by Terry Shames
He looks up. His face has aged ten years in ten minutes. “Listen, Craddock, this is all on me. Let’s make a deal to leave those boys out of it.”
“I think we can make a deal in exchange for your confession.”
I see that Maria is ready to protest. I give her my “don’t touch this” stare, and she stays quiet.
I give him his Miranda warning and then he lays it out.
“I didn’t like making the deal any more than you did,” I say to Maria when we’re at the jail in Bobtail, waiting for Bodine to be processed. “But you know as well as I do that there were too many holes in the case. We needed that confession.”
“I just hated to see that kid weasel out of his part in it.”
“He isn’t weaseling out of anything. He and Pete attacked Margaret. And even if we can’t pin that on them, he’ll trip up before long. That’s the kind of kid he is. Bottom line, we needed to nail Bodine for murder; that was the important part.”
It’s dark when Maria and I arrive at the Wilkins lake house to tell Margaret we made an arrest.
When she opens the door, Margaret looks diminished, as if the death of her husband has shrunk her mentally and physically.
“I have some good news for you,” I say.
She invites us into the living room, which smells stale, the way it would if a house had not been occupied for a long time.
I tell her about finding out that the dogs that killed her husband were guard dogs leased by Jerry Bodine’s father-in-law, and that following that led to Bodine’s arrest. I explain his motivation for the murder.
“That poor man,” she says.
Maria and I exchange looks. “You mean your husband?”
She looks at me, and rage animates her face. “Him? No. I’m sorry for Bodine—the man who got suckered into Lewis’s nasty little world.”
“What do you mean?” Maria says.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” She sighs. “Of course not, why would you?” Her expression changes, the flare of rage dying out. “Lewis was a liar and a cheat.”
She gets up and paces to the fireplace, where cold, dead ashes add to the bleak atmosphere in the room. “When I married Lewis, things seemed great. He made good money and we enjoyed our lives. There was just one thing.” She shakes her finger in the air. “We couldn’t keep friends. After they got to know Lewis, people weren’t so keen on him. I found out that medical staff he worked with said Lewis cut corners in the operating room, and they had to clean up the messes he left. Doctors protect each other, you know. But they don’t have to like it.”
Maria and I shoot uneasy glances at each other. Margaret has been sitting on this, and she’s finally letting it out. She stalks over to the window, rubbing her arms as if they’re itchy.
“He liked to play poker with the guys. First it was doctors, and then when they wouldn’t play with him anymore, he’d find games somehow. Surprise, surprise, he won a lot more than he lost. He probably lost just enough to keep people happy so they’d continue to play. But eventually he couldn’t keep himself from cheating, and no one would play with him. And then he had that lawsuit, and it gave him permission to become his true self. He cheated every chance he got.”
“Did your kids know this? Did you tell them?”
She shakes her head. She has stopped moving and is standing over us. “I didn’t have to tell them. It’s funny how kids seem to sense when somebody is not trustworthy. When they were children, they adored him. But as teenagers, they got his number. You know what really twists me? My daughter blames me. She never said anything, but I know she does. God knows why.”
She runs out of steam and lowers herself into a chair.
“Why didn’t you leave him?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Right. It would have made sense, wouldn’t it? But I didn’t know what to do. I had never held a job, had no skills. When things went to pieces, I thought about moving here and telling him he couldn’t come to this house. But I hate this place.” She bites her lip. “Wait. That’s not fair. Everyone is nice, and if I moved here I’d probably learn to like it. . . . I think I hated it because I was trapped here with Lewis.”
“You’ll figure out something,” Maria says. Ever the practical one. “There’s the money he left, and the boat.”
“All of it gotten by cheating.” She moans. “God, I’d give anything if I could give it back. But that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? It would leave me destitute. I feel as if I’m caught in a web of fishhooks. They hurt going in, and they tear flesh when they’re pulled out.”
I get up, and Maria follows my lead. “Tell your kids,” I say. “Tell them everything. Ask their advice. You’ll work it out.”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
CHAPTER 32
I’m writing out the full report on the resolution of the murder of Lewis Wilkins the next morning, when the phone rings.
“Is this Chief Craddock?” A cautious female voice.
“It is. Who am I speaking with?”
“I’m Vera Macom, out in Cotton Hill.”
“What can I do for you, Vera?”
“Well, sir, I heard you was asking around about some pups.”
I sit up, alert. “Yes, ma’am, you know something about that?”
“My husband was out hunting squirrel right before Thanksgiving, and he come upon this dead bitch and she had some puppies with her, so he brought them home for me to take care of. We didn’t steal them or nothing.”
