A Violent End at Blake Ranch

by Terry Shames

  “Have you talked to Nonie since you found out she’s alive?”

  All of a sudden John says, “Where is Nonie?”

  “John, she’s living in Jacksonville.”

  “Why doesn’t she come home?” John says.

  “Because, that’s why.” Adelaide gathers up John’s dishes and takes them to the sink. The dishes clatter as she sets them down hard. She wheels around, hands dripping. “Why didn’t she call me when she first got out? Why would she live up there all this time and never call me?”

  “Maybe she was waiting for you to make the first move.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I didn’t know where she was, did I?”

  “We could call her,” John says. “Maybe she’ll come for a visit.”

  “He’s right,” I say. “Maybe you should give her a call.” It can’t hurt to stir things up between them. Maybe rattling a few cages will open up this case for me.

  CHAPTER 30

  Back at headquarters I look up Les Moffitt’s phone number and give him a call. He isn’t answering his phone, so I leave a message for him to call me. I want to check on something he said last time I talked to him. At the time, it didn’t seem important, but it might fit into the way I’m seeing things now.

  My cell phone rings. It’s Trevino. “I found something.”

  A half hour later I locate Trevino a good way back on the property, out of sight of the house and barn. She has pushed aside some bushes, and we’re staring down at a tire iron almost hidden by bushes, with what looks like dried blood on one end of it.

  “How’d you spot this?”

  She shows me a hefty stick. “I didn’t want to poke my hands in where a snake might strike, so I used this to push aside the bushes. And there it was.”

  I gather it up into the bag I’ve brought. “I don’t know that this is going to do us much good. Probably can’t lift a fingerprint off this even if whoever did it didn’t wear gloves.”

  Maria smiles. Her usually morose face is gleeful. “This might help.” She points close by to a little pile of sticks and dead brush formed into a circle. Inside the circle is a dried-up cow patty. I get up closer to it, and sure enough there’s an imprint of a shoe in it.

  “In the dark, whoever threw that tire iron away didn’t see where they were stepping.”

  “Damn good work,” I say. “We’re going to have to be really careful moving the earth with the print. That’s sandy soil on top.”

  “If we bring the kit out here, I can take an imprint where it lies.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “I sure do. I’m good at it.”

  “Tell you what. The kit’s in the trunk. I’ll stay here while you go get it.”

  She practically gallops away, pleased with herself. I don’t blame her. She has followed basic procedures that she learned in the police academy, while I was too busy depending on the psychology of the people involved. And she’s made a success of it. I remember her remark that at the academy they made fun of old geezers like me for thinking they can solve things by knowing people in the town. I thought she could learn a thing or two from me, and now I’m finding I might be prodded to learn something myself.

  It takes a while, but she gets a good imprint and finds another one in a patch of soft sand a few feet away.

  “It’s a small print,” she says. “It must have been a woman who did this.”

  I agree, and the two most obvious women are Adelaide and Charlotte. But it could be that I’ve missed the mark with the money angle and my original line is right, that Nonie knew someone’s weak spot, and she and Susan cooked up the idea of blackmailing whoever it was.

  I stop by the house on my way back to the squad car to talk to Adelaide. “I need to know your and Charlotte’s shoe size.”

  “Our shoe size? Mine is eight wide and I think Charlotte’s is the same. No, that’s not right. She wears an eight and a half. I know that because she and Billy wear the same size.”

  “They what?”

  “Billy has always been embarrassed because his feet are so small.”

  “How about Skeeter’s shoe size?” I say.

  “He’s got feet like his daddy. They wear something like a size eleven.”

  On the way back to headquarters I tell Maria the shoe sizes, including Billy’s.

  “Uh-oh,” she says.

  We’re getting out of the car when I get a call from Les Moffitt. “Sorry, I’ve been out with a client. What did you need?”

  I ask him to hold on while I go into the office. Maria hurries in ahead of me to free Frazier, who greets her joyfully. She tells me she’s going to take him out for a walk around the block.

