A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge

by Terry Shames

  I get up. “Do you need me to help you get to bed?”

  “I can make it on my own.”

  “Have you talked to Alvin Carter? I told him he should be riding your horses since you’re not going to be able to for a while.”

  Her face flushes. “I appreciate what you’ve done to keep my horses safe, but don’t use that as ammunition against me.”

  “Jenny, that wasn’t my intention. I’m just trying to change the subject.”

  “Sorry,” she mutters. She heaves herself to her feet and sways unsteadily. I edge closer, ready to catch her if she starts to fall. She glares at me. “Walk with me down the hall, if you will.”

  It’s the only admission I’m going to get that she could use the help. I take her arm and lead her down to her bedroom. She sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be all right now. I’ve got everything right here.”

  I nod at the phone. “You’ve got the phone right there, too. Call me if you need anything.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “I swear, every year it gets worse. Everybody is going crazy because of the prom.” Loretta is standing in my kitchen with her hands on her hips, looking exasperated. Ever since she got back from her trip with her son, nothing that goes on in town seems to suit her.

  “It’s a small town, Loretta. You have to expect kids to get worked up. There’s not much to do around here.”

  “You can say that again. But it’s gotten ridiculous. Girls tearing up the road between here and Bobtail, here and San Antonio, and here and Houston, looking for the perfect dress—a dress they’ll never wear again and won’t remember a year from now.”

  “You were complaining yourself that you couldn’t find anything to wear around here. In a couple of years that mall will be in and the girls will go there.”

  Loretta gives me a withering look. “You don’t buy prom dresses at an outlet mall.”

  I’ve just taken a bite of the coffee cake she brought over, and I have to wait until I’ve swallowed it before I can reply. “And why not?”

  “Prom dresses have to be special. The things you buy at an outlet mall are overstocks and last year’s stuff. No girl wants that.”

  Loretta usually makes a fuss over how much girls spend on their clothes, but I think I’d better not bring that up. Nor do I bring up that the few times I’ve been at the high school the last couple of weeks it seems like the boys are hanging around on the school grounds after school looking like the world around them has suddenly tilted, leaving them off balance. The girls have gone crazy, and the boys don’t know how to react. Any man could tell them that there’s no help for it. It’s going to be that way for a few years to come, until they get some experience behind them.

  Remembering Jenny’s complaint that she was always an ugly duckling in high school, I say, “Are there any girls you know who are wanting for a date?”

  She blinks at me like I’ve asked her for the key to hieroglyphics. “What in the world has gotten into you? What kind of a question is that?”

  “I saw something on TV about girls who feel like wallflowers in high school, and it affects them for years to come,” I say.

  “Then that program you saw was outdated. Things have changed. These days half the girls go to the prom in a group instead of with dates. If you want my opinion, I think it’s better that way.”

  “What about the ones left out of the groups?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Her tone is exasperated. But then she frowns. “That’s not entirely true. I did hear that the little McGregor girl was having some trouble. She’s not popular with the girls or the boys, and her mamma said she was upset because she didn’t have anybody to go to the prom with.”

  “Seems a shame. What do you do about something like that?”

  “There’s no reason you should know any of this, but Judy Holt, the English teacher—all the girls love her—got a couple of the girls together and talked to them about it, and they said they didn’t even know Carrie McGregor wanted to go to the prom and they’d be glad to include her.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Does that make you feel any better?”

  “I don’t know why you should take that tone with me. What’s wrong with me taking an interest?”

  She throws her hands up. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I never heard you talk like that is all.”

  I’ve barely sat down at my desk at work when Wallace Lyndall calls me up. “Scott Borland is back in town. I went by there this morning before work and the car was in the yard and the door was open. I didn’t bother them.”

