by Terry Shames
“You sure you’d know if he did?”
His leg is jiggling up and down. He shakes his head. “Of course I can’t be completely sure. I don’t think he would, but . . .”
“But maybe there were things about him you didn’t know?”
“Yep.”
“Dooley, what was he doing with a showy boat like that?”
He’s slow to answer, but finally he shrugs. “Won it in a poker game.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s a hell of a nice boat to have at stake in a poker game.”
He gives a deep sigh. “It was unusual all the way around. I play in some friendly social games from time to time.” He waits for my reaction. Gambling for money even in private games is technically illegal, but if lawmen in small towns busted every friendly poker game, we’d lock up half the men in town.
“I understand. That’s not unusual.”
“Not too much money at stake. At least not normally. But that night things took a different turn. The guy who owned the boat is Jerry Bodine. You probably don’t know who he is.”
I shake my head.
“He lives over in Bobtail. His father-in-law was Chuck Flynn.”
“Is that right?” Everybody either knew Chuck Flynn, or knew of him. He owned the only real industry in the county—a lawnmower manufacturing company that employed a lot of people. He died not long ago, but before he died he sold the company to the employees, which made him something of a local hero.
“Apparently Chuck bought the boat not long before he died. He took it up to Possum Kingdom Lake—don’t ask me why he didn’t keep it here. But at any rate he never got a chance to use it before he got sick and died. Jerry and his wife inherited it. Jerry said the last thing he needed was a powerboat. He had it brought down to the lake here to keep until he decided what to do with it.”
Dooley is enjoying telling the story, and I figure he’ll get around to the point eventually. “So it sat here for several months. And one night Jerry came for one of our poker parties, and Lewis happened to be here, too. Well, we were drinking a little”—he lifts his glass—“and one thing led to another, and Lewis and Jerry got into an argument over a hand that was played. Next thing you know, they’re upping their bets—kind of aggressive-like. I knew Lewis was having money trouble and he shouldn’t have been betting the way he was, but I figured I wasn’t his keeper, and he could make up his own mind. Suddenly Jerry gets all huffy and says he’s putting up his boat against Lewis’s place out at the lake.”
“You’re kidding. Lewis was willing to bet his house?”
“I tried to talk some sense into Lewis, but he didn’t want to hear what I had to say. Well, long story short, he won.”
“How long ago was this?”
“This past summer. June, July.”
“And Lewis never took the boat out?”
He snorts. “He didn’t really want a boat. It was a matter of pride for him to win it. He and Bodine seemed to have some kind of bad feeling between ’em from the get-go.”
“Well, that’s some story. Was Bodine upset when he lost the boat?”
“Just the opposite. He laughed and said it was an easy way to get the boat off his hands.”
That explains where the boat comes from and why it was never used, but it’s still an odd story, and I wonder if I’ve heard all of it. I may have to look up Jerry Bodine and find out his version.
“I’m trying to imagine what Margaret would have said if Lewis had lost the house,” I say. “It sounds like Lewis could be a little impulsive.”
“I believe that’s a fair assessment. When he was young, he was hotheaded, but he had calmed down a lot. I think the business with the lawsuit got under his skin and made him regress a little bit.”
Operating on the wrong leg could have been the result of an impulsive act, too. Although you’d think someone on the operating team would have called his attention to it.
“Speaking of Margaret, I’d like to know more about his family. I talked to their daughter today, and it seems like she didn’t get along with her folks.”
“You got that right. That girl thinks the sun rises and sets on her say-so. I don’t have a lot of affection for Margaret, but I feel bad about the way Emily treats her.”
“Sounds like Emily was pretty upset about the lawsuit.”
“She was like that before the lawsuit. Lewis spoiled her. I shouldn’t say he did. Margaret did, too. It’s funny, though, I think I spoiled my kids, but they turned out okay.”
All of a sudden, I hear light steps running through the gravel. “Daddy! Daddy are you out here?” A girl’s voice calls out.
He jumps up. “That’s my Annabelle.” A big grin splits his face. “I’m in here, honey!”
A slim young woman in jeans and sweatshirt darts into the garage and flings herself into Dooley’s arms and hugs him tight. “Mmmm, mmm, I’ve missed you,” she says, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Dooley is the picture of delight. “Have you told your mamma you’re here?”
“Of course! She’d have a hissy fit if I came out here first.” She turns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’m Annabelle Phillips.”
I introduce myself and then say, “Dooley, your daughter is one lucky girl. She doesn’t look a thing like you.”
He laughs. “Naw, she’s pretty like her mamma.”
Dooley’s son strolls in. “Why don’t you all come on in the house? Maybe Mamma will get off her feet for five minutes.”
“Daddy,” Annabelle says, “she’s making enough food for twenty people. Who all is coming tomorrow?”
“It’s just us. Craddock, you have plans? You’re welcome to join us.”
I tell him I’ve got somewhere else to be. “Listen, I’ll stop in long enough to say hello to your wife, but let me ask the kids something. You’ve heard what happened to Lewis Wilkins?”
Annabelle shivers. “Mamma and Daddy called me last night to tell me. That was horrible.”
