An Unsettling Crime for Samuel Craddock

by Terry Shames

  “He must have evidence, or they wouldn’t have arrested him. Why don’t you let him do his job? Why borrow trouble?”

  “Because I don’t like the idea that they can arrest somebody because it’s convenient.”

  “You sound like somebody from an old western. Shane, or something.” She takes a shuddering breath, and tears are standing in her eyes. “Samuel, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She never said that before. “I won’t get hurt. I’m going to be fine. Hey, let’s change the subject. Something you’re going to like.” I tell her that Horace asked if Tom could stay with us for a few days.

  She lights up, as relieved as I am to move on to another topic, especially having Tom with us. “When is he coming?”

  “Sometime tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Why didn’t you say so? That means I have to go to the grocery store in the morning. Maybe when I pick Tom up, I’ll stop by and see your mamma, too. I’ll call Horace and ask him what time he’s planning to leave.”

  “Don’t do that. You know how he is. He doesn’t like to be pinned down. I have to go into work for a while tomorrow, so I’ll have time to pick up Tom.”

  “It’s Saturday. Why do you have to go to work?”

  “Crime never sleeps,” I say, trying to lighten things up. It hits me again how much I ignored Jeanne’s resistance to my job. Not wanting to rock the boat made me lazy. I hear Bonnie Bedichek’s voice, exhorting me either to be a chief of police or to forget it. “John Gilpin is after me to get to the bottom of the drug problem he’s having at the high school.”

  She nods, picking at her food. She’s used to having me make light of my job. “Isn’t it going to be dangerous, poking around with drug dealers?”

  “I don’t think we’re talking about hard-core criminals, Jeanne. The kids are getting hold of marijuana.”

  “I wish you’d figure out something else to do. You know my brother would take you on in a heartbeat.”

  “We’ve discussed this before. It means a lot of travel.” Her brother runs her daddy’s oil and gas exploration company and wants to hire me as a land man, someone who scouts out property for likely well prospects. He pointed out to me that it would make use of my geology degree. I like her brother, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I took on the job. “If I did that, who would take care of my new herd of cattle?”

  “I could learn to do it.” She makes a face and I laugh. The tension between us eases.

  “The cows are doing well,” I say. I tell her some of the funny things I’ve already noticed about them, and how they seem to have their own personalities. “You come down to the pasture with me in the morning, and I’ll point out some of the good ones. You’ll like the calves.”

  “I know I will, but tomorrow I’ve got to get things ready for Tom.”

  By the time we get home, Jeanne is back in good cheer. She sees the answering-machine light blinking and runs to it. “That’s probably Mamma. I told her I’d call when I got home.”

  She pushes the button to listen, and a man’s voice comes on. “Leave the business with those colored people alone, if you know what’s good for you.”

  She turns a stricken face to me. “Who was that? Was that a threat?”

  Chapter 21

  It took some doing to calm Jeanne down last night. She called her mamma, and they were on the phone for an hour in hushed conversation.

  This morning, she’s full of excitement at Tom’s arrival, but when I tell her I’m going out, she balks. “After that phone call, I’d think you might want to back off.”

  “Jeanne, I took this job, and I’m going to do it. I’m not taking the phone call seriously. If you’re worried, you can go back up to Dallas until this blows over. Take Tom with you. Your mamma would love it.”

  “I couldn’t have a good time being worried half to death about you.”

  I take her in my arms and kiss her on the top of the head. “Do you think I’m so weak that I can’t take care of myself? Is that it?”

  She wiggles away. “Of course not. You’re not weak. But you might be meddling into something bigger than a small-town cop ought to be handling.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  As soon as I get to headquarters, I call Horace. Donna answers the phone. “Donna, can you give me any idea when you and Horace are going to drop Tom off?”

  “Whenever Horace gets back.”

  So she’s not going to be pinned down either. “I’ll come by and pick him up. That way y’all don’t have to worry about timing and you can head straight out when you’re ready.”

  “I guess that would be all right. When do you want to come?”

  I tell her I’ll be by in a couple of hours. Between now and then I want to check on Truly and maybe talk to a few more neighbors near Cato Woods to see if I can persuade somebody to tell me more about the folks living there.

  Roland Newberry isn’t in the office. “What do you need?” the duty officer asks.

  “I want to know how Truly Bennett is doing this morning?”

  “He’s popular, for one thing. His daddy has been in here asking about him, and some Texas Ranger called and said he’s coming by in a little while.”

  “Has anybody checked to make sure he’s all right this morning?”

  “Nobody saw the need. Sheriff Newberry put a special detail to watch him.”

  “That’s good. Is he going to be in jail there in Bobtail all weekend?”

  “As far as I know. Nobody has mentioned that they’re going to move him anywhere.”

  He tells me he doesn’t know the name of the Texas Ranger who called, but that he said he’d be by around noon. I intend to be there to greet him.

  As I’m walking out the door to head to Darktown, the phone rings.

  “This is Chief Craddock.”

  I hear someone breathing on the line. I wonder if it’s the same person who left the threat last night, and my heart rate shoots up. “Hello?”