  “Thanks for keeping me posted. I’ll go on over there in a while.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  I tell him I’ll stop by and pick him up on my way, but that it will be an hour before I can get to Bobtail. First I have to soothe Jim Krueger’s rattled nerves one more time. Now it seems that a few of the hard-shelled Baptists are up in arms because of the wine-tasting event. They say that if the kids know their parents are drinking wine, they’ll want to do it, too. As if they miraculously wouldn’t have any interest in alcohol if their parents didn’t lead the way.

  I call Loretta and ask her if she has any bright ideas. She’s not much of a drinker, and doesn’t like it if people drink too much, but she’s not a nut on the subject. “I hate to say it, but they’re right,” she says. “Whatever possessed Emily Ford to have a wine tasting anyway—especially the night of the prom?”

  She’s exasperated when I tell her it was sort of my idea. “There’s no help for it, then. Somebody needs to tell the Baptists that it’s not everybody else’s jobs to keep their kids from drinking.”

  I call Emily Ford and she laughs at the problem. “I don’t know who’s behind all this complaining, but they might be interested to know that Patsy Thompson was one of the first people to sign up. She’s a big Baptist, but she seems to think that if Jesus drank wine, she can, too. Anyway, it’s too late. They’re just going to have to gripe.” Every time I have a conversation with Emily Ford, I like her better.

  Jim Krueger isn’t comforted by what I have to say, but he agrees with me that it’s too late to change anything now.

  “And it’s only teachers chaperoning the kids?” I say.

  “It was supposed to be, but a couple of the parents insisted that they still wanted to have a hand in it, and I gave in. Lord, I’m tired of fighting these battles every year.”

  “Better you than me,” I say.

  The door of the Borland’s house is still standing open, and Scott Borland himself is sitting on the steps outside with his shirt off, drinking a beer. Several empty cans are scattered at his feet. It’s not quite eleven o’clock, which seems a little early to be drinking beer. When Wallace Lyndall and I get out of my squad car and walk over to him, he stays put, scratching his hairy belly.

  “Morning, Scott,” Lyndall says.

  He tips his beer can at Lyndall. “And to you, too, Officer. What brings you out here?”

  Lyndall introduces me. “Chief Craddock has a little mystery on his hands and thought maybe you could shed light on it.”

  “I’m more than happy to help you lawmen solve your problems,” Borland says. He seems relaxed for a man who’s guilty of something.

  “You know a lawyer by the name of Jenny Sandstone?” I ask.

  “Know her! I not only know her, I hate her guts. Why do you ask?”

  “There’ve been a couple of incidents at her place that I thought you might know something about.”

  Borland sets his beer down, stands up, belches, and makes his way down the two steps, watching his feet carefully, as if they might make a false move. Some men who have spent ten years in prison use the time to beef up their muscles and come out looking like somebody out of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. But Scott Borland’s muscles are slack. He’s not heavy, but his belly and chest sag, and his arms look scrawny. Up close, his beery breath could knock you down. “You’re asking about something that went on at Jenny Sandstone’s house? I was hoping you wo
uld ask me something I knew something about. Or had some interest in.”

  “You interested in snakes?” I say.

  “Not especially.” His eyes get a glint of mischief. “Although there’s something about a rattlesnake that I like. They have pretty markings. You ever noticed that?”

  “You by any chance get up close and personal with a timber rattler lately?”

  He strokes his belly, looking pensive. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with the look of that rattlesnake. I’m more thinking of the diamondback. If I recall my snake lore, however, I believe we don’t get timber rattlers around here. You’d most likely find that kind up around Nacogdoches.”

  I’m pretty sure he’s having a little fun at our expense, but that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting him to admit to anything today. The idea is more to warn him that I have an eye on him. “Any chance your boy Jett has had occasion to go up to east Texas recently?”

  “You know, I just got out of prison and I can’t really vouch for what that boy might have been up to while I was gone. Why don’t we ask him?” He turns his head toward the house and yells, “Jett! Come on out here. Somebody I want you to meet.”

  “Hold on a minute,” a voice yells back.