  I get back with Moffitt and say, “You told me the Blakes brought money in to invest around twenty years ago. Can you give me the exact date?”

  “I sure can. After you asked me, I looked it up. This coming October it will be twenty years ago exactly that John called me.”

  Early October, shortly before Nonie Blake tried to kill her sister. Has to be more than a coincidence. Very likely she somehow found out about the money, and Charlotte did too. And Nonie was afraid that Charlotte would inadvertently spill the beans to somebody. It chills me that Nonie thought the best way around it was to hang her sister. Doc Taggart said he knew something wasn’t right with Nonie when she was a youngster, and he’s right.

  I call Nonie’s number again, and there’s still no answer. Probably working late. I consider calling her at Walmart, but on second thought I think it’s going to be better if I show up in person to question her—seriously this time. She and Susan Shelby cooked up something between them. Whether it was a blackmail scheme about the Blake money or someone’s indiscretion, I’m going to find out. That means another trip to Jacksonville tomorrow, and I intend to take Maria Trevino with me.

  It’s late afternoon, too late for Trevino to search out matches on the shoe prints. She measures the print and is a little disgruntled to find out the shoes were probably smaller than size eight. She’ll get imprint comparisons to find out the possible types of shoes we’re looking for. It won’t be enough to arrest someone, but it will be good corroborating evidence.

  CHAPTER 31

  Frazier and I haven’t been home ten minutes when Loretta comes puffing in. I blink when I see her, not quite sure I believe my eyes. Loretta has always worn her hair in blinding white, tight little curls, and what I’m seeing before me is completely different. It’s now sort of blondish and cut short and straight. I can’t help staring for a few seconds until it sinks in that if I don’t say something fast—and I mean something good—I’m going to be in a lot of trouble.

  “Don’t you look cute!” I say.

  And as I say it, I realize I mean it. It makes her look years younger and bright-eyed.

  “You like it?”

  “I do. What made you decide to make such a big change?”

  “You know my daughter-in-law, the one I went to Washington DC with a while back? She told me I ought to upgrade my look. At first it kind of hurt my feelings, but I kept coming back to it, so I thought, why not? So Sissy Eldridge and I made an appointment in Houston and we went and got the works. I had a pedicure and a sort of makeover. I even bought some new shoes. For church. Not these old things.”

  We both look down at her shoes. They look fine to me. “Did you have a good time?” I ask.

  “I did. We decided we were going to do it more often. I don’t know how I’m going to get Maxine down at the Cut ’N Bob to fix my hair like this, but I think I like it. If it’s not too much, that is.” She pats her hair.

  “I really like it,” I say.

  I get us some iced tea and we sit out on the porch and I tell her some of what has gone on today—not anything specific, just enough to make her think she’s in the loop. While I talk, I keep sneaking looks at her. Who knew a hairdo could make such a big difference? I can’t think of exactly the right word. Kind of modern.

  “I wish you’d figure out w
ho killed that woman,” she says. “Having something like that hanging over the town isn’t good.”

  She asks how Maria Trevino is working out.

  “It’s a change having somebody there full time. I like her, but I’m afraid she’s a little too ambitious to be happy here.”

  “She isn’t permanent, is she?”

  “I don’t know what the state had in mind. You know how bureaucracy works—they tell you what they want to tell you and hope you can’t guess the rest of it.”

  “If she’s planning to stay, maybe it’s a chance for you to get out from under the job. I mean . . .” She trails away, and I can’t help wondering if she was going to say I’m a little old to continue as chief of police.

  I’m glad when she leaves. I’m tired of talking to people and need a chance to gather my wits for tomorrow’s confrontation with Nonie Blake. I’m heating up some enchiladas from the freezer when it suddenly occurs to me that Frazier’s not around. I haven’t seen him since Loretta came. I go outside and call him, but no little dog shows up. My heart sinks. If I lose that dog, Ellen will never forgive me.

