“Oh, Tony.”
Theo's expression of dismay stopped him.
“It's true.” He stared for a moment at the glowing embers. “When Sheila came to, they got into a knock down, drag out fight. With the rain and the mud, I guess it turned into a realbrawl. By the time we got there she had handcuffs on him and it looked like she was wearing half of the mountain on her uniform and in her hair. Compared to her, I looked clean when I got home.”
“Is she all right?”
“Doc says that the bruise on her chest is a humdinger and that one of her ribs is cracked. She is going to be sore all over tomorrow but as much from the hand-to-hand as the shooting. In short, she gets a desk for a while.” Pressing his face against Theo's shoulder, he yawned wide enough to make his jaw crack. In the quiet room, the sound seemed to boom. “She was always the scrapper in that family. Her brothers were more afraid of her than of anyone else around.” He moaned. “I just know that she is not going to like the desk.”
“Are you afraid of her?”
“You bet.” Tony yawned again and let his eyes close. Heaven was right here. He was warm and fed and Theo wasn't mad at him.
“I think you can handle it after a good night's sleep.” Theo unwrapped herself from the layers of Tony's arms and the quilt and appraised him as she stood up. “Go to bed.”
“I'm okay here.”
“No. You look like death warmed over.” Tugging his hands to get him to his feet, she commanded him, “Go to bed.”
Without the energy to argue, he went. He gripped the banister and used it to pull himself up the last few steps. He barely made it onto the bed before he passed out.
At a very early hour of the morning, he awakened and climbed out onto the veranda. The wood beneath his bare feet felt cold and damp, sending a sharp chill through his toasty warm body. In the deep silence that comes only at night, he could hear the familiar sounds of water rushing over rocks. The lights in the park were bright enough to show him that the creek had not risen any higher.
Peeking into the room shared by the boys, he saw Chris rolled into his covers, like Cleopatra in a rug, only his hair and feet exposed to the night air. In the next bed, Jamie looked like a mattress ad. He slept on his back with his hands crossed over his chest and his blankets as smooth as they had been when he went to bed.
Daisy's bed, a big round nest upholstered with dog bone fabric, occupied the center of the room. It was empty. Daisy lay stretched across Jamie's pillow. The boy's pale blond hair blended perfectly with hers as he used her for his pillow. She lifted her head and stared at Tony until he stepped back. Tony wondered why they had ever invested in the dog bed. He wasn't sure if Daisy had ever been on it. The oversized animal alternated between being Jamie's pillow and being stretched out between Chris and the wall.
He went downstairs and toward the kitchen. Theo had moved his things from the table onto a bench in the mudroom and spread them out to dry. His body armor was dry. Dried mud clung to the belt and empty holster. He needed to clean the weapon again, even though he'd cleaned it twice the day before. Retrieving his Glock from the gun safe in the front closet, he set it on the table. Before sitting down, he collected a handful of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk. He placed those next to his gun cleaning equipment. He cleaned for quite a while, until he was convinced that no mud remained. It was a big job that required a second trip to the cookie jar. Satisfied, at last, he locked the Glock up and went back to bed.
Theo rolled over when he climbed in. She sniffed the aromas that Tony carried with him, gun oil and chocolate, and with a satisfied smile snuggled up against his back.
In the morning, Tony sat in his office, going over the events of the past day and night. Deputy J. B. Lewis stopped by on his way home to tell him about Roscoe's antics.
In Tony's opinion, Roscoe Morris was not the sharpest tack in the box. In fact, people often noted that he was about as sharp as a bowling ball. Someone suggested that his county record for the most years spent in middle school might even be the highest in the state. It was a record that he was proud of. Whatever his lack of intelligence, he did possess a certain animal cunning and, best of all, Roscoe was a genuinely nice man.
A lover of baseball like Tony, Roscoe attended every game in the community and always cheered for both sides. The little boys liked it when they could spend time with Roscoe. He would entertain them with a piece of string and nimble fingers, weaving simple designs like Jacob's ladder.
According to Deputy J.B. Lewis, Roscoe had a busy night. J.B. settled in to give his report within earshot of Sheila and Ruth Ann. J.B. loved to tell stories, so his oral reports were long and detailed, while his written reports supplied minimal information.
Tony knew that J.B. liked working nights. His patrol encompassed the town, although he was not restricted to it and because the only law enforcement agency in Park County was the sheriff's department, there was never a squabble over jurisdiction. He went where he felt like going.
“I arrived at the four way stop just in time to see Roscoe pass through it, towing a vending machine, headed out of town.” J.B. lifted a thermal coffee mug to his lips.
“A vending machine,” said Tony. “Why?”
“I'll get to that in a minute, but I swear, Sheriff, I thought I was hallucinating. ’Cause there he was, in that old paintless pickup of his, trucking on down the road. Sparks were flying from the bottom of that candy machine.” J.B. laughed so hard he had to stop and take in great gasps of air. “I sure didn't need the tracking skills of Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett to follow his trail. Between the flying sparks and that godawful scraping noise, my great-aunt Tillie couldn't have lost him, and she's been blind and deaf for a century. Roscoe had to stop twice along the way and reattach the chain.” Clutching his sides, he finally managed to blurt out, “Roscoe's in love with that machine.”
