Pecos Valley Rainbow

by Alice Duncan

  I heard a couple of interesting snippets of conversation as I wove my way through the throng and wished I could stop and eavesdrop, but I couldn’t take the time. However, I was mighty interested in a few people’s comments:

  “. . . crook if ever there was one. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “. . . stole that ranch right out from under him, Calhoun did.”

  “. . . charged outrageous interest. Wonder what’s going to happen to those loans now.”

  “. . . what the will’s going to say about things. Don’t know if he had anything left to leave.”

  That last one fascinated me particularly, but there wasn’t any way I could learn more about Mr. Calhoun’s will just then.

  Frustrated, I finally found Phil in a back parlor, still eating and nowhere near Herschel Calhoun. I wasn’t too pleased when I walked up to him. “Well?” I demanded. “Have you talked to Herschel?”

  “Cripes, Annabelle. I haven’t had a chance yet. Give a fellow a break, can’t you?”

  “No, I can’t!” I said, stamping my foot. Childish, I know, but who’s perfect? “My brother-in-law’s life might be at stake here!”

  “Keep your voice down. I’ll talk to him as soon as I finish up this . . . stuff.” Phil nodded at his plate.

  “All right. But come over to Blue’s when you can and let me know what you learn. Pa wants to get us back to the store now, so I can’t wait for your convenience.”

  “Don’t get all fussed up, Annabelle. I’ll visit you at the store before I go back to Pete’s.”

  “Thank you.” I turned on my heel and marched out to the Model T, where my family waited for me in undisguised impatience.

  “Took you long enough to say good-bye to your gentleman friend,” said Jack in the obnoxious singsong voice he uses when he wants to be particularly annoying.

  Pa gave him a halfhearted whap on the head, and I sniffed.

  “I had a difficult time finding him in the swarm of people, and I only said good-bye.” I held my chin up so far, I’d have drowned if it had started raining. No chance of that, though. Last week’s thunderstorm was a freak of nature and wouldn’t be repeated any time soon. We all hoped so, anyhow.

  The rest of the day was pretty boring. A few folks came in for groceries and canned goods after they left the Calhouns’ place, and I managed to chat with a few of them, but nobody had any interesting information about the family to impart. It occurred to me that Betty Lou Jarvis might be able to help me get into the house one night so I could search for money and doctored books. Which reminded me . . .

  “Say, Phil,” I said when he came in to spill the goods about Herschel Calhoun. “What exactly are ‘books,’ anyway?”

  He looked at me slanty-eyed for a second before his gaze fell to the novel lying on the counter: The Great Impersonation, by E. Phillips Oppenheim.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I know what a book is!” I said, irked. “What I want to know is what people are talking about when they said the bank’s books are clean. What kinds of books are they talking about? I know it might sound like a stupid question, but I overheard somebody at the funeral get-together say that he thought Mr. Calhoun might have a second set of books hidden somewhere that would show how he’d cheated people. Those kinds of books.” Okay, so I lied again. Sue me.

  “Ah. I see. You’re talking about account books. Ledgers of debits and credits. Income and outgo, so to speak.”

  “Hmm. So, if the bank’s books tally correctly, then Mr. Calhoun must have another set of ledgers somewhere else. Is that what you mean?”

  “No, but I take it that’s what you mean,” Phil said. He sounded annoyed, but I don’t see why he should have.

  “Well, never mind about that,” I said. “Tell me what you gathered from talking with Herschel.” I almost blurted out that Gladys seemed to be glad her father was gone, but that, as the lawyers say, might have been leading the witness, so I gulped back my impulse.

  “What I gathered is that Herschel is a spoiled brat who’s glad his old man is dead, and he’s looking forward to inheriting a whole lot of money once the will’s read. I’m surprised that hasn’t been done already, by the way.”

  “Why’s that?”

  With a shrug, Phil said, “Generally, shortly after a person’s death, lawyers tell the family what the will of the deceased has in store for them.”

  “Doesn’t this count as shortly after his death? After all, for two days, the town was almost impossible to navigate. Maybe the lawyer’s office was closed or something.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you know who the lawyer is?”