  I go in and turn off the stove and go back outside. First I head down to the pasture to see if he’s snuck down there, but there’s no sign of him and he doesn’t come when I call. Then I head over to Ellen’s. It’s possible he decided to check in at home in case she’s back. But there’s no sign of him there. I ask a couple of neighbors if they’ve seen him, but no one has.

  My heart is heavy when I get back home. It’s gotten late, and the sun is low in the sky. I eat the enchiladas, perking up at every little sound, hoping Frazier is back.

  It’s getting dark by the time I go back out. I feel like a fool walking up and down the streets calling a dog, but I’m desperate. I keep picturing Ellen’s face if I have to tell her the dog is gone. And every block I turn onto I’m terrified that I’ll see a little dog’s body by the side of the road, the victim of a careless driver.

  It’s almost ten o’clock by the time I give up and go back home. On the porch I give one more half-hearted whistle and walk inside. I had thought I left the light on, but I didn’t, so I switch it on as I walk in. And I freeze. Sitting in an armchair in the living room, facing me, is Nonie Blake. And she’s holding a gun on me.

  “Well, I have to say this is a surprise,” I say.

  “That’s what I was aiming for,” she says.

  “Looks like this isn’t a friendly call. What do you . . .”

  “Cut the good old boy crap,” she says. She gets up from the chair. “You’re coming with me. My car’s outside.”

  She waves the gun—a little snub-nosed revolver—indicating I should go ahead of her, but I stand my ground. “I need to ask you what your plan is,” I say. “I’m not inclined to rush off with somebody who’s waving a gun around.”

  “The plan is that I’m going to take you out to my parents’ ranch.”

  “Why would you do that?” She has no intention of taking me anywhere but some lonely road where she can do away with me. It was only a few hours ago that I figured out that she killed Susan Shelby. She must have sensed that I was getting too close.

  “No telling what kind of tales you’ve told my family about me. I need to set the record straight.”

  “Why do I have to be there? You can tell them on your own.”

  “I want to get everybody together so I can explain. Then you’ll leave me alone. Now let’s go.”

  I’m out of questions, so I’ll have to think of something clever before we get to the car. I start toward the door, and she says, “Wait. You have a cell phone on you?” I reach in my pocket and pull it out.

  “Throw it over there on the couch. You armed?”

  “I never thought it was necessary to carry a gun to walk around my neighborhood.”

  “I heard you walking around calling somebody. Your dog?”

  “A friend’s dog. I’m watching him for her and he’s disappeared. I’d like to find him.”

  “He’ll come back. Let’s go.”

  I head outside and down the steps, keeping a slow pace, but my mind is racing. I’ve got to figure out an escape. I stop and turn slightly toward her. “Where’s your car?”

  “It’s down the street. I parked down there because I was afraid you’d recognize it. Turn around and keep moving.”

  I’m hoping that somebody will be out and about, maybe walking a dog or coming home late, but it’s quiet and deserted on our street. Jenny Sandstone’s lights are out, and I’m sure Loretta is either watching TV or in bed. There’s an upstairs light in a couple of houses, but likely they wouldn’t hear me if I shouted—not before Nonie shot me, anyway.

  I stop walking again and say, “I thought you and Susan were in cahoots trying to shake down your family, but that’s not exactly right, is it?”

  She gives a bark of laughter. “No way was I going along with her. She was a fool to think I would.”

  Stalling for time, I turn toward her with my hands out. “I can’t make sense of it though. You knew that your family’s money was tainted and you told her. Why? That doesn’t sound like a smart thing to have done.” I know by now that Nonie likes to be right, and if I suggest to her that she did something that wasn’t smart, she’ll defend herself.

  We’re standing in the dark so I can’t see her face, but her voice is belligerent. “Remember that picture of me and Susan at the lake? We had a good time out there. At least I thought we did. She acted like we were best friends, and we sat around on the cabin steps and got stinking drunk. It was only later that I realized she was pumping me to find out about my family. I told her things I shouldn’t have. It was her fault for being nosy,” she says. “Anyway, that’s not important. Keep walking. My car is up the way there.”

