Predictably, Tony found Jane and Martha together in the museum office. When Celeste met him at the door she had whispered, “See if you can cheer them up.”
“Ladies?” He thought he'd try for a pleasant beginning.
Two unhappy faces turned in his direction. Silence. Okay, he'd better change tactics. “I hope you two are not trying to take personal responsibility for the death of Harrison Ragsdale.” He frowned. “Unless you either finished him off or hired a hit man.”
Martha responded. “I'm not sorry Hairy Rags is dead, but honestly, Tony, couldn't he have waited until he got home to die?” Her disgusted attitude seemed to awaken his mom from a coma.
Jane opened her hand and pulled out a wadded up tissue. She smoothed it more or less flat and then folded it very neatly into fourths. “I simply do not understand what happened.” Looking up at him, she sighed. “Everyone was having a wonderful time. The food was good. The music was good. Roscoe and Quentin and Professor Veronica and her friend were the hits of the day.”
Tony noticed her flinch when she said “hits.” “In case you're concerned, the potato hitting him did not injure Ragsdale. The exact cause of death has not been established, but all the early reports say he was not harmed by the spud.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I know poor Quentin has been frantic, thinking his cannon might have actually killed someone. Even if it was Hairy.” Jane had to pause and wipe more tears away. “I'm so relieved.”
Martha handed her sister a fresh tissue. “Did you come to tell us this?”
Tony shook his head. “I actually came to ask about one of your musical acts.” Both women stared at him. “Specifically, I need the names and contact information for male string musicians.”
“What do you want with them?”
“I think one of them might have left some scratches on Ragsdale's neck.”
“Like these?” Martha extended her arm, displaying a strip of narrow gouges in her arm. “Someone grabbed my arm for a fleeting moment and left a mark.”
Tony nodded. “I don't suppose you remember which musician did that?”
Martha thought about it. Then shook her head. “Sorry.”
Silently, Jane's mouth opened and closed, making her look like a goldfish that had leaped from its bowl onto a table. Leaving her sister gasping, Martha walked to a nearby file cabinet and retrieved a folder. Inside, each musical act had a separate form, including contact information and releases from liability.
“Thank you.” Tony pulled out several forms and handed them to his mother. “I don't suppose you can make copies.”
Jane managed to get to her feet, took the papers and headed for a small copy machine.
Tony spoke softly to his aunt. “Is she going to be all right?”
Martha's shoulders rose and fell before she answered in her school-teacher voice, the one she used to get attention in the back row. “My sister has always delighted in taking responsibility for issues she didn't create.” In a softer voice, she spoke only to him. “I don't know. This seems to have hit her harder than I would have guessed. After all, she detested the man.”
“I don't—didn't detest him.” Jane returned and handed Tony the papers he needed. “He wasn't all bad.”
As lies went, this one was fairly obvious. Tony knew his mother rarely had anything openly harsh to say about anyone. “Coarse.” Was as close to total condemnation as she could usually manage. He'd once heard her describe a serial killer as “not a very nice person.”
“Okay, what wasn't bad about him?” Martha managed to blurt out her question before Tony got his mouth open.
“Give me a minute to think.” Jane went quiet, holding her hand up, palm forward to insure they didn't interrupt. “Well, he did yard work for his elderly parents, but that was before they died, of course.” She flashed Tony a motherly smile, one clearly taking note of his not ever even mowing her yard for her.
As a distraction, Tony considered it masterful. “You always say you don't want me to touch anything in your yard.”
“True. And I haven't changed my mind.” Jane was magnanimous in her victory. “Oh, and I've seen him working with a group helping do repairs on homes belonging to our needy, mostly elderly citizens. The ones without pets.”
Tony realized she was right and admitted it. “I have seen him at work on a few projects. It just isn't how I usually think of him.”
Jane's smile was brilliant, and she shrugged just a bit, taking the edge off her victory. “Frankly, I don't either.”
