by Terry Shames
When we’re settled around the kitchen table, I say, “I went looking for information about what your sister was up to before she came here, and it turns out the woman who was here was not your sister. Nonie is alive and living in Jacksonville.”
Charlotte’s mouth falls open. “Nonie’s alive? Are you sure?”
“I talked to her myself.”
“What the heck? Who’s the woman who came here then?” Skeeter says.
“I’ll be damned,” Billy says. He looks at Charlotte. “You mean you didn’t have any idea?”
“You’re sure the woman you talked to was Nonie?” she says.
I nod. “Charlotte, your mamma told me she had suspicions about this woman . . .”
Charlotte stops me. “Does this woman have a name? Who was she?”
“Let me ask the questions for now. Did your mamma tell you she didn’t think the woman was Nonie?”
Charlotte darts a quick look at Billy. “I had no reason to think she wasn’t exactly who she said she was. I was young when she left and my memory of her was hazy.”
“That’s not what I asked. Did your mamma tell you she thought it wasn’t Nonie?”
“She might have mentioned it. And Daddy . . . all I can say is that he was not happy about her being here.”
“Did you call Billy and tell him your mamma thought she was an imposter?”
“Hell, no, she didn’t tell me that,” Billy says. “If she had, I’d have come back here in a flash, rodeo be damned. As it was, I was planning to come back here the minute I could. I didn’t want Nonie in our house.” Some of this is bluster. From what Zeke Dibble dug up, I know that Billy didn’t come back the minute he could, the most likely explanation being that he was shacked up with some woman.
“What about you, Skeeter? Did you have any suspicion that the woman was not who she said she was?” I don’t expect Skeeter to have been astute enough to catch on, but he startles all of us.
“I might have.”
“Goddammit, Skeeter, you did not,” Billy says. “You’re trying to get attention.”
“You don’t know me, Billy. Don’t tell me what I saw and what I didn’t see.”
Trevino raises her eyebrows at me.
“What did you see?” I ask him.
He looks trapped. “Nothing.”
“See what I mean?” Billy says, with an eyebrow cocked at me.
“But I heard something,” Skeeter says, glaring at his brother. “Something weird.”
“What did you hear?” I say.
“I heard her talking to herself. Everybody said she wasn’t crazy anymore, but it made me wonder if she was really okay.”
“Where and when was this?” I ask.
His eyes dart from his sister to his brother. They’re both staring at him. “I wasn’t listening on purpose. I happened to be outside one day under her window and I heard her talking.”
“What did she say?” Charlotte says. Her teeth are clenched, and she’s staring at him.
“Nothing important, but I thought it was weird that she was talking to herself out loud.”
Billy and Charlotte start talking at once. “Why didn’t you say something?” Charlotte says.
“Wait,” I say. “This is important. What was she saying?”
“She kept saying the name Nonie, like she was trying to talk sense to herself. Mostly it was mumbling, but she said, ‘Nonie, you wait and see if I don’t.’ They may not be her exact words, but something like that.”
CHAPTER 25
On the way back to headquarters, I ask Maria what she and Billy talked about when they were together on the porch.
“I asked him questions about being in the rodeo. He’s had a good run. Never had any major accidents, so I guess he’s lucky.”
“Did you have a chance to look around out there?”
“Just around the pond. I found Billy watching them drain it, and then we walked around the house to the front porch. I asked him to tell me if he knew where the body was found, but he said he wasn’t around at the time, so he didn’t know. I asked him where he was when they notified him that Nonie had been killed, and that’s when he told me he was a rodeo rider. He said he had recently finished up a rodeo in Denton and was hanging around there when his sister called him and told him what happened. That’s when we got on the subject of the rodeo. You think he might have snuck back here and killed that woman?”
“You want to know the truth? I don’t have a clue. There’s something going on with that family, but I don’t know what. But I’ll tell you this, I’m going to find out one way or another.”
I look over to see her with a doubtful expression.
Before we left the Blakes, we found out that the dredging operation would take the rest of the day. As we get out of the car, Trevino says, “If you want me to, I’ll go back out there and keep an eye on it.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
We walk into headquarters and find Zeke there. We also find a dog there that looks familiar. “Frazier?” Sure enough, he comes wriggling over to me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Zeke says. “That dog has been a nervous wreck.”
Frazier is looking at me expectantly. He is some kind of terrier mixed with a more substantial dog, so he has a sturdy build with a terrier’s personality—or so Ellen told me. I’m not sure what she meant.
“What is he doing here? Where’s Ellen?”
“Ellen came by an hour ago,” Dibble says. “She said she had an emergency and had to go to Houston and asked if I’d prevail upon you to take care of the dog. She said she’d call you later.” I don’t care for the speculative look in Zeke’s eyes. He’s wondering why Ellen feels close enough to me to ask me to keep her dog.
Trevino crouches down and starts making cooing noises to the dog, who is so thrilled that he’s practically crawling on his stomach as he makes his way to the deputy. “Who’s a sweet doggie? You are!”
Zeke and I roll our eyes at each other. “What am I going to do with this dog?” I say. “My cat will have a fit if I bring a dog in the house.”