  “He’ll be out directly,” Borland says. He tilts his face toward the sun “I’m surely enjoying this fine weather. I can’t get enough of the sun since I walked out of prison. I’m going to have to get me some of that suntan lotion. Wouldn’t want to ruin my skin.” He gets a good laugh out of that one.

  Jett doesn’t look much like his daddy. His hair is dark and his eyes are black pools that seem to suck up the light. “Cops?” he says to his dad. “You brought me out here to meet cops?”

  “These fellows are mighty nice,” Scott Borland says. “You know, I’ve had occasion to meet some awfully unfriendly police, but these two are as polite as they can be. I believe it’s because they’re older gentlemen. I didn’t think you’d mind answering their questions. It won’t take much of your time, and then they can be on their way.”

  Jett sneers. “I get what you’re saying. Sure. What can I do for you?”

  I say, “Somebody has been threatening the horses that belong to one of my neighbors, Jenny Sandstone, who happens to be acquainted with your dad.”

  “Somebody overheard you threatening to get even with her for putting your dad away,” Lyndall puts in.

  Jett snickers. “Threatening horses? Why would I do something like that?” Then his voice turns cold. “No, if I was going to make good on any threats, I wouldn’t bother with horses. I’d go straight for that nasty lady lawyer who made a monkey out of my daddy’s defense lawyer. She cheated every which way. Daddy never should have been convicted of those crimes. He was innocent.”

  “I’m sure he was,” Lyndall says. “So you’re claiming you didn’t mess with the horses in any way?”

  “You’re damn right I’m claiming that. And nobody can prove any different.”

  “How about ramming her car with yours? Did you do that?”

  Scott Borland has been contemplating the yard, but at those words, his head snaps up. “Was Ms. Sandstone hurt? Bad, I hope?”

  “She was hurt. She’ll be okay.”

  “Well, damn. Jett, if that was you, I’ll give you a medal,” Scott says. “Fess up, now.” He tosses his empty beer can out into the yard.

  Jett punches his daddy on the arm, smirking. “You old fool. You’re going to get me in trouble if you don’t look out.”

  Scott ruffles his son’s hair. “Like father, like son.” As if they’re getting into trouble is special. And then his eyes go dark. “What makes you think you can come here and accuse me and my son of anything?”

  “I’m pretty sure I saw your car out in front Jenny’s place, for one thing.”

  “Jett, did you go to that lady lawyer’s house? Did you take her some flowers?”

  I’ve had enough of their comedy routine. “I want you to know, I’ve got my eye on you. If I catch you anywhere near Jenny Sandstone’s place, I’ll arrest you.”

  “You can’t just arrest me for lawfully being outside her place.”

  “Believe me, I’ll think of some good reason.”

  Scott starts to say something, and I raise my voice. “Don’t give me any b.s. about it being a free country. My guess is, your activities won’t stand up much to any scrutiny, so if I were you I’d give up on the idea of messing with Jenny.”

  “Oh. Knight in shining armor!” Scott says. “We’ll most certainly take heed to your warning.”

  When we drive away, Lyndall says, “People like that make me tired.”

  “You have much problem with meth here in Bobtail?”

  “More than we used to, but not as much as some.”

  Which doesn’t tell me a whole lot. I keep wondering when it’s going to crop up in my neck of the woods. Probably already has and I just don’t know it.

  I’m on my way out of town when my cell phone rings. I pull over when I see that it’s an unfamiliar number.

  “This is Eddie Sandstone. Am I talking to the man I met with my sister Jenny last week?”

  “Yes. This is Samuel Craddock.”

  “I understand you had a conversation with my wife.”

  “I was hoping to find you at home, but since you weren’t there, she and I had a nice chat.”

  “If you have anything to say to me, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave her out of it.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m on a job. But I can drive down to Bobtail and meet you? Tonight maybe?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got business tonight. Can we meet tomorrow around lunchtime? I can come to Temple.”