  “Talk to Beaumont Penny,” a voice whispers, and the receiver clatters down. I’m certain the caller was Alva Bennett.

  I remember Penny only vaguely. He’s a dozen years older than me. But I do know he had a reputation for getting in trouble with the law regularly. Nothing big that I recall. I can’t even remember if he ever spent time in jail, other than maybe an overnight for being drunk.

  Johnny Pat Hruska comes in, apologizing for being late. He’s always late, but he apologizes as if it’s never happened before.

  “Johnny Pat, do you remember Beaumont Penny?”

  Johnny Pat scratches the back of his head. “Not much. He moved away at least ten years ago. You weren’t living here then, isn’t that right?”

  I nod.

  “The last I heard of Penny, he was in San Antonio.”

  “You know anything about his people?”

  “I don’t keep up much with those folks, but his mamma, Zerlene, cleans house for a few people in town. Maybe she can tell you where he’s at.”

  “Who does she work for?”

  “The Methodist preacher, for one.”

  I toss back the last of my coffee and head for the door. “I’ve got some things to do. Hold down the fort.”

  “Yessir, I can sure do that,” he says.

  The Methodist preacher, Rolly Hawkins, is a good-natured man. I catch him in the front yard of his modest little house next door to the church, watering his garden. When he sees me getting out of the car, he turns off the hose and comes over to greet me, wiping his hands on his khaki work pants. “Hello, Samuel, what brings you here?”

  “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Come on in the house and let me give you a glass of iced tea.” It’s said that Hawkins has become domestic since his wife died a year ago, but he’s thinner than he was, which leads me to believe that his cooking might not suit him the way his wife’s did.

  We walk into the kitchen, where a tall, sturdy, gray-haired black woman is engaged in cleaning out the refr
igerator. Hawkins introduces us.

  “Good morning, Mr. Craddock.” She has erect posture and a regal tilt to her head.

  “Zerlene, you’re just who I want to see. Rolly, I actually came to ask you when Zerlene would be here so I could track her down. Since she’s here, do you mind if I ask her a couple of questions?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  Zerlene closes the refrigerator door carefully and smoothes her apron. “What is it you want to ask me?”

  I don’t know whether it’s better to question her in front of her employer or alone. I know she’s not in danger of losing the job with the Methodist preacher because of my questions, but I don’t know if she’ll feel less or more inclined to answer me honestly in front of him.

  “Would you rather we talk after you get off work?”

  She glances at the preacher.

  “It doesn’t make me any difference,” he says. “It’s up to Zerlene.”

  “I don’t know what you have to ask me that I can’t say in front of Reverend Hawkins, so let’s get it over with.”

  “It’s about your son.”

  “Which one? I’ve got three.”

  “Beaumont.”

  Her lips come together in stern disapproval, and her shoulders slip from their rigid pose. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s the only one of my boys who seems to invite trouble. What is it this time?”

  “I’m not sure if it’s anything at all. Where is he living? Is he still in San Antonio?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “He wore out his welcome there and moved to Houston a few years ago.”

  “What does he do there?”

  “If you find out, you tell me. He doesn’t keep me informed on what he’s up to.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “He come around about two months ago. He don’t stay long when he comes. He and his daddy don’t get along. I guess I ought to appreciate that he comes by, but I always worry that they’re going to have a set-to.”

  Hawkins poured me a glass of tea, and he’s been hovering over us like a bird. “Why don’t you two sit down, and I’ll leave you to talk?”

  “I don’t know what more I have to say,” Zerlene says. “I need to get on with my work. Mrs. Hall up the street is expecting me this afternoon.”

  “I can talk to you while you work,” I say. “I just have a couple more things to ask.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Hawkins says. I appreciate his discretion, but Zerlene looks after his retreating back as if she’s seeing her only hope disappear. She wrenches open the refrigerator and takes up a sponge and starts scrubbing vigorously.

  “What do Beaumont and your husband fight about?”

  Her voice comes back muffled. “What most daddies and their sons fight about. Why he doesn’t have a visible means of employment, why he doesn’t settle down with a good woman.” She backs out and arches an eyebrow at me. “And I fuss at him because he dresses up like a riverboat gambler.”

  I smile. “I know he was rowdy and had a few run-ins with the law when he lived here, but has he gotten in any trouble since he moved on?”

  She sticks her head back in the refrigerator. “I believe he has.” I don’t say anything and in a moment she backs out again. “Okay, yes he has. My husband had to go to San Anton’ to bail him out. He got in a fight and the other man got cut.” She glares at me like it’s my fault. “But the charges were dropped and he never had to go to trial.”

  “Do you know what the fight was about?”

  “I told my husband I didn’t want to know.”

  “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “His name is Alvin. Named after the town where he was raised. We named all our boys after towns, too. Beaumont, Tyler, and Carmine—places we lived where my husband found work before he found a steady job here.”

  “Where does Alvin work?”

  “He’s retired now. He worked for the tie plant until it closed down, and then he was a cook over at a barbecue place in Bobtail. He still cooks for parties and whatnot. He does a pretty fair brisket.” Her eyes shine with pride in her husband.

