Half in Love with Artful Death

by Bill Crider

  Both of them took a step. The donkeys looked up from the feed. Rhodes froze. Boyd took another step. Rhodes could tell that the donkeys didn’t like that at all. One man with horse-and-mule feed might be okay, but two of them with ropes might be a different story.

  The donkey on the right brayed, a series of sharp eeeees, each one followed by a deeper and louder haaaaaww.

  Rhodes took a step. Both donkeys looked ready to run at any second.

  “What if we rope them and they run?” Rhodes asked.

  “Two choices,” Boyd said. “Let go or hang on.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “If you hang on,” Boyd said, “it might pull you for a little way. Might be some grass burrs still around, even if it ain’t the season for ’em, and you’ll get scraped up pretty good.”

  “Just what I needed to hear,” Rhodes said.

  The donkey on the left shivered.

  “Go for it,” Boyd said.

  He flipped his lasso. Rhodes tossed his loop as well. By what Rhodes considered a minor miracle, both loops settled over the donkeys’ heads and slid down their necks.

  Rhodes didn’t have to tighten his loop. The donkey did it for him, by taking off at a lope. Rhodes elected the “hang on” option and was jerked off his feet. He hit the ground on his stomach and was dragged along over the grass and weeds in the ditch. He didn’t know where Boyd was, and he didn’t care. He’d hang on as long as he could and hope the jack would stop before he had to let go. It wasn’t going very fast, so the damage would be small.

  Rhodes bounced over a lump of earth, and the rope slid a foot or so through his hands. He was glad he had on the gloves. So far he’d managed to keep his head from banging into anything. He figured that was a point in his favor. He hoped his clothes would hold up.

  Rhodes heard a loud braying from somewhere behind him, but since he couldn’t see back there, he didn’t know if Boyd was having a problem or if his donkey was being more cooperative than the one that was dragging Rhodes, who’d had just about enough.

  He began to haul himself up the rope. The donkey must have felt the increased resistance, because it slowed down to a walk. Rhodes was able to get to his feet and haul back on the rope. The donkey was stubborn and tried to pull Rhodes down again.

  This time Rhodes kept his feet and jogged along for a couple of steps. The donkey went a few yards and stopped.

  Rhodes stood still for a while, keeping his grip on the rope. He saw the donkey in the darkness ahead of him. The donkey stood calmly, looking back at Rhodes.

  “So,” Rhodes said, “you give up?”

  “Eeeee-haaaaaww.”

  “Good, because I was just about to get rough with you.”

  The donkey didn’t bother to answer, so Rhodes gave a little tug on the rope. The donkey took a step toward him.

  “That’s better,” Rhodes said. “You come on now.”

  He walked back toward the pickup with the donkey following. At first Rhodes didn’t see Boyd. He and the other donkey seemed to have disappeared, but then Boyd stepped out of the trailer.

  “Got mine taken care of,” Boyd said when he saw Rhodes coming along the ditch. “You okay?”

  “I’m a little dirty,” Rhodes said, “but I’m all in one piece.”

  He looked down at his clothes. His shirt was covered with dirt, and so were his pants, but at least they weren’t torn.

  “More or less,” he added.

  “I’ll get the donkey loaded up,” Boyd said. “You gonna go with me to the feed lot?”

  “I think I’ll go home,” Rhodes said, “if you can handle them by yourself.”

  “Easy enough, now,” Boyd said.

  “Then I’m going home.”

  “Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” Rhodes said. “What’s left of it.”

  Chapter 7

  Rhodes went into his backyard, but Speedo was nowhere to be seen. Probably asleep in his igloo, Rhodes thought. Smart dog.

  Yancey, the little Pomeranian, wasn’t asleep, or if he’d been asleep, he woke up as soon as Rhodes opened the back door. Rhodes heard doggie toenails clicking across the kitchen floor, and by the time the door had closed, Yancey was dancing around Rhodes’s feet and yipping while the two of them stood on the little enclosed back porch.

  “You’re going to wake up Ivy,” Rhodes said, but Yancey either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. The yipping continued.

  “You’re bothering Sam and Jerry,” Rhodes said.