“You two are the same age as his kids. Do you know them?”
Their eyes flick to each other and back in an unreadable exchange. “Not really,” Annabelle says. “We hung out with them a few times when we were younger, and once we all went on vacation together, but they lived in San Antonio and we lived here, so we didn’t see them much.” She may say they don’t know each other well, but I notice a flush rises to Bobby’s cheeks, and I wonder if there’s more to it.
“They don’t get on well with their folks. Do you have any idea why?”
“Hold it,” Dooley says. “You’re not suggesting that either of the kids had anything to do with Lewis’s death, are you? ’Cause I don’t see that at all.”
“No, that wasn’t the idea. I like to get family relationships straight. They can be complicated.”
“It was no secret that Emily didn’t think much of her parents,” Annabelle says. “I always thought she was a little hard on them, but . . .” she shrugs.
“I don’t know,” Bobby says. He’s frowning. “Dr. Wilkins could be awfully strict. He wasn’t always fair, either. I mean, Daddy didn’t let us get away with much, but we always knew where we stood.” He looks at Dooley.
“You didn’t think so when you were fourteen,” Dooley says.
We have been walking slowly toward the house, and we file up the steps and in the back door.
“Mamma,” Dooley calls out. “Come on in here and sit down for a minute.”
“Dooley, I’m busy. What do you want?” Her voice precedes her, and she comes to the door of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. I know her by sight. She’s a short, plump woman with a halo of brown curls liberally sprinkled with gray. She’s so short that she has to cock her head back to peer up at Dooley and me. “Oh, hello,” she says. “I didn’t know we had company.”
“Not company,” I say. “Just the police chief.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she says. “You’re a friend of Loretta Singletary. She thinks you’re a smar
t cookie.”
“I think the same thing about her,” I say, grinning.
“He’s here to talk about Lewis,” Dooley says.
She shakes her head. “That’s awful. I tried to call Margaret, but I guess she isn’t answering her phone. I’ll have to go out there.” She looks at her family. “I was thinking we ought to invite them for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.”
The kids both grimace. Dooley walks over and puts his arm around his wife. “That’s nice of you, Connie, but let’s keep the holiday for us and invite them over later in the weekend.”
She looks up at him. “I don’t like to think of them out there in that house with nothing to do but stare at each other and grieve.”
“If you think it’s the right thing to do, then we should do it,” Bobby says. His sister looks at him like she could strangle him.
Connie sees the look and sighs. “Let me think about it a little more.”
I excuse myself and ask Dooley to follow me out to the squad car, where I find my puppy is awake and trying to jump out of the box. I put him on the ground, where he starts nosing around.
“Where in the world did you get that pup?” Dooley asks.
I tell him how I found the dead bitch and the puppy along with her. “It’s a mix with some lab and some border collie.”
“He’s a pretty little dog. Too bad he isn’t a hound, or I’d take him off your hands. We had to put our coon dog down in September, and I’ve been on the lookout for a new one.”
“In your search, have you heard anything about dogs being stolen? We’ve had a few incidents of dogs disappearing, and yesterday a man who lives down the street from Wilkins came upon some men trying to make off with his dog. It occurred to me—suppose Wilkins was walking in the woods and stumbled onto some kind of illegal operation? They might have killed him to keep him quiet.”
He frowns. “What do you mean ‘illegal operation’? You mean somebody stealing dogs and keeping them in the woods? Why would they do that?”
“I’ve heard speculation that a dogfighting outfit might be operating in the area. Have you heard anything like that?”
His face has gone dark. “No, but if I did, I’d sure as hell have something to say about it.”
“Think back to the last few months. Did Wilkins ever give you any indication that he saw something that troubled him?”
“First of all, Lew wasn’t the kind of guy who goes for a walk in the woods. He’s a city boy.” It’s gotten colder out here, and he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “And if for some reason he did, he sure never told me he’d seen anything odd. But I’m still wondering why anybody would steal a dog.”
“This is all pure speculation, you understand, but somebody suggested that if there’s an illegal dogfighting operation around, sometimes they steal dogs to use for bait dogs.”
“Oh hell!” He kicks at the gravel. “That doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Well, you’re in a position to run into a lot of different people. If you hear a rumor that somebody is into fighting dogs around here, I’d appreciate your letting me know.”
“I sure will.” He looks down at the puppy. “What are you going to name this little guy?”
“Oh, he’s not mine. I can’t keep a dog. Too much trouble. I’m trying to get hold of his owners.”
CHAPTER 12
It’s late in the afternoon, but I figure I have time to go over to the Wilkins house and check up on them. Plus I need to find out if Margaret knows that her husband had a fine new boat tucked away in the marina. The holiday has messed with my timing. I’d like to find out if anyone has spotted Wilkins’s SUV, but on the day before Thanksgiving I’m not likely to get a lot of action out of anyone in the DPS office. Murder doesn’t take a holiday, but the people investigating it do. If Ellen were in town, I’d be putting in less time, too.