  “I’d like to try some of that barbecue one day,” I say. “A couple more questions. When your son comes here, who does he spend time with?”

  She walks over to the sink, rinses out the sponge, and lays it on the counter. “He goes over to see Wink Nelson, and sometimes he catches up with some of his friends over at the Ink Spot, but I don’t keep up with that crowd. Now, if that’s all you want to ask, I need to get out the vacuum cleaner.”

  “I do have one more question.”

  Her smile is patient. “I figured you might. All this beating around the bush has got to be for something.”

  “Do you know if he knew any of the people who were killed in that fire out in Cato Woods?”

  She stands still as a statue. When she stirs, she says, “Why would he know any of those people? They ain’t from around here.”

  “Really? Where are they from?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to find that out from somebody else.”

  “Do you know any of their names?”

  “I do not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be gettin’ back to work.”

  I thank her for her time. “If you think of anything you believe I ought to know about those people, will you get in touch?”

  “I sure will.” But I know from her tone of voice that it isn’t likely.

  Hawkins looks at me with great curiosity when I pass him still working in his garden, but he’s too polite to quiz me.

  I’m itching to go talk to Zerlene’s husband, but I promised I’d pick up Tom.

  Donna acts like she’s surprised to see me. “I didn’t know you were coming over so soon.” Her bruises have eased into a hideous yellow with purple streaks.

  “Is Tom here, or is he out with his buddies?”

  “He’s in his room. I told him to get packed to stay a few days. You’d think he was moving in with you. He’s taking pretty much everything he owns.”

  “I’ll go hurry him up,” I say. I can hardly stand to look at her mass of yellowing bruises. I wonder where she told Tom they came from.

  Tom’s door is open. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, but his bedroom is no bigger than our bathroom. A tiny little twin bed takes up most of the room, and a stack of crates serves as a chest of drawers. I once asked if he wanted me to buy him a real chest of drawers. He told me he liked the open crates. “Seems to me drawers are for hiding stuff,” he said. “This way, if I’m in a hurry to find something, it’s right out there where I can see it.” I had to admit he had a point.

  His old suitcase once belonged to my daddy. He has filled it with everything but clothes.

  “You going to wear the same clothes all week?”

  “If I could, I would.”

  “You know your aunt Jeanne isn’t going to let that happen.”

  “I know.” He grabs some random clothes and shoves them in on top of a shoebox. Below the box I see some books and a slingshot and a bunch of toy cars. He has Lincoln Logs at our house along with more cars. I always tease him that he’s going to end up as an auto mechanic, which suits him fine.

  “What’s in the shoebox?”

  “Rocks.”

  “That ought to come in handy.”

  “They’re special kinds of rocks. Like some of the ones you showed me.”

  “We’ll look them over. You ready?”

  He closes the lid of the suitcase, but it won’t snap shut. I hold it down while he presses the clasps. Then I pretend that it’s too heavy for me to carry. “We’re going to have to get a mule up here to carry this.”

  He giggles.

  “You had any lunch?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Me neither. We’ll go get something to eat.”

  Donna is sitting in the living room, staring at the wall and smoking a cigarette. We�
�ve had words about her smoking around the boy, and her look is defiant.

  “Horace still isn’t back?” I ask.

  “He called and said he’ll be a while longer.” She looks at Tom in a way that gives me an uncanny feeling like Donna is my mother all over again. “I want you to behave,” she says.

  “I will.”

  “He always does,” I say. “You’re raising him to be a good young man.”

  “He’ll eat you out of house and home.” She gets up and grabs him in a headlock. He squeals, but he likes it. I change my mind. She may be a little bit like Mamma, but not altogether. Thinking of Mamma, I realize I should have gone to see her before I picked up Tom.

  Tom ducks out from under Donna’s arms and grabs the suitcase and starts dragging it toward the front door.

  “You going to run out of here without kissing me good-bye?”

  “Aw, Mamma, I’m too big for that.”

  She looks at me and winks. “Let’s shake hands then.”

  He sidles over to her and sticks out his hand. She grabs it and pulls him to her and plants a kiss on top of his head. “Now get on out of here. Have a good time.”

  She watches him go, and there’s a strange, melancholy expression on her face.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m a good mother,” she says.

  “You’re doing something right. He’s a good boy.”

  We hear him thumping the suitcase down the steps. “I better go before he busts the suitcase open,” I say.

  When I get the suitcase into the car, I ask him if we ought to go say good-bye to his grandmother, too.

  He winces. “I guess we should, but she’ll talk and talk, and I’m hungry. We can come back later.”

  “You’re right. Let’s get on with it.”

  We turn the corner onto the highway, and down the street I see Horace’s car turn onto another road.

  “Look, there’s Daddy,” Tom says.

  “You want to chase him down and say good-bye?”

  “Nah, he said ’bye this morning.”

  “Did he say where he was off to?”

  “He said he was going out to Roundtop, but I don’t know why.”

  Wherever he said he was going, he’s back in town and he has me curious.