  Sam and Jerry were the cats, and Rhodes knew that Yancey wasn’t really bothering them. Nothing much bothered them, especially if they were sleeping, which seemed to be their chief occupation. Most of the time they stayed in the kitchen, sleeping in the warm air that vented from the bottom of the refrigerator.

  Rhodes entered the kitchen. Yancey had stopped yipping, but he was still doing his little dance around Rhodes’s feet.

  “One of these days you’re going to cause me to fall,” Rhodes said, flipping on the light.

  Sure enough, the cats were in their usual place, curled into circles. Sam slitted both eyes just enough to see what all the commotion was about, then closed them. Jerry didn’t even bother to do that. Rhodes sneezed. He was allergic to cats, though Ivy didn’t believe him when he told her so. She said that the sneezing was psychological.

  Rhodes went back out on the enclosed porch and started to take off his clothes. He was just stepping out of his pants when Ivy came into the kitchen.

  “The county really should pay you a clothing allowance,” she said. “How bad are they this time?”

  “Not too bad,” Rhodes said, and they weren’t, considering the condition they’d been in on other occasions.

  “Were you in a fight?”

  “Nope. Got dragged by a donkey.”

  “That’s a new one,” Ivy said, smiling.

  Rhodes dropped his pants on the floor and took off his shirt. “I lead an exciting life.”

  “Glamorous, too,” Ivy said.

  Rhodes grinned. It had taken her a while to get used to his odd hours and to the fact that he was in danger now and then, but she’d adjusted very well eventually.

  “You didn’t have to get up,” he said.

  Ivy looked at Yancey, who was sniffing around Rhodes’s discarded clothes. “Something woke me.”

  “I told him to be quiet,” Rhodes said.

  “Like that was going to work.”

  Rhodes laughed. “He was glad to see me.”

  “He was hoping you’d feed him.”

  “At this hour?”

  “At any hour. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Clock’s in the kitchen,” Rhodes said.

  “Well, let’s go have a look, then.”

  They went into the kitchen, and Rhodes saw that it was a little after three thirty.

  “If I don’t take a bath,” he said, “I might get three hours of sleep.”

  “You’re taking a bath,” Ivy said.

  “I thought you’d say that.”

  Yancey pranced into the kitchen.

  “Finished with your inspection?” Rhodes asked.

  Yancey gave a couple of yips and made a quick run in the direction of Sam and Jerry. Neither cat bothered even to open its eyes. It was just as well that they didn’t. If they’d made any kind of move at all, Yancey would’ve run off and hidden under the bed for what was left of the night, and maybe part of the morning as well.

  “Bath,” Ivy said.

  “Good idea,” Rhodes said.

  * * *

  The next morning, Rhodes woke up at seven, a little later than usual. Yancey was sitting on the floor near the bed, staring at him.

  “Didn’t Ivy feed you?” Rhodes asked, getting out of bed.

  Yancey yipped and ran off to the kitchen.

  Rhodes went off to get ready to face the day. When he was shaved and presentable, he went into the kitchen, where Ivy had whipped up some bacon and eggs and toast. It was t
urkey bacon, Rhodes knew, but it was better than no bacon at all. The eggs weren’t real, either. They were something that was poured out of a little carton, but they were all right. There was no coffee. Rhodes had never liked it. At times in the past he’d had a Dr Pepper for caffeine, but for now he was avoiding his favorite soft drink.

  “I should feed Speedo,” Rhodes said. “I’m late, and he’s hungry.”

  “Your eggs will get cold.”

  “I like cold eggs. I’ll be right back.”

  Rhodes went out, followed by Yancey, who never missed an opportunity to pester any human or dog in the vicinity. Cats were a different story.

  Speedo, a border collie, seemed glad to see both Rhodes and Yancey, but Rhodes knew he’d be even happier to see some food in his bowl. He waited a couple of minutes while Yancey chased the bigger dog around the yard, and then he filled the bowl.

  “Sorry I don’t have time to play today,” Rhodes said as Speedo began to eat. “I have to go fight crime. And eat breakfast.”