“Not really,” said Ruth Ann.
“That's what he said.” J.B. went on with his story. The flood had encouraged Roscoe to do a certain amount of impromptu thinking, ill advised as it was. Roscoe had been down at the crossroads, helping stack sandbags, when he saw a vision of loveliness across the road. The vending machine usually sat in the covered walkway of the Riverview Motel and Cabins. It had been moved to the higher ground of the parking lot. When a stream of sunlight leaked through the bleary sky and reflected from the chrome buttons, he fell in love.
Roscoe told J.B. that for a long time the machine had been one of his favorite restaurants. Now it seemed to be available for the taking, just waiting for him. Romeo had met his Juliet. One of the last to leave the area, he was relieved see that no one had moved his love. His old pickup truck was not pretty, but it was strong. Backing up slowly, Roscoe positioned the truck only inches away from the object of his affections.
At first, he attempted to lift the vending machine, but it was too much for him to handle alone. Then he tried to push it into the bed of the truck, hoping it would topple into place. That didn't work. He couldn't leave it. Almost frantic, he tried everything he could think of to get it into his truck. In desperation, because he couldn't leave it behind, he wrapped a length of chain around it and attached it to the trailer hitch on the back of his truck and drove back to his residence at the Oak Lawn Trailer Court.
“If there had been less water on the ground, the sparks dancing from the steel rubbing on the pavement would have ignited countless grass and forest fires.” J.B. rubbed his eyes.
“Please, stop.” Sheila raised a hand to stop him. She moved like an arthritic turtle, tender in every muscle, bone, nook and cranny. “You are killing me.” Every breath taken was an obvious insult to her bruised ribs, and J.B.'s story reduced her to tears.
“Sorry, Sheila, I didn't stop to think. I know you're sore.” J.B. reached over and gave her a fatherly pat on the hand. “We'll finish this report someplace else.”
“Over my dead body.” Sheila spoke so forcefully that she winced again. Reducing her voice, she gave him h
er best glare, “Don't you dare not tell me.”
J.B. just stared at her. His expression showed that he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
Ruth Ann solved his dilemma. “Tell the story, J.B., but slow enough so she can breathe from time to time.” She glanced at her fingernails. The cerise polish that she had been applying when J.B. started the story stuck to the tissue that she used to wipe her overflowing eyes. She shrugged and reached for the polish remover. “Was Roscoe surprised to see you?”
“I guess you could say that. He made it to his place maybe thirty seconds ahead of me. Even with all the water, I wanted to make sure that he didn't start a fire with that thing.”
“Why didn't you just pull him over?” Tony stretched, feeling the knotted muscles in his back loosen a bit. With his thumbs hooked into his belt, he leaned against the doorframe of his office. “That would have taken care of it.”
“I couldn't. I had to see where he took the thing. Have you ever watched anyone sleepwalk?”
Tony nodded.
“It's kind of the same feeling. You don't want to wake them up, and at the same time, you sure are curious to see what they'll do.” J.B. swallowed a big mouthful of coffee. “Anyway, when I pulled up behind him at his trailer, he was standing next to the thing, kissing it and caressing the buttons.”
“So he didn't steal it to take the coins?” said Sheila.
J.B. shook his head. “He swore that the money had nothing to do with it and I believe him. He wants to keep her. I'm telling you that he is in love with her. He'd probably marry the damned thing if she would say yes.”
“Where is it now?” Tony tried to maintain a modicum of dignity and professionalism but failed miserably. The mental image of skinny little Roscoe with his stringy hair and overcrowded teeth kissing a vending machine was too much for him and he burst out laughing. “Does it have a name?”
“She, not it.” J.B. waited until Sheila and Tony could suck a little air in before answering. He nodded and that caught their attention. “Dora.” He continued after a brief pause. “I had the Thomas brothers come out and load her on a flatbed and lock her up for the night.”
Ruth Ann reacted first. “Dora?” Tears streamed unchecked down her face. All pretense of working on her fingernails was over. “Why Dora?”
“I asked him that myself.” J.B. paused.
“And?” said Sheila.
J.B.'s lips twitched. “He said that he called her Dora because that's her name and so what else would he call her? I must say that he seemed rather indignant.”
“Had he been drinking?” Sheila's eyes were wide. “The last time I talked to Roscoe, he didn't seem likely to fall in love with a vending machine. A truck maybe, you know, or something else with tires.”
“Naw. There was no alcohol on his breath and he passed all of the field sobriety tests. I don't think he had any drugs or alcohol in him at all. He'd been working down at the creek all evening. Just Roscoe being Roscoe, you know.” A rumble of laughter worked its way through his whole system. “That man never has more than three wheels on the road on a good day.”
Tony nodded. He had seen Roscoe earlier in the day. The skinny little man had worked like a demon, stacking sandbags. Tony hated to punish Roscoe after all his hard work. He started reading through J.B.'s reports. They were incomplete and he gave up. “Did you arrest him?”