“I know you didn’t, and I appreciate the call.” I tell her about finding Dusty.
“Oh my, he missed one. I’m glad you found him. We have four of them and I guess if you want them back, we’ll have to give them up. I was thinking I’d give one to my son, and the fellow on the next farm over said he wouldn’t mind having one.”
“Oh, no,” I say firmly. “I’m just glad they’re all right. And I thank you for letting me know. I wondered.”
I hang up and call Doc England and Hershel, out at the lake, to let them know the resolution. I know Maria will be happy when she comes in.
I had hoped that a few days away from Wendy would give me perspective, but when she called last night, I knew that was a joke. I told her that I had made an arrest in the case.
“Should I come home early so you can tell me all about it?”
I said I’d like that. She was quiet for a second. “But you need to tell me if you’ve settled things with Ellen.”
“No, not yet. By the time you get back I will.”
“Two more days. That’s all the time I’ve giving you.” Her voice was mock severe.
For whatever reason, Ellen and I have never talked a lot about our relationship. When I first met her, she was skittish because she had just left her brute of a husband. Also, it’d not been that long since my wife died. We drifted into an easy companionship. I have enjoyed her company, and we have had some laughs. But I’ve had a taste of something more. I have no idea where things will go with Wendy. Maybe I’m burning my bridges, but I’ve made my decision.
My first impulse was to take Ellen out to dinner so I could tell her what was on my mind. But she said she wanted to cook tonight, so I agreed to come over.
From the minute she greets me at the door, I’m tense, and she seems to catch the mood from me. Thank goodness I’ve brought Dusty, and that gives us something to focus on. I give Frazier a lot of attention. He’s a good dog, and I don’t want him to feel left out because of the puppy. Or abandoned when I don’t come around as much.
Ellen and I grab for glasses of wine and smile at each other. Is it my imagination that her smile is as strained as mine feels? Has someone told her I’m seeing Wendy? “Let’s sit in the living room,” she says. “Dinner is ready, but let’s have a glass of wine first.”
“That sounds good.”
“I’ll bet you’re glad that case is over,” she says, when we’re settled, sitting so we face each other.
“I am, but I wish I had never gotten involved
. I should have left it to the highway patrol.”
“Why do you say that? You did a good job. You’re just tired.”
“I am tired, but a case like this leaves me with a bad feeling. Grubby. Honestly, no one connected with this case comes out looking innocent. Everybody had something to hide or an ax to grind.”
She stares at me. I’ve never talked to her much about the bad part of my job.
“I apologize. I’m letting off steam. I shouldn’t burden you with this.”
“I’m surprised, that’s all. What do you mean no one looks innocent?”
I consider. “Jerry Bodine is obviously guilty. But even though Lewis Wilkins may not have deserved the death he got, he did deserve some kind of comeuppance. Wilkins disappointed everyone who knew him. He was a coward and a cheat. But his family and friends also aren’t innocent. They let him get away with it.” I go get Dusty and sit down with him.
Ellen seems stunned.
Dusty has flipped over on his back so I can stroke his stomach. “I’ll be glad for things to get back to normal, that’s all.”
“What about the widow, Margaret? What’s she going to do?”
“She’s got some decisions to make.” She has no good choice. But I don’t admire her. She has kept herself dependent. I’m sitting here in a room with a woman who took her own future in her hands. That, I admire.
Ellen is watching me, her head cocked. “You don’t seem satisfied.”
I sigh. “The bad guy is in jail. What more should I want?”
She stands up. “I need to stir something on the stove.” I follow her into the kitchen, bringing our wine glasses, and watch her stir a pot. “I’m glad your case is over, for more than one reason,” she says, her back to me.
“Oh?”
She turns around to face me, chin raised as if she’s defiant. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
Uh-oh, am I too late? It sounds like she did hear about Wendy from someone, probably Jenny. Should I jump in now and explain?
“Okay, I’m ready to talk,” I say.
I realize she’s blinking back tears, and I feel awful. She didn’t deserve this. “Listen,” I say, “I . . .”
“No, wait. Hear me out. This has been on my mind. I should have told you a long time ago. I think it’s why we’re stuck in our relationship. Let’s sit down.” We take a seat at the little kitchen table that’s barely big enough for the two of us. She takes a sip of wine. I can tell she’s stalling. I want to say something, but I’m curious about what she has been holding back. Finally she gives a tremulous smile. “You’re such a good guy. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to be judged badly.”
This isn’t going the way I thought it would. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Why would I judge you?”
She takes a deep breath and a tear slips down her cheek. “I let you think that Seth and I split up because I left him for being cruel to me. That was a lie.”