  He went back into the house. Yancey came along, but it was obvious that he was disappointed that Rhodes hadn’t taken the time to play with him and Speedo.

  “Next time,” Rhodes said.

  He sat at the table and ate the eggs and bacon, which weren’t really cold at all, and the toast, which was. Rhodes didn’t mind. Yancey made a strategic retreat into another room, in case the cats woke up and decided to chase him, not that they ever had. Chased him, that is. They did wake up now and then, and in fact they were both awake now, watching Rhodes eat. Or watching something. Their stares were hard to read. Rhodes thought that maybe their minds were usually filled with something like white noise, though maybe they were solving algebra problems. He just couldn’t tell.

  “Now about those donkeys,” Ivy said when Rhodes had finished and taken his plate to the sink.

  “Two more of them,” he said. “Won’t be the last ones, either. I just hope I don’t have to help catch the next ones.”

  “There must have been more than just donkeys to keep you out so late.”

  “There was,” Rhodes said, and he told her about Burt Collins.

  “I heard about the fracas at the art gallery,” Ivy said when he was finished. “Do you think that had anything to do with Burt’s murder?”

  Ivy worked for an insurance agent, and while her office wasn’t like the Beauty Shack, she did hear things.

  “Too soon to know of any connection,” Rhodes said. “I’ll get started on the investigation today. Maybe I’ll have it solved by lunch.”

  “That would be nice. Was it his wife? The wife is always the first suspect when a husband dies.”

  “You’ve been watching 48 Hours again,” Rhodes said, though she did have a point.

  Ivy ignored his comment. “They’ve had their problems. He never treated her well.”

  Rhodes recalled having heard something similar that morning. “How badly did he treat her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how far it went. I’ve just heard vague things.”

  “She bought him that bust he was killed with. Now it’s missing.”

  “I’m not a psychologist,” Ivy said, “but I did take an introductory course in college as an elective. You want me to tell you all the implications of that?”

  “I took psychology, too, but I don’t see too many implications.”

  Ivy shrugged. “Maybe you need to watch 48 Hours with me sometime.”

  Rhodes pushed away from the table. “Might not be a bad idea. Could give me some tips on what I’m doing wrong.”

  Ivy came over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You don’t need any tips. You’re the crime-busting champ of Blacklin County.”

  “Just the county?”

  “It’s a big county.”

  “Not the state?”

  “I don’t know about the whole state. We have two hundred and fifty-four counties, after all.”

  “How about the tri-county area, then?”

  Ivy laughed. Rhodes had always liked her laugh. “I’ll concede that you’re probably the crime-busting champ of the tri-county area.”

  “Then I guess I should get out there and do my job,” Rhodes said.

  “Evildoers, beware.”

  “Durn tootin’,” Rhodes said.

  * * *

  Rhodes’s first stop was the jail, where he met with Andy Shelby and Ruth Grady. He assigned Andy to the area surrounding the Collins house and told Ruth to check the house and talk with the neighbors.

  “And let Mrs. Collins know I’ll want to talk to her later today,” Rhodes added.

  “What about fingerprints?” Ruth asked.

  “You can check the room we found the body in. Too many people have touched everything else. Probably everything in there, too. Did you have a look at the paint can?”

  “Nothing you can use on it,” Ruth said. “Just some smears.”

  That was about what Rhodes had expected.

  “Maybe I’ll find a bronze head in the brush,” Andy said. “Covered with clear fingerprints.”

  “That would be great,” Rhodes said. “What are the odds?”

  “Never mind,” Andy said.

  After the deputies left, Hack asked Rhodes if he’d looked at the latest news on Jennifer Loam’s Web site.

  “No,” Rhodes said, “and that’s not the end of that story. I don’t plan to look at it.”

  “Jealous?” Hack said, with a look at Lawton, who was grinning.

  “No,” Rhodes said. “Jealous of what?”

  “Of Seepy Benton,” Lawton said.

  “Why would I be jealous of him?”

  “’Cause the video of the riot yesterday makes him look like the second coming of Bruce Lee. Or maybe of Sage Barton.”