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, Tony began working through the list of musicians who had performed at the festival. Thankfully they lived either in Park County itself, or one of the neighboring counties. He and Wade decided to tackle them in alphabetical order, just to have some kind of plan. The “may we see your fingernails” or “may we scrape under your nails” did not seem like a request particularly designed to make friends or gain much cooperation. If the scratcher was smart, he'd have clipped his nails off the second he left the grounds, if not before. Unless, of course, the scratches were on his neck before Ragsdale arrived at the festival and Tony was just running in circles.
Randal Byers was first name on the list. Tony wasn't familiar with the man or the name. He assumed Mr. Byers was either new, or law abiding, or both. When they knocked on his front door, a little girl opened it, just a crack. She stared at his uniform.
Tony smiled at her. “Is Randal here?”
The little girl glanced over her shoulder and back at him. She chewed her lower lip for a moment before saying, “My daddy's at work.”
When faced with the question of where dad worked, she was clearly out of her area of expertise. She vanished and returned with an elderly woman.
The woman listened to their question politely enough then said, “Randy works at the fertilizer plant. He's my grandson. They moved in here with me, and I stay with the girl.” Having delivered her statement, she closed the door in their faces.
Wade made a note on their paper. “Okay, do we go to the next name or to the fertilizer plant first?”
Tony supposed being sheriff gave him the responsibility of making these incredibly difficult decisions on the fly. “Geographically, what or who is closest to our current location?”
Wade studied the list. “A who. Pops Ogle.”
“No way.” Tony stopped just short of the Blazer's door. “I never noticed his fingernails looking like that, and I've known the man for years.”
“Me either.” Wade checked his list. “But we have a witness who saw the nails on somebody.”
Tony climbed in and turned the key. “Well, let's go find out. At this time of day, Pops should be in his office.”
Owan Ogle, known around the county as “Pops,” was the county clerk. His musical claim to fame was his amazing skill playing the mandolin. It wasn't uncommon for him to use his vacation time to go to Nashville and have his work recorded, usually accompanying gospel singers. His name was in small print on hundreds of recordings. He did it for love, barely making enough to cover his hotel expenses.
“Hey, Pops.” Tony greeted the man.
Pops half rose from his position at the computer. His hands rested on the desk. Sure enough, the nails on his right hand were neatly filed to points. The ones on his left were clipped so short Tony saw no fingernail growing past the nail bed.
“Hey there, Sheriff. Wade.” Pops made a half bow and sat down again. “How can I serve law enforcement today?”
Now that they were standing face to face, so to speak, although sitting put Pops at a definite height disadvantage, Tony wasn't sure what he wanted to ask.
Wade took over. “There's been some question about your fingernails.”
Pops looked down at his hands and back up. “They're mine all right.” He suddenly got a case of the giggles and his belly bounced up and down. With his thin chest and round belly, he looked like he had stuffed a water balloon under his shirt. “Is someone missing theirs?” The more he
talked, and the funnier he found the topic, the faster the belly moved.
Tony cleared his throat hoping he wouldn't laugh too. “I'm afraid it's a bit more serious. We're trying to piece together the events about the time Harrison Ragsdale died.”
Pops blinked and went quiet. “Am I a suspect or something?”
“We're just collecting information.” Wade held his notebook. “I don't remember seeing your current manicure style before. You haven't always had the right-hand fingernails filed to a point like this?”
Pops glanced down at his fingers and shook his head. “A musician friend of mine suggested I try it for the guitar. Claims he gets superior sound and control. He says it's much better than a pick.”
“What's your opinion?” Tony ran his own fingernails across his palm, wondering what having claws would feel like.
“So far, I like the sound better, but my fingers get real sore.” Pops gave a little shrug. “I'm guessing I'll go back to using my pick pretty soon. Like the one I use on the mandolin. My wife claims I look some wild animal at the dinner table and wants me to cut them. She won't fry a chicken 'cause she says she don't want to see me holding it with my claws.”
