“I just want to be square with you, sir. You should know I'm an honest man.”
Ruth Ann came in carrying three cups of black coffee and set them on the table in front of the men. Judging from the expression of disbelief Tony saw on her face, it confirmed she had heard Orvan's statement and believed that while the hair was obvious, the claim to honesty was a lie. For the moment, she seemed to be too intrigued with the hair topic to even give Tony a mean look about delivering coffee. With her eyes still focused on Orvan's hair, she backed toward the door.
Wade came in right behind her, thanked Ruth Ann for the coffee and settled into the third chair. He cleared his throat as he pushed a paper across the table. “Orvan Lundy, do you remember me reading you your rights?”
“Yes.” Orvan gripped his coffee cup with both hands.
“Would you like a lawyer?”
“Hell, no.” The faded eyes seemed brighter. “Can't stand the mealy mouths. Never say what they mean. I wouldn't trust one of them with my trash.”
Tony had to raise his hand, palm forward, to stop the tirade. The little man's lips slammed together, and he glared as if annoyed that he didn't get to finish his discourse.
Wade pressed on. “Are you making this confession voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Are you currently under the influence of alcohol?”
“Huh?”
Tony leaned forward, and handed him a pen. “Wade wants to know if you have been drinking today.”
Orvan's lips pulled back in a wider grin. “Not yet.”
“All right, Orvan,” said Tony. “After you sign this paper that says you know your rights and don't want a lawyer, why don't you just start at the beginning and tell us in your own words why you are here today.”
With painstaking care, the old man gripped the pen like he was holding an ax and made an X on the paper then wrapped his hand back around the cup. He looked at Tony and cleared his throat. “Well, you know I pretty much mind my own business. ‘Live and let live,’ that's my motto. Always has been.” In his fervor to confess, he didn't seem to notice their silent disbelief as he continued. “Beasley and me use to be close back when we was in school together afore I left ’cause there wasn't much I didn't know by then.” He shifted his skinny rump on the chair. “Beasley went on to high school and got him some high falutin’ ideas like he was better'n everyone else in the area, and we didn't share much any more. But I've been watching him. I seen him turn into a real mean-hearted old bastard.” He flexed his twisted fingers and stared into space. “It was the dog that did it though.”
“Did what?” Tony asked blankly. Blaming Beasley's death on an animal was a new feature in Orvan's confessions. Plus, he was still having trouble believing Mr. Beasley and Orvan were ever classmates.
“You know, old Nem's dog, Sally. Old Nem loved that there dog, and someone ran over it apurpose. Old Nem ain't never recovered from her dyin'. Anyhow, it was on account of the dog I decided I couldn't stand him no more and I needed to do something to fix it. I snuck into his house and right there on the counter in his little kitchen, I found this here big knife and stuck it smack into his cold little heart. Didn't bleed at all.” On his vigorously bobbing head, the polished hair did not move a fraction. “Can't get blood out of a durn stone.”
Tony glanced at his deputy. Wade sat motionless, elbows on the table, his fists holding his chin up, apparently fascinated. Looking back at Orvan, Tony smiled. “Then what did you do?”
“I went outside and found a ladder and I propped it up against the house and used it to climb up onto the roof. Since I had gotten the job done so fast, I had to wait a few minutes for my ride.” Orvan smoothed his hair and then wiped the excess polish on the bib of his overalls.
“You waited on the roof?” Wade encouraged him to continue. “Why?”
“ 'Cause they was afeared of hitting the house in the fog, of course.” Orvan's expression clearly indicated only a moron would have to ask such an obvious question.
“They?” The question came in unison. Tony and Wade leaned closer, breathed in, choked a bit and moved away again.
“You know.” Orvan frowned at them. “The other world folk. It was their helicopter, after all. After they dropped me off on the roof of my place, they flew away and I ain't seen them since.”
Several moments passed while Tony and Wade digested the confession, weighing the pros and cons of it. At length, Tony cleared his throat. “I do believe that your confessions are improving, Orvan. This one had lots of good detail. I would arrest you, you understand, but some of the details don't quite match the facts as I understand them.”