  “Whatever you told Susan, she planned to use it to blackmail your family, is that right?”

  “I said let’s get going.”

  I turn back around, but I know I’d better not get in that car with her. I’ve got to think of a course of action. But what? Should I lunge to the side and hope to grab her before she can shoot me? Can I count on her aim being poor? Probably not. She’s young and with quick reflexes—quicker than mine anyway. Should I call out for help and then leap at her? She could shoot me five times before anybody could get here.

  I stop walking but don’t turn around. “Don’t do this,” I say, raising my voice a little. “It isn’t going to solve anything to shoot me.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Can I ask you one thing?”

  “What?”

  “I think I’ve figured out why you tried to kill Charlotte and I want to know if I’m right.”

  “I don’t want to hear what you think you’ve figured out.” She takes a step and jabs the gun in my back.

  “Ouch!” I say, louder than necessary, hoping for someone to hear me.

  “Don’t be a sissy,” she snaps.

  I hear a rustle in the bushes, and I cough to cover up the sound. I hope to goodness somebody has heard what’s going on and is sneaking up on us.

  “Somehow you and Charlotte found out where your family’s money came from and you were afraid she’d blab it. You figured getting rid of her was the only way to protect your folks.”

  “Very good. Now move it.” She jabs harder, and I take a couple of steps forward.

  Suddenly I hear a ferocious sound like the roar of a panther, followed by fierce growls. Nonie screams and the gun goes off. I duck, flinching, expecting the bite of a bullet. The growling increases, and Nonie screams louder. I turn to see Nonie on the ground and a blur of light fur on top of her, snarling and snapping at her. Lights start going on in the houses closest to us. “Here, now!” a man’s deep voice says. “What’s going on out here?”

  In the light I see Frazier has clamped down on Nonie’s wrist that’s holding the gun, and he’s trying to wrestle it away from her. My first thought is to go for the gun. If she kills Frazier, Ellen will never speak to me again. Footsteps are pou
nding toward us, and I throw myself on top of Nonie. I grab her gun hand, dog and all.

  By now she’s screaming bloody murder. For all I know the neighbors who are charging up to us may think I’m a man who has attacked a young woman. A lot of people go armed these days, and somebody could easily shoot me. “I’m Chief Craddock,” I yell. “This woman is dangerous!”

  “Samuel! What the hell is going on?” I hear Jenny Sandstone’s voice.

  By now there are several people surrounding us, and strong hands pull me up. But in the flurry of activity Nonie scrambles to her feet and takes off running.

  “Don’t let her get away,” I yell. “Be careful. She’s got a gun.”

  “No, the gun’s here,” a man says. He shines a powerful flashlight at the revolver. Frazier is standing over it, tongue hanging out, looking pleased with himself. I grab the man’s wrist and turn the light toward Nonie’s retreating figure.

  “Get her!” I yell.

  Young Colin McCovey, who lives next door to Jenny, has come out of his house dressed only in his undershorts and slippers. He takes off after Nonie, with Frazier in hot pursuit. They reach her as she opens her car door. McCovey slams her up against the side of the car. She kicks and hits at him. Frazier lunges at her, barking furiously.

  As soon as I get to them, I grab Nonie’s arm and say, “Nonie Blake, you’re under arrest for the murder of Susan Shelby.”

  “You can’t arrest me,” she says. “You don’t have any evidence.” She struggles to squirm out of my grasp, but McCovey grabs her other arm and she can’t get away.

  “I’ve got all I need,” I say. “You’re going to jail.”

  I direct McCovey and another man to march her in front of me back to my house so I can get my handcuffs and my gun. We start forward, but I turn and say, “Frazier, come!” He trots back to the house beside me.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Were you scared?” Loretta has brought berry-filled buns this morning, and we’re eating them on the porch. It’s barely 7 o’clock, so there’s a hint of cool in the air. Fall won’t be long in coming now.