As I park the squad car in front of the Wilkins place, I think how different it is to try to put together the information I need from scratch. When something happens here in Jarrett Creek, I have years of knowledge to rely on for background—and Loretta’s grapevine. But with the Wilkins family, I’m running blind. They could tell me anything, and I’d have to believe it. I can check facts on the Internet, but that doesn’t get under the surface of who they are.
“You stay put; I won’t be long,” I say to the puppy, even though he’s asleep. I know the dangers of leaving a dog unattended in a car, but this time of year it’s cool outside and I leave the windows open for plenty of ventilation.
Daniel Wilkins answers the door. His face is strained. He rubs his hands together. “Come on in. It feels like it’s gotten colder out there.”
Margaret Wilkins comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I came by to see if there’s anything I can do for you.”
She shrugs. “I thought about going to my sister’s for Thanksgiving, but that would mean driving all the way out to Amarillo. Daniel and I, neither one of us, felt like making that long trip. And then Gloria, next door, asked if we’d join them. Daniel said we should.” He’s standing next to me. She shoots him an uncertain glance.
“They seem really nice,” Daniel says, “and I think it would be better if we’re around people. They have grandkids. They’ll keep our mind off things—keep us distracted.”
“Emily isn’t going with you?”
Margaret’s expression closes up. “Yes, she’ll go over with us, but then she plans to head home. Why don’t you sit down.” She gestures to the kitchen table. “I’m making a couple of pies to take over there tomorrow. I don’t know how they’ll turn out, but it was only way I could think of to get my mind off of . . .” She trails off and turns around to attend to her pies.
Daniel and I follow her into the kitchen area, where she has two pie tins lined with crust. She says she’s making one pumpkin and one lemon meringue. My thoughts stray to Ellen. She makes a good lemon pie, and I wonder if she’s baking one for her family—including her ex-husband.
Daniel sidles up to me and says, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Margaret looks surprised, but then turns her attention back to her work, as if shying away from whatever her son has to say to me.
I follow him into the living room, which is open to the kitchen, so he keeps his voice low. “Listen, if you’ve talked to Emily, you need to take anything she says with a grain of salt.”
“In what way?”
“Ever since Daddy got into financial trouble, she’s been mad. She thinks Mamma didn’t stand by him the way she should have.” He pauses. “I don’t know what she told you, but I wouldn’t put it past her to accuse Mamma of something.”
“You mean accuse her of killing your daddy?”
He grimaces. “I guess she wouldn’t go that far, but she can be judgmental, and sometimes she gets carried away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He tells me he’s off to buy groceries. “Wish me luck. The store is going to be a nightmare. We had planned to go yesterday, but . . .”
When I return to the kitchen, Margaret is slipping the pumpkin pie into the oven. She has poured the lemon pie filling into the other crust. “Come on over here while I finish up.”
I lean on the counter, watching her while she whips the whites and piles the meringue onto the lemon pie and tucks it into the oven. “I have a couple of things I want to discuss with you,” I say when she’s done.
“Let’s sit in here,” she says. “I don’t like being in the living room without Lewis here. Silly, I know.” She washes her hands and pours us each a cup of coffee, then joins me at the kitchen table.
“I’d like to get a list of names of your husband’s friends in San Antonio.”
She looks down at her hands. “Lewis didn’t have friends.”
“Doctors he worked with?”
She shakes her head. “Everyone more or less deserted him after the verdict came down. Not that he ever had close friends. More like acquain
tances. And after what happened with the trial, most of them slipped away.”
“How did he spend his time after the verdict? You said he worked for other doctors sometimes, but he must have had spare time.”
“When he was home he watched a lot of TV, spent a lot of time on the Internet.”
“Doing what?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.” Then she blinks and gives a self-conscious laugh. “I don’t think he was into anything like pornography, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me.” Although it had. “One other thing. I talked to your daughter this morning. She told me you and your husband had your house on the market in San Antonio and were planning to move here.”
She bends her head and massages her neck so that I can’t see the expression on her face. “That was Lewis’s plan.”
“He liked it here?”
She straightens. “Liked it? I don’t know that I would say he particularly liked it. We couldn’t afford to live in San Antonio anymore. He also said he wanted to get out of San Antonio because he was tired of being cold-shouldered by people who knew what had happened. And Dooley encouraged him to come here.”
“How did you feel about moving here?” I understand that I’m asking her invasive questions, but it’s necessary. I usually know a lot about the people in town, so I don’t have to pry. It’s harder to investigate when I have so little background on the Wilkins family.
She sighs. “I wasn’t exactly wild about it. Not that I have anything against this place,” she adds. “You have to understand. Before the lawsuit, I liked my life. I never had any burning ambition to be a businesswoman. We had friends, and I liked to entertain. I don’t mean it was all frivolous. When the kids were little, I did events to raise money for schools. After that I got hooked up with hospital charity events.” She grimaces. “Of course that ended when the lawsuit came up. Everybody was nice to me, but the hospital didn’t want me involved with fundraising for the hospital when my husband was being sued.”
“Why is that?”
“Because that woman sued the hospital, too.” She gives a humorless laugh. “I could see their point.”