“On that note”—Tony cleared his throat—“could we have a tiny sample of your fingernails, a clipping, even some filing dust?”
“Sure.” Pops opened his desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and an emery board and sawed some of the already-short nails, even shorter, leaving the pointed nails alone. “That good?”
Tony nodded and made a note on the label of an evidence envelope, folded the paper and sealed it inside.
Pops had cooperated but he wasn't without curiosity. “Don't suppose you'll tell me why you want them shavings?”
“Someone clawed Mr. Ragsdale not long before his death.” Tony sighed. “We're only trying not to overlook anything or anyone, just in case.”
“Then you be sure to check with that foreign-looking guy your aunt hangs out with.” Pops didn't look angry, just concerned they might not have all the information needed. “He's got a real set on him.”
Tony and Wade eventually caught up with Randal Byers in the parking lot of the fertilizer plant. “Can we talk a minute?”
Randal, a pleasant-looking young man, smiled and nodded. “Much longer than a minute, and my grandmother will have a fit. She's a sweetheart, but she's no spring chicken and my daughter's a busy little girl. I'm lucky she baby-sits as it is.”
“Fair enough.” Tony bypassed all the chitchat. “Could we see your hands?”
Randal's forehead wrinkled in apparent confusion. “Someone find an extra?”
“If you lost one, I expect you'd have reported it missing by now.” Wade shook his head. “We're checking the musicians from Saturday. You do play the guitar?”
“Sure thing.” Randal extended his hands palm up then turned them palm down. “Want me to make a fist or anything?”
Tony looked at the fingernails. They weren't chewed off and they weren't longer on one hand than the other. In fact, they looked about as ordinary, and as slightly dirty, as any fingernails Tony had ever seen. Not surprisingly, there were small calluses on his fingers.
Wade made a note and Tony stepped back. “Thank you, that's all we need.”
Randal climbed into his pickup and started the engine. Then he rolled down his window and looked Tony in the eye. “If you ever see your way clear to explaining what we just did and why we did it, I'd love to know the reason. Right now, I'm headed home.”
Tony nodded.
“Okay, who else is on the list?” Tony slid his key into the ignition. “I'd love to get this done and go home for my own dinner and play with my own kids.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Edward Hall, who live in the Oak Lawn Trailer Court.” Wade read his notes. “Number four.”
“Eddie and Ginger.” Tony sighed. He had more than a passing familiarity with the Halls. “Mr. and Mrs. Edward Hall sound like a quite dignified couple, don't you think? Maybe pillars of the community and the first to volunteer to collect roadside garbage?”
“And they're chairing the fund-raiser to build a new library building,” Wade added. He wasn't able to keep the grin from his face. “When they return from their world cruise.”
Tony ignored Wade's smirk and nodded. “Maybe they'll even learn to read, if they ever sober up.”
As expected, Eddie and Ginger were not involved in a discussion about the omens and portents found in Moby Dick. Eddie appeared to have passed out in his lawn chair and fallen backwards. In a clearly desperate and loving attempt to rouse him, Ginger was pelting him with burnt bits of hot dogs. The family pets, a pair of mangy looking curs, were crazed by the meat flying through the air, barking, howling, and yapping, they dove across Eddie's prostrate body. Just to add to the entertainment, there were episodes of fighting between the canines when one snagged a piece the other expected to eat. Fangs bared and spittle flying, they growled and lunged at each other.
Tony and Wade climbed out of the Blazer and were met with a few boos. The crux of the situation was that the audience, consisting of the other residents of the Oak Lawn, looked concerned Tony and Wade were there to break up the evening's entertainment. To relieve their anxiety, Wade waved and grinned while Tony walked over and stood near Eddie's body draped over his chair. Sure enough, his right hand had fingernails like claws and the ones on the left were chewed to the cuticles.
“I don't want to keep you from your dog training.” Tony smiled at Ginger, doing his best to ignore the barking and yapping behind him. “I need to talk to Eddie about his fingernails.”