“Cat? You have a cat?” Trevino says, looking up at me. “I hate cats. They’re so sneaky.”
“You want to keep this dog with you?” I say.
“I can’t. They won’t let me have a pet in the apartment.”
“You have room for a dog?” I say to Zeke.
“No siree, we already have two dogs, and my wife is ready to send the three of us packing. She says between the dogs and me we create enough dirt for ten people.”
I’ve met Zeke’s wife, and she isn’t nearly as fussy as he makes her out to be. She’s a thin whippet of a woman with a sharp sense of humor.
“I guess it’s up to me, then.” Although it occurs to me that Loretta could maybe help me out. But Loretta is not home any more than I am.
“How long did Ellen say she’d be gone?”
“She didn’t say. Said her daughter needed her.”
And what about those precious classes of hers, I think. She couldn’t cancel them for me, but she could cancel them for her daughter. I’m glad nobody can know those thoughts because I instantly regret being so self-centered. Ellen must have her reasons.
I’m looking at the dog and thinking that Loretta doesn’t have any pets, and that leads me to the Blakes. They live on a big property meant to be a farm or a ranch, and I didn’t see a sign of any animals. What in the world led them to become so inward? I get the sense that they are hovering on the edge of fear of the future, as if something holds them together and keeps everyone else out. Everyone except Les Moffitt, the financial advisor. Maybe it’s time I had another talk with him. There’s got to be some way in with this family, and I intend to find it.
The dog settles down at Trevino’s feet. Zeke asks us what we’ve been up to. I tell Trevino to fill Zeke in, thinking if I hear if from her mouth, something might come to me.
She gives a thorough accounting. And while she talks I think about Susan
Shelby coming here—not driving here, but taking the bus—and pretending to be Nonie. Why? It sounds like she might have intended to blackmail somebody. But if Nonie told Susan something she could use to blackmail somebody, why didn’t Nonie come here and handle it herself? And who was the blackmail victim?
I had assumed that Nonie found out something about someone in the community that she could use as blackmail. But suppose it was her own family she knew something about? Suppose she found it out when she was fourteen? Nonie said she had tried to kill Charlotte because she stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. Maybe Charlotte found it out, too, and Nonie thought she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.
When I talked to Nonie, she acted like she was surprised that Susan Shelby had come to her family’s house, but that can’t be true. She knew! I think back to the conversation Skeeter overheard her having. When she said, “Nonie,” Skeeter thought she was talking to herself, because he thought she was Nonie. Now I know that Susan wasn’t talking to herself—she was talking to Nonie. Nonie lied to me. Without a doubt, she did know Susan was here. From the psychiatric report I read, it seems to have been Nonie’s way of doing things—lying and sneaking. And it means something else, too. If Susan Shelby was talking to Nonie, she must have had a telephone with her. So where is it?
I come back to the conversation to hear Zeke telling Maria, “I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t in homicide in Houston, but I do know the murders they got were pretty straightforward. It usually involved a guy who killed somebody for looking at him wrong, or drug deals gone bad, or domestic quarrels that got out of hand. This small-town stuff . . . these people can be pretty close-mouthed.”
“Funny,” Trevino says, “I always used to think of small towns as full of gossip so it would be hard to hide anything.”
Gossip. It’s time I talked to Loretta and let her know what’s going on and find out if she has any memory of something that might help me find out what the Blakes are up to that almost got Charlotte killed and may have been responsible for Susan Shelby’s death.
I can see that Maria is itching to get back to the Blake ranch. “Maria,” I say, “why don’t you take this dog with you when you go back out to the Blakes?”
The dog seems to understand that Trevino is his best chance of having a good day and trots after her readily. It could be that he likes women better than men, having been mistreated by Seth Forester.
As soon as they’re gone I call Loretta. She’s not home, so I leave a message for her to call me as soon as she can. I go home to see how the cows are doing and to give myself a little time to plan my strategy. I’m halfway home when Loretta calls, sounding out of breath.
“I came by my house for a minute and found your message,” she says. “What do you need?”
“I need to talk to you. Are you home now?”
“I was on my way over to the church to put things away from the women’s auxiliary meeting this morning. It can wait. Why don’t you come on by and I’ll make us some lunch.”
When I walk in Loretta’s door, she’s got grilled cheese sandwiches cooking and has opened a can of tomato soup. Over lunch I tell her that the woman who was staying at the Blakes was not Nonie Blake; that I talked to Nonie Blake in person.
“I never heard anything so crazy,” she says. “Who is the woman who was killed?”
I tell her about Susan Shelby. “And I have no idea what she wanted.”
“You say Nonie knew her? Did she know why the Shelby woman came here?”
“Loretta, I didn’t completely trust what Nonie had to say. Don’t tell anybody I said so.”
Loretta loves to gossip, but I know that if I ask her to keep quiet, she will.
“I need you to tell me everything you know about the Blakes. There’s something off with that family and I don’t know what to make of it. You hear things, and I’d like to know what people are saying.”
