Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 02 - Dead Ringer

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  Joleen was there, of course. Thaddeous came, and so did Aunt Nora, mostly for his sake. Then there were Aunt Daphine, Gladys, Clara, and the other ladies from the beauty parlor. And Richard and me. That was it.

  Oh, Junior and Mark Pope came, but they were in uniform, which meant that this was part of their investigation, and Hank Parker was there to cover the funeral for the Gazette, but they didn’t really count. Richard was drafted at the last minute to be a pall bearer, along with Thaddeous. They had to use Mark, the funeral director, his assistant, and the limousine driver for the other pall bearers. I couldn’t help but think of all the people we had to choose from at Paw’s funeral.

  I could tell that Joleen felt the slight from the way she looked around when it was time to go into the funeral parlor. The funeral director must have asked if she wanted to wait for a few more minutes, because I heard her say, “No, this is all that’s coming. To hell with anybody else.”

  Aunt Daphine whispered to me, “That’s how grief affects people. Some cry and carry on, and some just get angry.” Obviously Joleen was one of the angry ones.

  In keeping with the number of mourners, the funeral service was brief. It was the only funeral I had ever attended where no one gave a eulogy. Richard and I hadn’t really planned to go to the graveside service, but under the circumstances, we decided we should. I don’t know if our being there comforted Joleen or not, but I felt like the proprieties should be observed.

  The graveside service was also quite short, and Joleen didn’t even wait to receive the usual polite words of sympathy afterwards. After tossing a handful of dirt onto her mother’s coffin, she stalked off alone to the limousine. Thaddeous tried to escort her, but she just shook him off and had the driver take her away. While part of me registered her rudeness, mostly I just felt sorry for her.

  Junior came over to us after Joleen left, and asked, “How was your trip to Raleigh?”

  “Very nice,” I said blandly. “The leaves are lovely this time of year, aren’t they?”

  Junior was not amused. “If you find out something about Dorinda Thompson’s murder, I expect you to report it.”

  “If I do,” I said, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  She nodded, then moved away.

  Since Dorinda had been buried in the same cemetery as my parents and grandparents, I had planned to visit their graves while we were there. Now, after feeling so uncomfortable at the funeral and the encounter with Junior, I just wanted to get out of there.

  “I hate being on the outs with Junior,” I said to Richard as we drove away from the cemetery. “I know she thinks I’m up to something.”

  “You are up to something,” Richard said.

  “True,” I admitted. “I’d trust her, if it was me, but I can’t get Aunt Daphine to. Once this is all over, I’ll try to explain it to her.”

  As we headed back to Aunt Maggie’s, I realized what was really bothering me. What if we didn’t find the blackmailer? What if we never solved the murders? Would Junior ever forgive me then?

  Chapter 30

  “Richard,” I said after we got back to Aunt Maggie’s and changed our clothes. “I’ve been thinking. Burt Walters has been particularly vehement in denying any knowledge of Leonard Cooper.”

  “Wouldn’t you be? Maybe he really doesn’t know anything.”

  “But he has to see the resemblance to his father. Like Thaddeous said, that man was a dead ringer for Big Bill.”

  “People don’t always want to face facts.”

  “But still.”

  “Laura, would you rather I keep poking holes in your thoughts or should I just let you lay it all out?”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “All right, this is what I’m thinking. Small Bill came back to Byerly for a reason, and he went to Walters Mill. Doesn’t it seem reasonable that the person he was going to meet was either Big Bill or Burt?”

  “Are you thinking that one of them killed him? I thought that Junior checked both of them out, and that they both have alibis for the time of the murder.”

  “Actually, I don’t suspect either of them of the murder. I just suspect them of planning to go see him. Or rather, one of them. Ralph Stewart told us that Burt was supposed to come by that afternoon.”

  “I’m sure that Junior followed up on that.”

  “Probably, but I can’t exactly ask her now. I don’t think I’d have much luck asking Burt either.”