  “No, and whoever he is, he isn’t going to allow you to sit in while the will’s read,” snapped my intended, who for some unaccountable reason seemed to be peeved with me that day.

  “Why are you being so grumpy, Phil? It wasn’t that hard to talk to Herschel, was it?”

  “It wasn’t hard at all. What was hard was standing there listening to him brag and blow.”

  “Oh. He sounds like an unpleasant person.”

  “Like I said, he’s a spoiled brat.”

  “Isn’t he kind of old to be a spoiled brat?”

  “Age has nothing to do with it. I got the feeling his sister’s a spoiled brat, too.”

  Mercy, Phil had certainly taken a dislike to Herschel. He seldom said mean things about people. However, I suspected he was correct about the Calhoun family. “Betty Lou Jarvis said pretty much the same thing to me, only in different words. They don’t sound like people I’d like to be chummy with.”

  “Huh. I doubt they’d consider you chum material. They’re too good for the rest of us, to hear Herschel talk.”

  “He sounds like a real pill.”

  “He is. Are you satisfied? May I get back to work now?”

  “Yes, Phil, and thank you very much. I appreciate this a whole lot.”

  “I’ll bet.” With that, Phil heeled around, slapped his hat on his head and stomped out of the store.

  “I do!” I hollered, but he didn’t turn around or anything. Nuts. I hoped I hadn’t made an enemy of my very best male friend in town. Oh, well. Nothing I could do about it at that moment, because I was stuck behind the counter at the store and folks continued to come in and buy things.

  Because we’d all stuffed ourselves at the Calhouns’ post-funeral reception, Ma made a ham sandwich for Pa, and left Jack and me to our own devices. I wasn’t hungry, although I did make a trip to the kitchen around midnight when hunger pangs woke me up. So I got the ham out of the Frigidaire, which Pa had bought about three years earlier, got the bread from the bread box, cut it and slapped some mustard on it, and made myself my own ham sandwich. As I sat at the kitchen table nibbling on it, Ma came out and joined me. Naturally, I’d been contemplating things I’d overheard at the Calhouns’ house and the things Phil had told me about Herschel. I glanced up at her. “Hey, Ma. You hungry, too?”

  “I thought I’d have a little leftover floating island. It’s soggy, but I’m sure it’ll still taste good.”

  “I’m sure it will. I love that stuff.”

  “Yes, I know you do.” Ma smiled at me in a way that let me know she loved her youngest daughter. I thought that was sweet. I was lucky in my parents, and I knew it.

  “So what did you think of the funeral and the reception?” I asked around a bite of ham and mustard.

  With a sigh, Ma set herself on a chair and her bowl on the table. She took a tiny bite of soggy meringue before answering. “Oh, I don’t know, Annabelle. I know the Calhouns are a prominent family, and that they probably have more money than God—”

  This statement shocked me, but I didn’t let on.

  “—but I’m glad I’m a plain old Blue. I think we’re ever so much happier than the Calhouns are.”

  “I think so, too. Heck, nobody’d ever want to shoot Pa in the back. He’s always helping people. From everything I’ve been able to gather so far, Mr. Calhoun made it his life’s work to cheat peopl
e.”

  Ma gave me a hard stare. “Annabelle Blue, you’re not snooping into the murder, are you? That’s the business of the police department. Besides, if someone shot Mr. Calhoun, a rich and important man, do you think that person would hesitate to do away with a nosy girl?”

  Well, crumb, I hadn’t thought of my inquiries in exactly that way before. “I’m not snooping, Ma,” I fibbed. “I just don’t want them to fix their attention on Richard.”

  “You don’t know that they are, Annabelle. As much as I know you’d like him to, Chief Vickers isn’t about to give you daily updates on the police investigation.”

  Boy, wasn’t that the truth? “I know it, Ma. I’m just a little bit worried about Richard, is all.”

  “Fine. Worry all you want, but I think you’re taking Chief Vickers’s interest in Richard far too seriously. Naturally, he had to question all the people who worked at Mr. Calhoun’s bank.” She pointed her spoon at me. “You are not to meddle in the business, Annabelle Blue.”