“Oh, yeah, you haven't heard it all.” J.B. yawned and drank more coffee.
“There's more?” As one, his audience leaned closer.
“I had to arrest him for the license plate scam that he was running.” He glanced at their faces to make sure that they were all paying close attention. “You see, I've been hard at work while you were all snoring in the dark.”
Tony thought that J.B. should be on a stage. He was the Will Rogers of the area.
J.B. teased them by making a big production of finishing his coffee and then cracking his knuckles. Satisfied that he had their full attention, he went on with his report. “Roscoe supplied the snake handler with Queen Doreen's license plate.”
“No way.” Tony straightened.
“Yep. It turns out that Roscoe has quite a collection of license plates for sale. Most of his stock, he stole from tourists passing through. He normally takes just the front plate of cars and trucks from states that require two plates. Roscoe's favorite seems to be Ohio. Half of that state must have had the front plate ripped off by Roscoe, and the other half has never visited the area.”
“If he has a collection, why take the plate from her majesty, the mayor's wife?” said Ruth Ann.
From her words and expression, Tony assumed that Ruth Ann's relationship with the mayor's family had not improved.
“That was a special order. Our preacher requested a Park County plate. Right after that, Roscoe happened to be passing through a parking lot and he took the first license plate that he came to.”
“How did the preacher know to contact Roscoe?” Sheila's question mirrored Tony's thought.
“That one's easy. Quentin recommended him.” J.B. shook his head. “Before you ask, I don't have any idea how Quentin knew about Roscoe's business venture or why they didn't steal the plate themselves instead of paying Roscoe a hundred dollars for a ‘finders fee.’ ”
“You didn't have a warrant.” Tony didn't ask.
“Didn't need one.” J.B. raised his right hand like he was being sworn in. “I read him his rights about six times, but Roscoe begged me to take the license plates. He said that maybe the judge would let him keep the candy machine in exchange for them. I told him that it doesn't work that way but he insisted.”
Tony stepped into his office and retrieved several antacids from the jar on his desk. Realizing that there were only two left in it, he wrote himself a message on a sticky note and stuck it on his door before he returned to the impromptu meeting. “I guess we'd better let Archie know. He'll know how many laws Roscoe broke. The license plate thing is not going to just go away.”
Ruth Ann's phone rang. Picking up the receiver, she held it to her ear for only a couple of seconds. Her eyes twinkled as she met Tony's eyes. “Rex called with a message.”
“What?” From her expression, he assumed that no one had found another body.
“Tell the sheriff that Elvis has left the building and Quentin is ready to talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
Tony was thankful that Quentin seemed grounded enough that Carl Lee Cashdollar, his attorney, would allow him to be interviewed. Freshly showered and dressed in the fashionable orange and white striped jumpsuit supplied by the county jail, Quentin still looked like hell. His body aroma was much improved but still not completely pleasant. The chemicals that he ingested had taken a toll.
“So, Quentin,” Tony waved the man into a chair next to Carl Lee. “How are you feeling today? Your lawyer thinks that you are up to answering a few questions.”
Quentin shrugged but remained silent. He stared at Sheila, who sat at the desk almost directly opposite the greenhouse door.
“Well, let’s just go over a few things while you consider it.” Tony, like Quentin, watched as Sheila made her careful way to the door and handed him several sheets of paper. The moment she left, Wade entered the room and closed the door. “We found your fingerprints on the door handle of the car driven by, but evidently not owned by, Harold Usher Brown.”
Brow furrowed, Quentin looked baffled. “Who is that?” He addressed his question to his attorney but Carl Lee shook his head, looking as confused as his client.
“We know that your dear cousin John Mize has been deceased for a while and that Mr. Brown assumed his identity. Would you care to tell us why?”Tony shuffled the papers he held but didn’t look at them.
“Brown? Is that Hub’s name? I had no idea. I thought it was Mize.” Quentin relaxed on his chair. “He’s my cousin on my mama’s side.” He jerked forward, then slapped himself hard on the side of his head. “He did say somethin’ like that. My m
ama weren’t a Mize until she married my pa. I guess she used to be a Brown at that. She and Pa’s uncle, Jesse I think, was relations.”
When it looked like Quentin was ready to start giving a detailed account of his entire family tree, Tony raised his hand to stop the man. “Just tell me why he wanted to use John’s identity and what he was doing here.”
“That’s pretty easy.” Quentin picked at his skin. “He showed up with them snakes one day and introduced himself. I knew he was a true cousin just by the way he looked. My mama had those same kinda spooky eyes but she never cut her eyelashes like that. He uses these itty-bitty little scissors and cuts them one at a time. Freaked me out to watch him.”
“Cut his eyelashes?”Tony remembered that Quentin’s mother had eyes that protruded and there was white visible all around the irises. It made her look wild and scary and most of the children who saw her believed she was a witch. Her personality had done nothing to dispel the idea.
Murder by Serpents (Five Star First Edition Mystery) Page 17