  “We did pretty well with him before,” Richard said, reminding me of an occasion when we convinced Burt to do something he didn’t want to do.

  “Yes, but we had to threaten him with a lawsuit that time. This time, we’ve got nothing to hold over him. He’s got no reason to talk to us, and possibly lots of them not to.”

  Richard leaned over and pulled up the hem of my blue jeans.

  “Richard, what are you doing?”

  “But has the reputation of having an eye for the ladies, and I was wondering if the flash of a well–turned ankle would befuddle him enough to answer our questions. ‘Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.’ As You Like It, Act I, Scene 3.”

  I regarded my ankle. “And what was your verdict?”

  He tugged my pants leg back into place. “I’m afraid that he would be too strongly affected. He’d likely be struck speechless at your wondrous charms, and then what would we do?”

  I pulled him over for several kisses. “Your appreciation of my ankle is appreciated, but I don’t really think I’m Burt’s type. I have a hunch he goes for a flashier brand of female, women with more up here.” I demonstrated what I meant with my hands. “Don’t forget that Thaddeous told us that Burt was interested in Joleen.”

  “Do you think his feelings were reciprocated?”

  “I’m not sure. The gossip at the beauty parlor took it as a given that Joleen was sleeping with Burt, but I didn’t hear any specifics. Is this idle speculation, or do you have a reason for wondering?”

  “You said we didn’t have anything to hold over Burt. What about Joleen? If there is anything going on, he wouldn’t want his wife finding out.”

  “That’s ugly,” I said wrinkling my nose.

  Richard shrugged. “ ‘To do a great right, do a little wrong.’ The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1.” When I still looked uneasy, he added, “We wouldn’t really go to his wife. We’d just use it to nudge him.”

  “Maybe,” I said, still not convinced. “I don’t think we’ve got enough to use, anyway. Just rumors.”

  “What if Joleen confirmed it for us?”

  “Richard! Are you planning to go ask Joleen if she’s been sleeping with Burt Walters?”

  “Not me,” he said. “You.” Before I could respond, he explained what he had in mind, and it wasn’t as outrageous as I had originally thought.

  “Do you really think that I should go see her today?” I asked doubtfully. “Her mother was just buried this morning.”

  Richard shrugged. “It won’t hurt to try. After all, we are trying to catch her mother’s murderer.”

  A few minutes later, I was on my way to see Joleen.

  The house looked even more forlorn than it had before, but there was a car in the driveway so I figured Joleen would be home. She didn’t answer the door right away, but she did answer.

  I felt so sorry for her when I saw her. Her eyes were red, her hair wasn’t brushed, and she had changed out of the black dress from the funeral and was wearing a sloppy sweatshirt over faded blue jeans. Dorinda hadn’t struck me as an ideal mother, but obviously Joleen was hurting.

  “If you’ve brought me something to eat, you can take it back home with you,” she said tonelessly. “I don’t need any more casseroles.”

  To tell the truth, I felt a little ashamed that I hadn’t brought something. Food is a traditional expression of sympathy. Of course, my guilt was pretty silly considering that she had just said that she didn’t want anything.

  I said, “I just came by to talk, if that’s all right.”

>   “I suppose so. Come on inside.” She lead me into the living room. “Sorry it’s a mess in here. I haven’t been thinking about cleaning.”

  “I understand,” I said. Actually, it looked no worse than it had before her mother’s death.

  “What can I do for you?” Joleen asked.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Joleen, I hate to bother you at a time like this, but I’ve got some questions I need to ask.”

  “About what?”

  I suppose I could have worked my way up to it, done something a little more subtle, but instead I blurted, “Are you sleeping with Burt Walters?”

  She didn’t answer for a long time, and I spent that whole time trying to decide whether she was going to yell at me or throw me right out the door. Finally she said, “I don’t think that that’s any of your business. Now let me ask you something. Was it Thaddeous’s mother who put you up to this, or was it Thaddeous himself?”