  She sounded quite firm in this command, so I didn’t bother arguing with her.

  Still and all, I aimed to have a chat with Betty Lou Jarvis as soon as I could.

  Chapter Ten

  Luckily for me, Betty Lou made a trip to Blue’s the very next day in order to get some fabric and sewing notions for Mrs. Calhoun.

  “They can’t just dye their old clothes,” she said in a derisive voice. “Their majesties have to have all new black duds made up.”

  “She doesn’t patronize Miss Petty’s Fancy Dresses?”

  “Buy store-bought goods?” Betty Lou lifted her eyebrows in a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding expression. “Not for the likes of their majesties. Nothing but the best for them. Mrs. Wilson, and only Mrs. Wilson, will make clothes for the Calhoun ladies.”

  “I see. Well, we have lots of fabrics. Ma carries a variety in black just for funeral attire.”

  “At least Mrs. Wilson will make some money this week, and that’s a good thing,” said Betty Lou, heading toward the fabric section of the store.

  Ducking under the counter, I followed her. “Did Mrs. Calhoun give you a budget? Or can you spend as much as you want?”

  She grinned at that. “No. As a matter of fact, I’ve been directed to get the cheapest fabrics I can find, as long as they don’t look cheap. Evidently, the will was read after the funeral, and Herschel’s been raging around the house like a rabid polecat. Mrs. Calhoun has been in tears all day, and Gladys is sulking in her room and declares she’ll be darned if she’ll wear black for her father, who wasn’t worth the space he took up on earth. Those were her exact words.”

  My eyes had widened. “You mean he didn’t leave them a fortune?”

  Shrugging, Betty Lou fingered some black wool crepe. “I guess not. Naturally, I wasn’t invited in to hear the reading.” She snickered when she went on. “Herschel’s afraid he’ll have to get a job. Lord, wouldn’t that serve him right?”

  “You don’t like him, either?”

  “He’s a total pill. Thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone, and he’s really a whiny crybaby. Gladys is no better. She’s as stuck-up as a girl can be.”

  I shook my head. “What a family.”

  “You said it. When I told Firman about the will and the family’s reaction, he said he wasn’t surprised. Firman talked to Mr. Calhoun about a loan to get a house”—here she blushed, and again I recalled the insignificant Firman Meeks. But to each her own—“because we want to get married. Firman said Mr. Calhoun was a hard man and difficult to deal with. Firman said he thought Mr. Calhoun was probably piling up money somewhere and aimed to take off with his honey and leave the family flat.”

  “Goodness! That thought hadn’t ever occurred to me.”

  “Me, neither. But if either Gladys or Herschel got wind of his plans, I can see either one of them plugging the old buzzard.”

  “Gee, I wonder where he kept his money, if that’s what he’d been planning. According to Phil and Richard, he may have kept a second set of books detailing his illegal transactions somewhere other than the bank, because the bank’s books are clean.”

  “Really? Well, I wouldn’t put it past him. He was truly awful, Annabelle.”

  “I believe you. Say, Betty Lou, if Mr. Calhoun was planning a bolt, he probably kept his stolen money and doctored books in his house somewhere. Did he have an office or anything?”

  “Oh, yes. Kept the door locked, too, and I don’t think anyone’s found the key yet.”

  “Hmm.” I’d read books in which people picked locks, but none of them gave specifics on how to go about the process. Perhaps I needed to make another trip to the library.

  “But Herschel busted out a window, and the police looked through the old man’s desk and cabinets and didn’t find anything. Then Herschel went through everything after the police left, but he didn’t find anything either.”

  Bother. Still and all, neither the police nor Herschel struck me as the sharpest tacks in the box. Perhaps they didn’t think to look for loose floorboards or secret compartments and other stuff like that. Then, greatly daring, I sucked in a huge breath and said, “Um, Betty Lou, do you think you could sneak me a key to the house? I’d like to go over that room myself and see if I can find anything. Bet I’m a better searcher than Herschel and the police.”

  “Heck, Annabelle, I’d be happy to lend you the key to the house, but you won’t need it. They replaced the glass in that window yesterday, and I can just leave it unlocked one night and let you in if you really want to snoop around.” She eyed me sharply. “Why do you want to, though? What’s it to you if the old goat stashed a bunch of money somewhere? You don’t aim to steal it, do you?”