“There’s been a lot of talk, but most of it is nonsense.” She takes a sip of her soup. “People telling wild tales about Nonie Blake that can’t possibly have been true.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, like she was sneaking off with one of her teachers, and her sister found out and that’s why she tried to kill her.”
“That doesn’t sound so wild to me. Nobody has explained to my satisfaction why she did try to kill her sister.”
“Did you talk to the psychiatrist who examined Nonie? Did he know why she did it?”
I shake my head, chewing the last bite of the sandwich. “Only that Nonie insisted that she had her reasons.”
Loretta sees me eyeing the other half of her sandwich, so she passes it onto my plate. I don’t hesitate. I know she’s not sacrificing. She’d throw it out if I didn’t eat it. Although she’s frugal, she doesn’t like to eat leftovers.
“Have you asked Charlotte?” she says.
“No, she was eight years old when it happened and I don’t know that she would have much memory about it.”
“It couldn’t hurt to ask,” she says. “I’m always surprised what my kids remember from when they were little.”
“Is there anything you’ve heard about the family that would explain why they keep to themselves so much?”
“Of course everybody says it’s because of what Nonie did. But I remember that family before it happened, and they were always standoffish.”
“Did you know Adelaide’s mother?”
“Not well. She was several years older than me. She came to town when Adelaide was a little girl. She was a pretty woman. Lilah, her name was. She said her husband had been killed in the war and . . .”
“In what war?”
“Korean War. She said he was drafted.”
“Loretta, how do you remember that?”
“I don’t know. I just do. I think because I was relieved that my husband didn’t get drafted to Vietnam.”
“What was Lilah’s last name?”
Loretta has to think for a minute. “Cousins. Lilah Cousins.”
“And her husband’s first name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“It sounds like she didn’t keep to herself like the Blakes do.”
Loretta ponders my question and eventually says, “She lived in town, which means she had more of a chance to run into people. I expect she was lonesome, just her and Adelaide. Maybe it’s John Blake who decided they need to stay to themselves.”
“Maybe.” But I remember John Blake as a kid, a few years younger than me. He was always running around, wild and popular enough. What drove that family to circle the wagons?
CHAPTER 26
When I get in my pickup, I sit contemplating what kind of secret would make a family turn inward. Shame might do it, but it seems they were like that before Nonie’s dreadful act. I’m trying to think what I might not want people to know about me. I don’t have any peculiar sex habits, but if I did, I suspect I wouldn’t want anybody to know. Beyond that, my family history isn’t all that savory, but there’d be no point in my hiding out because of it—and John and Adelaide don’t have any notorious relatives that I know of. I don’t see signs that any of them are addicted to drugs or alcohol. The one thing that might make me want to be discreet with others is money matters. I don’t mind if people know that my wife and I inherited money from her family and that it left me comfortable—better than comfortable. But I wouldn’t want people knowing the particulars.
I remember that I intended to talk to Les Moffitt again to find out if there’s something about the Blakes’ financial situation that they don’t want known. Moffitt is the only outsider I know who seems to be on good terms with the family—as well as being their financial guru. I call him and tell him I’m on my way to see him. Before I can put the key in the ignition, my phone rings.
“Samuel, did you go by the office and get Frazier?” Ellen’s voice is high with tension.
“Yes, I’ve been by there. The dog isn’t with me at the moment. He took a liking to the new deputy I told yo
u about, Maria Trevino. Frazier is riding around with her this afternoon.”
“He’ll like that. He loves to ride in the car.”
“Zeke said you told him your daughter needed you. Is she all right?”
“She called me from the hospital this morning. She was walking into work, and somebody had spilled something that made the tiles slippery. She fell and broke her leg in two places.”
“Oh, my.” I feel guilty because I was a little jealous of her daughter.
“When I got here, they had her in surgery. She’s out now and they said she’ll be fine. I’m sorry I left the dog with you without asking. I was so flustered I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s not a problem. Take your time.”
“So much for not canceling my classes. I feel foolish, since I made a fuss about not wanting to do that when you asked me to go to Tyler with you.”
“Your daughter has to be more important to you. And as it turns out, it was better for you not to come along anyway. The trip took longer than I thought it would. You would have been stuck with nothing to do while I worked on some things.”
“Did you find out what you needed to know about the Blake girl?”
“I did. You’re not going to believe this. The woman who was killed was not Nonie Blake.”
“That’s bizarre. Who was she?” I can tell she’s tired and distracted and making an effort to sound interested.
“We’ll talk about it when you come back. Don’t worry about the dog. We’ll get along fine. What about his food?”
“I must be losing my mind. I didn’t even think about that.”
“You have a spare key somewhere? I can go in and get it.”
“It’s so stupid. I haven’t given anybody a spare key. It’s only been a short time since I moved in, and I haven’t thought about it.”
I ask her what kind of dog food he eats and tell her I’ll go buy the food. I don’t tell her my worst fear, that my cat Zelda will terrorize the dog.
Les Moffitt doesn’t act like he has any problem with me questioning him again. In fact, he seems happy to see me until I break the news that Nonie Blake was not the murder victim.