“But Sheriff, you've got to. I've been a wicked sinner.” Tears of frustration shimmered in Orvan's eyes. “I need to make things right.” Pressing his wrists together, he held them out in front of his body.
“I don't doubt it.” Tony massaged the back of his neck. “Maybe we can work out something.” His chair screeched as it slid across the linoleum when he pushed away from the table. The sound drew the little man's attention. His was fairly vibrating with anticipation. “Wade, I want you to stay here and make sure that Mr. Lundy doesn't escape until we are finished with him.”
“Yes, sir.” Wade glowered at Orvan and patted his holster for effect.
It didn't take Tony long to find a file he had been reading the day before, but he deliberately delayed his return for a few minutes so Orvan would have a little time to wonder about his punishment. Taking the file with him, Tony returned to the interrogation room where he made a real production out of sitting down and reading through the file. The name Lundy was clearly printed on the file, but he doubted Orvan could read it.
Tony flipped the file shut, and lacing his fingers, rested his hands on the file. “I tell you what. We will make a deal. I am going to assign your punishment and if you help me out, I won't arrest you today.”
“Anything, Sheriff.” For a second it looked like he was going to salute, but he was just adjusting his hair. Orvan straightened his spine and gave Tony his full attention.
Tony's eyes held him still. “Even if it means turning in a relative?”
At those words, Orvan's face positively glowed. Evidently ratting out a relative was something to relish. “Sure thing. Which one? I got too many of them to keep track of.”
“Jake Lundy. Isn't he one of your cousins?” The exact relationship was probably not even clear to the family. There were lots of Lundys and not much diversity in the gene pool.
Slack jawed, Orvan nodded. “It's Jake you want? What did he do?”
Given the nature of some of Orvan's relatives, Tony understood his confusion. Jake was certainly not the most rotten apple in the barrel. “He hasn't been making his child support payments, and the judge wants to see him.”
“Why that's just awful!” Rubbing his whiskered chin, Orvan frowned again. “At least it must be, whatever that child thing is.”
Tired of the game, Tony flattened his hands, palms down on the file and leaned forward. “Where is he?”
“Last I heard he was planning on passing some time up at his pa's old place up near Pigeon Forge.” Orvan's words tumbled out one on top of the other.
Wade cleared his throat to draw Tony's attention. “I know where the house is.”
Tony grinned so hard, it made his cheeks ache as he regarded his new favorite deputy. “Are you volunteering to go get him?”
“Yes, sir!” A dark flush spread up Wade's thick neck. “I want to be a good deputy.”
“Fine.” Tony patted the file on the table. “The warrant is in here, and I'll call the sheriff over there and tell him you are coming to collect some garbage. He might even send one of his deputies to help out. Just to be on the safe side, why don't you take Mike along? And don't forget Jake never goes anywhere without a shotgun.” Tony turned to Orvan. “I wonder if you'd mind visiting with Ruth Ann until Jake is in custody. I'd sure hate for him to accidentally hear about Wade being on his way.”
/> “Why sure, Sheriff.” Orvan stood up and straightened his clothes, ran his forearm over his hair, removing most of the shoe polish on the left side of his head. He managed to leave a strip of greasy black from his right eyebrow to the nape of his neck.
Tony decided it was not a style everyone could wear.
“That Ruth Ann, she is a gem.”
Orvan was still singing her praises as Tony opened the door and led him out, ushering Orvan to a chair right next to Ruth Ann's desk. Knowing she wouldn't be delighted to be assigned the job of being the old sinner's sitter, he was careful not to make eye contact with her.
While he refilled Orvan and Ruth Ann's coffee cups, he told Mike what was happening and sent him off with Wade.
“Well now, Orvan, I'll just leave you here to enjoy your visit with Ruth Ann until Wade calls in. I'm going to make a call about Jake.” It was difficult, but he managed to keep his grin to himself until his office door closed behind him. After his call, he worked briefly on his paperwork. “I'm going over to the Beasley house.” This time he used the intercom to update Ruth Ann.