  “Good,” Rhodes said. “I hope everybody will get off my case about Sage Barton now.”

  “Kinda touchy about that, ain’t you,” Lawton said.

  “Low T,” Hack said.

  “Low what?”

  “Low T. Happens when a man gets to be a certain age. He gets the low T.”

  “One thing that it does to a man is make him touchy,” Lawton said.

  “Another thing is that a man gets thin spots in his hair,” Hack said. “Low T can be a serious condition.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhodes said.

  Lawton made a tsk-tsk-tsk sound. “Touchy, like I said. Bound to be a case of low T.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Rhodes said.

  “T stands for testosterone,” Hack said, “but in the TV ads, they just call it low T. You can get a checkup from your doctor, and he can tell you if you got the low T. Then you can get somethin’ to take care of it.”

  “Side effects are kinda scary, though,” Lawton said. “I think death is one of ’em.”

  “I’m too young to die,” Rhodes said. He was used to having Lawton and Hack gang up on him, and he brushed it off. “Let’s talk about the robbery last night at Oscar Henderson’s store.”

  “Duke didn’t solve it,” Hack said. “He’s got himself a clue, though. It’s there in his report.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me,” Rhodes said. Hack always wormed the details about everything from the deputies. He couldn’t stand not knowing about everything that went on.

  “It’s a pretty good clue,” Lawton said.

  Hack turned to look at Lawton.

  “I’m tellin’ this,” Hack said.

  “Go on, then,” Lawton said. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Not much chance of that, Rhodes thought.

  “He found the money,” Hack said.

  “The money?”

  “The loot, the geetus, the simoleons.”

  “Where?” Rhodes asked.

  “Back in the trees,” Lawton said before Hack could get it in. He would’ve said more, but Hack stared him down.

  “Thief prob’ly dropped it,” Hack said when he was through looking at Lawton. “Buddy got there pretty quick
, so the thief was in a hurry, I guess, and dropped the loot. He took a big risk for nothin’.”

  “Oscar’s happy, though,” Lawton said, “or he would be if he had his money.”

  “Evidence,” Hack said. “Gotta get it printed and such.”

  Rhodes wondered how many people had handled that money. Fingerprints were highly overrated in most cases. The money wasn’t much of a clue at all, in spite of what Hack had said.

  “We’ll get the money back to Oscar as soon as we can,” Rhodes said. “Maybe there won’t be any more robberies.”

  “Yeah, right,” Hack said, “and maybe the wild hogs will all disappear or maybe move to Fort Worth and Dallas and take the copper thieves and meth cookers along with ’em.”

  “What about Burt?” Lawton asked. “We was kinda sorry to hear about him, even if he wasn’t the best citizen in town.”

  Rhodes hadn’t had to fence with them about Burt’s death. Hack would’ve extracted all the details from Buddy when he made his report.

  “That Burt’s never been nothin’ but trouble,” Hack said, showing no sympathy for the deceased. “Even when he was a kid, he was a mean one.”

  “That’s the truth,” Lawton said. “’Member the time he beat up on Len Crosby’s boy when they were in grade school?”

  “Bully,” Hack said. “Always was.”

  “Picked on the Patels, too,” Lawton said. “I believe he’s the one painted those devil signs on their hotel.”

  “Both hotels,” Hack said.

  “We never did prove that,” Rhodes said. “Didn’t have a speck of evidence.”

  “He used spray paint, too,” Hack said, paying no attention to Rhodes. “Just like he did on those pictures at the gallery yesterday.”

  “There’s no proof of that, either,” Rhodes said.

  “You’re fallin’ down on the job, then. You need to get you some proof. You could have those paint samples from the hotels analyzed and compare ’em with the ones from yesterday.”

  “That wouldn’t help. Walmart must sell a dozen cans of that paint a week.”

  “Well, you better do somethin’,” Hack said.

  “What I need to do is find out who killed him.”

  “That’d be a real good thing for you to do, all right,” Hack said.

  Chapter 8

  It was still a little early for the judging of the paintings that Marilyn Bradley had mentioned, but that was all right. Rhodes had some questions he wanted to ask at the Beauty Shack.