  “Thaddeous?” I realized what she was getting at. “Joleen, this doesn’t have anything to do with Thaddeous.”

  “I went out with him a few times, that’s it. He doesn’t own me, and I don’t owe him a thing. If he thinks anything different, then he’s got another think coming.”

  “I swear, neither Thaddeous nor Aunt Nora know anything about this. I’ve got my own reasons for asking.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like trying to find out who killed your mother.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that Burt Walters shot Mama?”

  “No, but he might know something about who it was.” She started to ask another question, but I held up my hand to stop her. “Let me explain. It looks like the person who killed your mother was the same as the one who killed that man at the mill.”

  “Junior Norton told me it was the same gun, but I told her and I’m telling you: I don’t know anything about that man. My asking you to come to the mill and help out with my computer that day was just a coincidence.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I thought. Still, that man Cooper must have had some reason for going over to the mill. Maybe it was to see Burt Walters.”

  “Maybe,” Joleen said doubtfully. “Why don’t you ask Walters about it?”

  “Because I don’t think he’ll tell me anything.”

  “You want me to ask him?”

  “Not exactly. I want you to help get him to talk to me.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? Look, Laurie Anne, I know what people are saying, but I’m not sleeping with Burt Walters. Oh he’s made a couple of passes, but nothing I can’t handle. He’s not my type, for one, and for another, I’m not about to tangle with Dorcas Walters.”

  “That’s perfect,” I said. The bait would be a lot more tempting if it were something Burt wanted but hadn’t had. “All you have to do is call him and ask him to meet you. You won’t actually have to see him—I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She looked at me speculatively. “You really think this is going to help you find out who killed my mother?”

  “I won’t lie to you Joleen. The fact is that I don’t know for sure that Burt knows anything. Still, I think it’s worth a shot. Now if you’re afraid that this might affect your job—”

  “To hell with my job! I want this son of a bitch who killed Mama!” She took a couple of ragged breaths. “Look Laurie Anne, I know what my mama was. She liked men, and she drank too much, and she could be a real bitch. None of that bothers me one bit. The fact is that when I was growing up, she made sure that I had a bed to sleep in and food to eat and clothes on my back. I don’t know that I liked her, but I loved her and I owe her. If I can help find the bastard that killed her, I don’t care about that lousy job at the mill or anything else. You just tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll call Walters right now.”

  I wanted to hug her or show my sympathy somehow, but her anger and pain were so raw that I didn’t think that she would accept it. Instead I just explained Richard’s idea, and what she should tell Burt Walters.

  She grinned, nodded, and picked up the phone to call him.

  Chapter 31

  Joleen didn’t need any coaching; she knew just how to handle Burt Walters. All it took was a couple of hints that it was a bad time for her to be alone, and Burt fell all over himself in offering her a shoulder to cry on.

  Joleen said she’d rather not have him at her house, so she arranged for him to come to the Bide–a–Wee Motel in Hickory, Room 332. Which is where Richard and I were waiting for him at six o’clock that evening. Burt showed up right on time.

  I opened the door to his knock, and said, “Hello Mr. Walters.”

  He looked at me, lowered the nosegay of flowers he was carrying, and went white. “Laurie Anne? What are you doing here? Where’s, um, I mean, what’s going on?” When he saw Richard sitting on a chair behind me, he turned even paler.

  “We wanted to have a talk with you, and we thought that this might be the best way for us to speak privately. Why don’t you come in and sit down?”

  He stepped inside the door and kind of fell into the chair I had ready for him. He kept looking back and forth between Richard and me, blinking rapidly. I felt like a rat, and I could tell from Richard’s expression that he wasn’t pleased with himself either.

  I had planned to start with a veiled threat to tell Dorcas Walters what Burt had hoped to be up to, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead I said, “Look, Mr. Walters, I just want to get the answers to some questions. It’s not for publication, but I do need to know.”

  He didn’t look any less nervous. “Just what do you want to know?”