“Fine, Sheriff.” The words were civil enough, but her tone held a definite threat. The nasal tones of Orvan's voice were clearly heard droning in the background.
Ruth Ann deserved a raise.
Tony knew Blossom was the youngest of Autumn Flower's girls. By the time she was born, their branch of the Flowers family had already produced Daffodil, Rose, Lily, Daisy, Sunflower, Marigold, Zinnia, Azalea, Pansy and Tulip. There probably had never been a day when Blossom hadn't been told exactly what to do and where to go. He stopped by the Flowers home and picked up the handwritten bill for Blossom's services. Not even close to being part of his job.
The envelope was ready, sitting on a large paper plate of cookies. He inhaled the scents of butter and spice. Okay, so he didn't mind doing a few little extras. He thought about just leaving the bill with someone in the Beasley family and heading to his home office carrying his food reward. After all, this was officially his morning off, although he always went to the office for a few minutes.
In two recent conversations, the suggestion of Mr. Beasley's side business had raised his curiosity. He called Doc Nash from his car. “I don't suppose—”
The busy doctor interrupted him. “I don't know. Mr. Beasley might not have died of natural causes after all.”
Tony groaned, pulled a cookie from under the plastic wrap and began eating it. “How?” He mumbled.
“Don't know.” Doc Nash muttered. “I have to go. We have emergencies up the ying yang.”
Tony stared at the silent phone. He pulled another cookie off the plate and chewed slowly, wondering about his next move. Wade was the only one of them with fingerprint training, and he wouldn't be back for a while, so Tony drove by Mr. Beasley's house, checked seals on the doors. While he stood there, the next door neighbor, a man about fifty wandered over. “I saw him chase them nephews of his away from his house with a shotgun.”
Tony could believe it. “When was this?”
“There's been several times but the last one was maybe a month ago.”
Tony thanked him and went home to write.
He settled right down at the keyboard.
CHAPTER FIVE
For a change, Tony felt like he was making progress on his book. The mental slowdown plaguing him was gone, and his fingers fairly flew across the keyboard as his words appeared on the screen in front of him. The marshal was going to save the town and win the heart of the schoolteacher. It was glorious!
Surfacing from the Old West, Tony became aware the doorbell had been ringing for some time. The flow of words stopped abruptly. He didn't get up but poked his head into the hallway and shouted, “Who is it?”
The ringing doorbell was the only response.
Lunging from his chair, Tony stormed to the front door and jerked it open. It took him a full five seconds to realize the diminutive man still pressing on the button was someone he knew, DuWayne Cozzens, the plumber.
The ringing continued even after the door opened. “Lay off the bell, DuWayne!” It came out much louder than Tony intended.
“Holy Moly! Don't yell.” The little man jumped away from the button and nearly tumbled off the top step. “Theo said you might be hard to rouse. I've been ringing for quite a while. Have you considered getting a hearing aid? My Aunt Sally got one, and she says now she can hear the grass growing.”
“I don't need a hearing aid.” Still half in the sage and heat of the West, Tony was not completely tracking this conversation. “Did you say Theo sent you?”
“Yep.” DuWayne patted the large red toolbox by his feet. The metal was dented in places but the paint was still attached. “Said you've got a problem with the downstairs toilet.”
“That's right. I told her I'd take a look at it.” Tony stepped back to let DuWayne and his toolbox inside. “I admit I had forgotten all about it.”
“I understand, yes I do.” DuWayne vigorously nodded his head as he picked up the heavy box. “But you know one thing I have learned in my business is women just won't put up with toilet troubles. It's like an obsession with them.”
“It's right down here.” Tony led the way down the hall. Having DuWayne Cozzens walking right behind him made Tony feel like a giant lumbering along with his knuckles dragging on the ground.
It wasn't just because Tony was a big man, although he was. It was more because DuWayne had not grown an inch since he was in the fifth grade. But pound for pound and inch for inch, he was close to the strongest man around Silersville. He carried pipes and a heavy toolbox on a constant basis. With apparent ease, he wrestled hot water tanks that dwarfed him. In fact, his diminutive stature was a bonus when it came to working in a crawlspace.