“Ellen, you don’t have to . . .”
“Yes, I do have to. It’s about Seth.”
Is she going back to him, as I suspected?
“I let you think that Seth was violent with me because he was a little bit crazy. But that wasn’t true. The reason Seth was so furious was that he found out I had been having an affair. For a long time.”
To hide my utter amazement, I take a sip of wine. I should say something, but what? Do I tell her it’s okay? Do I confess that I’m having my own fling? Do I ask who she had an affair with and what happened? “Well.”
“You have every right to be angry. I lied to you. I let you think I was the wronged party.” She swallows. “You probably have a lot of questions, and I’m ready to answer them.”
“I, uh, I need to think about it. How did Seth find out?” I’m feeling trapped, squeezed in at her small table.
“He suspected something was going on, and he hired a detective. When he confronted me, he was so hurt and angry I actually thought he might kill me.”
I remember going to see Seth early on, after Ellen came to town, to warn him not to bring his violence here to Jarrett Creek. When I confronted him, he said disparaging things about Ellen’s reputation. At the time I thought it was sour grapes. “Do you still see the man you had an affair with?”
“I saw him last weekend.” She holds her hand up. “Not to renew our relationship. We just wanted to talk. He’s gone back to his wife, and he said he felt bad because I got divorced. I told him that it wasn’t his fault.”
I nod but don’t say anything, because I find that I’m put out. All this time, I thought I was protecting Ellen from an irrationally angry ex-husband. He went overboard with his anger, sure, but he wasn’t irrational.
“I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore,” she says. “It was unfair.”
I stand up, relieved to have some room. “I need some time to digest it,” I say. “It’s something I never expected. Do you wish you were still with this guy?”
She looks up at me, hesitating. “I want to be completely honest with you now. Sometimes I think about him.”
It washes over me that what I want right now is to leave. I want to go somewhere and have a steak by myself and think about nothing. I’ll have to tell Ellen about Wendy in the next day or so, but not tonight. I’ll tell her she has nothing to apologize for and that I value her friendship and that I didn’t mean to make her feel wrong. But not tonight.
“You know, it’s been a hard week,” I say. “I think I’d like to be alone this evening. It’s not just what you told me, but the mood I’m in.” I go into the living room, pick up Dusty and give Frazier a pat, and then go back to the kitchen. Ellen is still sitting in the same place.
“I’m glad you told me, but for tonight, I’m going to bow out.”
She gets up and sees me to the door, and I lean down and give her a peck on the cheek.
The weather has cleared, and it’s warmed up to a fine, crisp evening. I stand next to my truck and look at the stars, thinking that nothing has quite gone like I thought it would these past couple of weeks. Instead of closure, Margaret Wilkins seemed to see bitter recrimination ahead. And my intention to tell Ellen that our situation has changed got short-circuited in the oddest possible way.
Dusty yips and I ruffle his ears. I did get one good thing out of the Wilkins case. I got a nice little dog. We get in the cab and he sits on the seat, looking expectant. I see the fine dog he’ll become, alert and ready for action.
I say, “Dusty, what do you say we go to dinner? We’ll go over to Bobtail and get a steak, and then we’ll come on back home.”
He doesn’t say anything, which I take as a yes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
During the course of a writer’s career, there are many unsung heroes who help in the learning process. I’ve been in writers’ groups, attended writing courses and conferences, and had beta readers, and they helped me become a better writer. My current writers’ group—Staci, Laird, Robert, and Brad (newbie!)—read diligently and seriously. Their comments and suggestions make my work stronger. I depend on them, and I am grateful to them for their help.
I also want to thank the members of writers’ groups; the teachers; the readers; and my fellow writers whose comments and suggestions might have been incomprehensible to me at the time, but which later came back to speak to me. I recall a beta reader who asked about a motivation I had thought was clear, and by questioning she taught me about deep motives. Another pointed out that descriptions come alive when you choose the right things to highlight rather than trying to describe everything in a scene. Examples are myriad.
Thanks to all of you who took me more seriously than I took myself, gently pushing me to embrace the positive act of writing rather than just putting words on paper.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Terry Shames is the author of A Killing at Cotton Hill, The Last Death of Jack Harbin, Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek, A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge, The Necessary Murder of N
onie Blake, and An Unsettling Crime for Samuel Craddock, the first six Samuel Craddock mysteries. She is the coeditor of Fire in the Hills, a book of stories, poems, and photographs about the 1991 Oakland Hills Fire. She grew up in Texas and continues to be fascinated by the convoluted loyalties and betrayals of the small town where her grandfather was the mayor. Terry is a member of the Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.