  “It’s about Leonard Cooper.” Being blunt had worked with Joleen, so I thought I might as well try it with Burt, too. “Was Cooper really your brother Small Bill?”

  He didn’t say anything, not even to deny it, which was almost an answer in itself.

  “He was Small Bill, wasn’t he?” I prompted.

  “I suppose you’re going to talk to my wife about Joleen if I don’t tell you,” he said bitterly. That pompous mill owner tone that irritated people so much was gone from his voice.

  “No, sir, I’m not,” I said. “If you want to walk out of here right now, you go ahead. Nothing more will ever be said about this.” I meant it, too. Walters was considering his options when I added, “Part of the reason I want to know is to find out who killed that man. If he was Small Bill, I’d think you’d want to help.”

  He let out a deep breath. “All right, ask your questions.”

  “Then Leonard Cooper was Small Bill Walters?”

  Burt nodded.

  “Did you know he was still alive?”

  “Not all along,” he said. “Not until years after I thought he was killed in Vietnam.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “It was when our mother passed away. After Mother’s funeral, I wanted to spend a few minutes alone with her. I rode back over to the cemetery, and Small Bill was there, crying over her grave. I guess he didn’t hear me coming, because he didn’t look up until I was right there. When he saw me, he started to back away, but I knew him right off, and he knew I knew.”

  “When did your mother die?” I asked.

  “Fifteen years ago.”

  “You’ve known for that long? And you never told anybody?”

  He shook his head. “Small Bill asked me not to, and I promised him that I wouldn’t.”

  “Why did he go away like that?”

  “That’s what I asked him. We drove to a bar in Hickory where no one knew us so he could tell me the whole story. Now you’re too young to know how Daddy treated Small Bill.”

  “From what I hear, he was the apple of your father’s eye.”

  Walters nodded. “That’s how everybody saw it, all right. Daddy bragged on Small Bill all the time, and told everybody what a good job he was going to do with the mill, and how he was going to step right into Daddy’s shoes. The only thing was, Small Bill didn’t want to step into Daddy’s shoes. He wasn’t e
ven sure he wanted to stay in Byerly.” He looked at me. “I guess you know how that feels.”

  I nodded.

  “Anyway,” Burt went on, “even though everybody thought Small Bill had the world by its tail, he really felt trapped here. Even his name bothered him. He didn’t want to be Small Bill. Just Bill or Billy or Will or anything else would have pleased him more.”

  I remembered Uncle John Ward’s letter, when he told how Small Bill had taken the first opportunity to change the name he went by. Just like I preferred Laura to Laurie Anne.

  Walters continued, “When Small Bill got drafted, Daddy could have got him out of it, but Small Bill wanted to go. He thought it might be his only chance to get away, at least for a few years. He said it was funny, but he loved being in Vietnam. Not the fighting, of course, and he hated it when John Ward was killed, but he loved being away from Byerly and seeing a little of the world. He loved not being Small Bill anymore. He made new friends who didn’t know that his Daddy owned the mill, and they liked him anyway. The one he got to be closest with was Leonard Cooper.”

  “So there was a real Leonard Cooper.”

  Walters nodded. “They traded life stories, the way young men will, and they were just about opposites. There was Small Bill, nearly smothered by his family and Byerly, and there was Leonard from Tennessee, who didn’t have any family at all. Small Bill said Leonard didn’t mind fighting and there wasn’t a braver man over there, but Leonard hated the idea that if he died, there’d be no one to mourn for him. He kept thinking that his grave would probably be in a potters’ field somewhere, and even if it wasn’t, it would be neglected and he’d be forgotten.”

  “Then what?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew where this was leading.

  “They were in a battle together, and they both got hit. Cooper kept on breathing, but half his head was blown off and Small Bill could tell that he wasn’t going to make it. Small Bill was hurt, too, but not nearly so bad. He was waiting for the medics, feeling bad about Cooper, when he got the idea.”