  “Good Lord, no!” I cried, horrified at the very notion. “I just need to find out Mr. Calhoun’s secrets regarding his illegal dealings so that I can find out who the killer is. Otherwise, I’m afraid the police are going to fix their attention on Richard MacDougall, my brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, golly. Why would they do that?”

  I heaved a largish sigh. “Richard works at the bank, and he and Mr. Calhoun had been having very loud disagreements about the way the bank was being managed recently. The police have him in their sights.”

  “But Mr. Calhoun cheated everybody in the whole town!”

  “I know, but I can’t help but worry about Richard.”

  “Still?” Betty Lou asked, moving on to some black cotton. “I mean, I can understand why they might have fixed on your brother-in-law at first, but surely they’ve been investigating the matter since last Thursday. Don’t you think so? Lots of folks in town carried a grudge against Mr. Calhoun.”

  “You might be right. Did the police do a really thorough search of Mr. Calhoun’s office?”

  Betty Lou shrugged. “I wouldn’t say so. Not to my knowledge anyway, and unfortunately, I live there.”

  “See? That’s what I mean. I don’t think they’re looking hard enough for anyone other than Richard.”

  “You might be right. This is Rosedale, after all. None of our elected officials seem to work very hard.”

  Harsh, but probably true. “Maybe I’ll pay a call on Chief Vickers. He probably won’t tell me anything, but if they’ve dropped Richard from their list of suspects, he might say that much.”

  “Frankly, Annabelle, I don’t see your brother-in-law shooting anyone. He and your sister are too snooty to do stuff like that.”

  It pained me to hear Betty Lou say that about my own sister . . . but she was right. “Yeah. I know.”

  She apparently didn’t hold Hannah’s snootiness against me, because she said, “So when do you want to do this breaking and entering? I’ll unlock the window tonight if you want to do it then. The family is usually in bed by eleven, unless Herschel is out drinking with his pals.”

  “He drinks?”

  “Good Lord, yes.” Betty Lou looked at me as if she considered me a ninny.

  Still and all, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I wasn’t ac
customed to people flagrantly flaunting Prohibition laws as Herschel Calhoun seemed to be doing. A wastrel. That’s what Pa would call him, and he appeared to be correct in Herschel’s case.

  As it turned out, reasons to visit Chief Vickers multiplied shortly after Betty Lou left Blue’s. Later on that day, Ma, who had been in the kitchen preserving squash, hurried into the store, agitated as all get-out. I’m not sure where Pa was at the time, although I suspected he was visiting local ranchers and farmers, making deals and finding out what would be needed the next time he placed an order with the big warehouses in Dallas, Texas, for seeds, manure, pesticides, lineament, horn and udder balm, sheep dip and so forth. There was a whole lot to this farming and ranching business that most folks didn’t think about unless they had to, and Pa had to.

  “What’s the matter, Ma?” I asked, shocked to see her wringing her hands and darned near in tears. I rushed over to her and hugged her.

  She threw her arms around me and very nearly squished me in her anxiety. “Oh, Annabelle, Hannah just telephoned. The police have taken Richard down to the station to question him some more. They still consider him a suspect in Mr. Calhoun’s death. They took him out of the bank in front of everyone!”

  I goggled at my mother. “They hauled him out in handcuffs?”

  Ma gave me a moue of irritation and let go of me. “Of course not. But they escorted him out of the bank and to the police station. Isn’t that bad enough?”

  “Yes. It is bad enough.” Blast the idiotic police department!

  “Hannah’s so worried,” said Ma, her irritation with me forgotten.

  My own irritation seemed to grow as hers subsided. “It’s so stupid of them to pick on Richard.”

  “I know it!” Ma began to cry.

  My mother never cried. At least not in front of me. The fact that she’d let her emotions get her down really worried me. The police must truly be on Richard’s tail unless Hannah had overly dramatized the situation. She did that on occasion. “What did Hannah say, Ma? Maybe it’s not as bad as she made out.”