Tony knew DuWayne liked big women. Evidently his self-esteem was not tied to being physically more imposing than his women. It was common knowledge he had been trying to court Blossom for several months and had failed to win her heart, or at least failed as far as anyone knew. Local wags suggested if they married, Blossom would have to lift DuWayne into the air for their kiss at the altar. Now there was a second suitor vying for Blossom's affection. The carpenter, Kenny Baines, was about the same size as DuWayne and possessed the same type of strength.
The citizens of Silersville were quietly watching the two men's courtship. A few bets were placed by the men who congregated at the Okay Bar and Bait Shop. In fact, a chalkboard tally detailed where Blossom went, with whom. Only Blossom seemed unaware of the intense interest in her love life.
“Much obliged for showing me the way, Sheriff.” DuWayne's face glowed with pleasure as he viewed his latest challenge. “This shouldn't take too long at all.”
Tony got back into his chair and was just reaching for the keyboard when the first question came down the hall.
“Oh, Sheriff, can you show me where the shutoff valve is for your water?”
Tony was sure the little man knew its location, but he led the way into the cellar. He left the plumber bemoaning the poor location of the valve and headed back to his study.
Minutes later, he heard DuWayne's voice again. “Oh, Sheriff, I think you better come take a look at this.” DuWayne didn't sound happy. His tone made the muscles in Tony's shoulders tighten. He forced an expression he hoped displayed both intelligence and curiosity onto his face and trudged back down the hall.
DuWayne was frowning at something in the waterless tank. “This is just in awful shape. I'm surprised it has lasted this long. I can't imagine why a part like this was used in the first place. Do you have any idea when it was installed?” His expression appeared baleful and accusatory.
Feeling a bit guilty for taking the smile from DuWayne's face, Tony looked where he was pointing. The thing was nondescript, looked a bit rusty, and was totally out of Tony's realm. “Since I don't even know what it is or what it does, I'm sure that I couldn't say, but you know this house has been overhauled a lot in the last hundred or so years. I'm sure it has
n't always had professionals working on it.”
“That's right. This is the oldest house in town, isn't it?” DuWayne looked somewhat mollified, evidently satisfied the Abernathy family had not set out to intentionally destroy the plumbing, thereby causing grief and hardship for the plumbing industry in general and misery for him specifically.
“The oldest brick house,” Tony corrected him. According to the town's historians, the original homes had been log homes. Over time, they had been replaced by more sophisticated wooden ones and finally brick.
DuWayne settled his skinny rear end on the edge of the sink and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which one came next?”
Alarmed by the way DuWayne was settling in, Tony began backing away. “The house next door is the second oldest.” He checked his watch. “Oops, eleven-thirty. I better be getting on down to the station. You call Theo if you have any more questions and just lock up when you finish with whatever it is you are fixing.”
DuWayne looked crestfallen. It was the only way to describe the little man's expression. Tony felt like scum. He ran away, telling himself it was time to do some work. Maybe Wade was back.
Tony expected another call from Doc Nash which might include a definite decision about the cause of Mr. Beasley's death. Tony wasn't getting any younger and Beasley needed burying. But, according to a quick telephone message relayed by Nurse Foxx, it might be a long wait. The doctor was overrun with emergencies.
Tony set the receiver in its cradle when he heard the sound of a muffled sneeze behind him and turned to glance at his deputy. Wade's eyes had turned pink and watery. “You okay?”
“No.” Wade pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose with it. He didn't seem to notice it was decorated with lace and embroidered violets. “I'm allergic to cats.” The strangled voice did not resemble Wade's usual baritone. “I didn't realize she had so many.”
“Who?”
“Your favorite citizen, Portia Osgood.” Wade sneezed again. “Since you refuse to answer any calls from her house, I no more than got back here with Jake Lundy when I had to go over and listen to her litany of complaints about you, your aunt, your salary, which, by the way, she thinks should be no more than ten dollars a month, and all of her neighbors who are taking photographs of her to send to trashy magazines.” Wade waved the handkerchief in a parody of the old lady's favorite mannerism.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music Page 4