at the scene.
When I got there, the Reverend was waitin’ with Miz Harlan an’ the cousins in Elroy’s car. Elroy got out an’ hurried over to meet me.
“Thank God you’re here, Sheriff.”
I didn’t figure God had as much to do with it as Elroy did—dialin’ 9-1-1—but all I said was “Burglar still around?”
Miz Harlan was outta the car by then. “The Reverend wouldn’t let me go in an’ see,” she said. “The front door was open. So we just called you.”
“Good thinkin’. You all wait here while I go in an’ make sure the burglars is gone.”
“Sheriff,” Miz Harlan added, “my dog’s missin’.”
“I’ll keep a eye out for him.”
At that point, Rye an’ Festus pulled up, an’ I sent them around to watch the back while I checked inside.
On the porch, it was easy to see how the civilians knew to call. The door was part way open. The stile an’ jamb was busted on the knob side, an’ there was a big boot print on the center rail. I pushed the door open all the way an’ entered. Carefully.
Inside, I pulled my sidearm an’ cleared the first floor. Drawers an’ cabinets was open, the contents rifled. Furniture’d been relocated. No sign of who done it. No dog.
Then I climbed the stairs as quiet as I could an’ checked the second floor as well—same results except I found Miz Harlan’s jewel box dumped out on the floor an’ dresser top. I couldn’t tell was anything gone, but when I went into the office, I did notice Harlan’s computer was missin’. An’ there was no sign of the dog.
It seemed to me, as I headed downstairs an’ checked the cellar, that the burglar’d been pretty considerate. Most times thieves go through a place, they trash it, dumpin’ everything an’ smashin’ stuff outta sheer cussed meanness. Nothin’ here was broke but the front door.
I went out back an’ told my deputies, “Ain’t a robbery, just a simple house-breakin’.”
Neither of ’em had any trainin’ in processin’ crime scenes, so I sent Festus back on patrol an’ Rye out to start canvassin’ the neighbors.
Back out front, I asked the Reverend an’ the cousins to keep waitin’ in the car while Miz Harlan come in to see if anything else was gone.
She took her time, gettin' madder by the minute—’specially when she come across her jewel box. But as she picked her baubles up from the dresser an’ floor, her mad turned into puzzlement.
“I don’t understand, Homer. There doesn’t seem to be anything missing.” She held up a small diamond ring—gold with fancy carvin’ on the sides. “This is my engagement ring. Don’t know why they didn’t steal it. It has a real diamond.”
“I’m thinkin’ they wasn’t after your jewels, Miz Harlan. You missin’ any cash?”
“Oh, I never keep cash layin’ around.” She patted the handbag she had clamped firmly under her arm. “I keep it in my pocketbook.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She took one more look around her room an’ shook her head, then headed for Harlan’s office.
“The computer’s gone!” She looked around as if to catch the thief sneakin’ out. “And my dog. He was on the porch when I left home this morning. Oh, if they’ve hurt him….”
Almost on cue, the dog started barkin’, sounding pissed off but far away.
Miz Harlan was off like a shot—down the stairs an’ across the yard to the barn.
She was about to open the door when I caught up.
“Wait up, Miz Harlan. Lemme get that.”
I opened the door, an’ the dog come out like a swarm of wet hornets. Till he spotted Miz Harlan. Then he liked to wag hisself silly sayin’ hello.
• • •
I took the break-in serious. I dusted the house for prints—weren’t any—an’ took a few pictures, mostly for show. Then I got on the phone to the state cops to ask ’em to keep a eye out for the missin’ computer. After which I called Nina to tell her what happened—didn’t even have to ask her to round up someone to help Miz Harlan with the broken door. Then I picked up Skip at school an’ dropped him at my sister’s.
“I sure hope you catch these bastards soon,” he told me as he was getting outta the cruiser.
“Why? You miss takin’ care of the jackass?”
“Naw. I was sorta fond of bein’ a only child.”
• • •
Later that evenin’, when I went 10-7 fer supper at Nina’s, she said, “Homer, I mentioned your housin’ problem to Hazel Wrencock.”
“Lord, woman, it’ll be all over town by mornin’.”
“Hazel can keep a secret if she thinks she’ll get a commission. Don’t you want to hear what she t
old me?”
“It matter if I do?”
Nina punched me in the arm, but not real hard. “Ash Jackson’s place is on the market.”
“That ain’t news. It’s been for sale since he bought the farm. An’ Pappy Jackson wouldn’t sell it to me if I was the only buyer in the state.”
“He might if he didn’t know it was you buyin’ it.”
“Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Hazel said you could get your lawyer to make a blind offer. Pappy don’t have to know who’s makin’ it as long as you got the cash.”
Nina knows everybody’s business in West Wheelin’. So she knew I had enough saved up to buy a small place outright.
“I don’t happen to have a lawyer, Nina.”
“Well you could get one.”
“I s’pose.”
“You got something on your mind, Homer. Spit it out.”
“I was just wonderin’ could I get dessert with that coffee?”
Happens I could.
layin’ a foundation
When I got to City Hall next mornin’, Donatello Firenzi’s blue plaid truck was parked out front. Firenzi was sittin’ on the runnin’ board, whittlin’ a frog out of a stick. His big ol’ coon cat was sunnin’ itself on top of the pickup cab.
Firenzi spotted me an’ stowed his knife an’ whittlin’. “Morning, Sheriff.”
I nodded. “What can I do you for, Mr. Firenzi?”
“I’d like to start by thanking you.”
“For?”
“The good word you put in for me with Father Ernie. I’m not sure why because you and I have never so much as had a conversation. But I appreciate it.”
I nodded an’ waited.
“What made you take such a chance on a stranger?”
“No chance involved. I run your plates an’ done a little background check.”
Courtin' Murder in West Wheeling Page 11