  “No need. I’ll meet you at my mamma’s house.”

  “Do you have a key?”

  He hesitates. “Get Jenny to come with you and I’ll get a key from her. I didn’t want to bother her with that yesterday.”

  “That isn’t going to work. Jenny is still recovering from her accident and she isn’t up to the drive. I’ll get a key from her and meet you there.”

  “You can tell her for me that she can’t avoid me forever. We’re going to have to meet one way or the other.”

  “I’ll see you at noon.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Ten years ago, I don’t think a wine party would have been possible in this community. Could be TV or the Internet, but our little town seems to be easing into the modern age. Some of the men aren’t too excited about wine—I’m sure they’d rather be at a beer tasting—but the idea was to get these parents out of their kids’ hair, and that part is a success.

  I leave the party early, and by midnight I’m sitting outside the high school gym with Bill Odum, my chief deputy, watching for kids who might try sneaking out of the gym. If they do, our job is to escort them home and let their parents take care of the rest. Bill tries to get me to go on home, but if I’m going to be chief, I intend to be chief all the way. The prom doesn’t end until two o’clock, and I practically have to prop my eyes open by then.

  I’m barely settled into bed when I hear a car driving slowly down the street, stop, and then doors being closed quietly. I don’t know why it takes my attention. I’m sure cars come by all the time when I’m sound asleep. Maybe I’m still keyed up and not able to drop off to sleep the way I usually do. But whatever the reason, I slip out of bed and go into the living room to peek out the shades. What I see puzzles me.

  Two young boys are walking toward Jenny’s side gate. They slip along the side of the house, and then I lose sight of them. I hustle to the window closest to the gate and hear them muttering. I put my ear to the window in time to hear one say, “I don’t like this. That old police chief lives next door. If he hears us, we’re toast.”

  “He’s not going to hear anything. Old people can’t hear, and besides he was at the gym until the dance let out. He’s asleep by now.”

  “How do you know he was at the gym?”

  “I saw him there.�
��

  I hear clanking noises and then scuffling. I wish I could see what’s going on, but it sounds like one of them has climbed over the gate leading to Jenny’s backyard. There’s more scuffling, and I hear one of them say, “Grab my hand.” And then I hear a thump, like someone jumping to the ground. I don’t know what these boys are up to, but I imagine it has something to do with the mischief that’s been going on with Jenny’s horses. Maybe Scott Borland isn’t the culprit after all. I can easily picture boys cutting a lock and letting the horses out onto the street. But where would young boys get a snake like that rattler? And why would they take a pipe to Truly Bennett? And the biggest question is, what do the boys have against Jenny—or her horses, for that matter?

  What they don’t know is that Alvin Carter is sleeping in the barn and is surely going to catch them sneaking in. I throw some clothes on and head out my back door and down to the gate between my pasture and Jenny’s. My cows stir as I go through the pasture. They’re huddled up near the fence, a few of them lying down.

  I slip through the gate between our properties and start up the back of Jenny’s pasture, straining to hear the boys. I hear the creak of the barn door opening. I hope Alvin stays quiet until I get there.

  Suddenly I hear the soft whinny of one of the horses, and then a scramble of footsteps. “Oh, shit!” one of the boys says in a loud whisper.

  Then I see a beam of light from the open door, and Alvin says, “Stop right there unless you want to get a buttful of buckshot.”

  “Run!” one of the boys says.

  I’m close enough now to see the play of their shadows. “I wouldn’t,” I say. “I’m right outside the door and you’re not going anywhere.”

  The shadows freeze. “Chief Craddock?” Alvin says.

  “Yep.” I step inside and flip on the light. Alvin is holding a shotgun at his side, and the two boys are standing in front of him looking like rabbits trying to figure out which way to run. They’re high school boys, both slim and lanky. The taller one has a thatch of dark hair and a jutting chin. The other one is chunkier and looks soft in every way.