“What about 'em?” Ginger's breath bore strong overtones of gin. “I hope there's a law against 'em. Ugly things. And while we're on the subject, I can't say they make his guitar picking any better.”
“Well, I need his permission to take a little scraping off a fingernail.” Tony hoped breathing shallowly would prevent his own alcohol level from rising.
Ginger pounced on his suggestion. “Permission, hell, take what you want. Wait! She ran into the trailer and was back in seconds with a pair of kitchen shears. “I hate those things.” And with that, she clipped two of the fingernails off almost to the quick and handed them to Tony. “That enough?”
Tony agreed it was, put the clippings in an envelope, and climbed into the Blazer. As he and Wade drove away, a glance in his rearview mirror showed Ginger toss another hot dog bit. The dog show recommenced. Eddie remained oblivious.
The neighbors cheered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I sure wish we'd hear something definitive about the cause of death.” Tony paced in his office, cell phone gripped in one hand, willing it to ring. It did, but the caller was dispatcher Flavio Weems.
“Sir, I've got a male caller on the line who claims to be Mr. Ragsdale's attorney. Says he needs to talk to you about the dead man's will. He read about his death in the newspaper.”
“I'd love to talk to him. Put him through to my office phone.” Tony settled onto his chair when the desk phone rang. After brief introductions, the attorney launched into his reason for calling.
“I have the will of Harrison Ragsdale.”
“Who inherits?” Tony thought if there was any decent amount of money in the estate, it could supply a motive if indeed the death was ruled suspicious. He found it hard to imagine the cause of death was anything but natural causes or an accident.
“It's quite a large estate, Sheriff, and the will is fairly complex. The main beneficiaries are his wife and nephew.” He cleared his throat. “I don't suppose you can tell me anything about the cause of my client's death.”
“It has not been determined as yet.” Tony choked back a sneeze. “Do you have contact information for these people? Wait a minute, did you say wife?” Tony had never heard anything about Ragsdale and a wife.
“Yes. The wife goes by the name Jessica Baxter, and the nephew is Randal Byers. I have Silersville addresses for both of them.”
“And the re
st?” Tony thought it was an interesting coincidence Randal Byers was on this list too. He'd gone from never hearing of the man to hearing his name twice in two days.
The attorney talked on. “A couple of charities stand to get a share of it, unless one or both of these heirs is disqualified, in which case they'd get a much larger share. The remaining heir would not receive a larger portion.”
Tony thought “disqualified” was the attorney's way to describe “murderer.” “What can you tell me about your client? He wasn't our most popular citizen.”
“Very little.” The attorney paused. “I can't say I found him very likeable, but that hardly constitutes proof of anything. His check didn't bounce.”
Tony was silent for a moment. “When did he make this will?”
“Two weeks ago.” The lawyer continued. “I had the impression he expected his death to be imminent, but he certainly looked healthy enough when he came in to sign it. Even I know you can't always tell by looking.”
“Imminent?” Tony pounced on the word. “Did he give you the name of his doctor by any chance?”
“No. I handled the will, that's all.”
Tony thanked the attorney, disconnected, and stared at his new notes and the ones from the previous day, trying to decide his next move when the cacophony of fire trucks headed out on a call interrupted him, the sound loud even in his office. The sheriff's department and volunteer firefighters and search and rescue all used the same dispatch line, and although the fire department had their own way of doing things, a 911 call was heard by all.
The most frequent calls for the fire department involved automobile accidents and chimney fires. The first information on this call was a single family home burning. He recognized the address as one of the new houses out of town near Nina's home. It would have to be on the opposite side of the natural park named for her father, its creator. In the middle of the afternoon, with good weather, he doubted the fire was caused by lightning.
Tony assumed his office needed to provide crowd control if not more assistance. Nothing brought the citizens of Park County out in force like a disaster or misfortune. A fire of any size had potential to provide both. He headed for the Blazer. He'd drive up and see what else might be needed.
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