Mother Finds a Body

by Craig Rice

  When Mandy was called I took his. pinochle hand. Biff joined us later, and we played four-handed. I’m sure the game was the only thing that kept me from going raving mad.

  If anyone had been able to tell me what was going on, if all of their remarks weren’t so much alike, I wouldn’t have minded the wait as I did. They were all as evasive as Gee Gee had been. They had all been asked if they recognized the corpse. They were expected to read a carefully written description, a full page in longhand, and to base their recognition on that. They had been asked how long they knew Biff and me, how long they had known Mother, how long they had known each other, how much they contributed toward the upkeep of the trailer.

  That question in particular I thought was stupid. Aside from an occasional bottle, no one had contributed anything.

  They were shown the gun and asked if they had seen it before, if they knew a man named Gus, if they had lost any articles of wearing apparel or laundry. They were asked if they had heard anyone or seen anyone prowling around the trailer.

  It all sounded very silly to me. Even Biff could contribute little more. I didn’t like the way he smiled at me when it was my turn. I didn’t like the way he said, “Just tell ’em the truth, honey.”

  I didn’t like the silence of the sheriff’s man as we walked toward the office, either. He was dripping wet with perspiration. It was close to noon, and the thermometer had been passing the one-hundred mark since morning. However, the heat was the least of my worries. With the heat you know that sooner or later it’s going to cool off. It’s like having a hang-over; you know you won’t suffer forever. The past two hours had seemed an eternity to me. I couldn’t believe that the ordeal would ever end.

  The shades were partly drawn in the small, hot room. The sheriff sat directly in front of an electric fan. A bent blade kept up a steady offkey clinking sound as it hit the wire guard.

  The sheriff motioned for me to sit across the table from him.

  “Would you like the fan turned in your direction?” he asked when I wiped my face with a limp handkerchief.

  I shook my head.

  “It only churns up the same old hot air,” I said. “No offense meant with that hot-air crack.” I added.

  The sheriff fumbled with a piece of wrinkled paper.

  “Look,” I said, “if that’s the description of Gus or that other dead man, I don’t know anything about it. I told you all I know about Gus and I never knew the second one.”

  The sheriff let the paper fall from his hand. He reached for the cardboard box. It looked rather the worse for wear now.

  “And,” I said, “if that’s the gun, don’t wear yourself out with opening up the box. First time I saw the gun in my life was when Joyce Janice handed it to Mother at The Happy Hour saloon. I told you that before.”

  I leaned back in my chair, feeling quite pleased with myself. I was beginning to understand why Gee Gee and the others had said there was nothing to it.

  The sheriff poured himself a cup of water. As an after-thought, he offered it to me. I refused. Effectively, too, I thought. With a half smile, I merely shook my head. The sheriff looked at me. I had a fleeting thought that I had done something that amused him. I had an idea that he was laughing to himself. I didn’t like that, either.

  “Here’s something that might interest you,” I said. “Last night when Biff and I left your charming office, we walked back toward the saloon section. When we passed the doctor’s house we heard a car start up. It was a big, light-colored car and it left from the doctor’s driveway. Cullucio was driving it. He was in a hurry, too, and he had been calling on the doctor.”

  “And how do you know that?” the sheriff said slowly. “He could have been calling next door, couldn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I agreed ungraciously. I didn’t like the interruption and, most of all, I didn’t like the smile on the sheriff’s face. “Only at the moment he left, the doctor’s lights went out and Biff and I heard him lock his door. Cullucio isn’t the type to pay a social call at almost one in the morning. He couldn’t look healthier, so what’s he doing visiting a doctor? A doctor who’s a close friend, obviously of the local law? Of course, you probably know all about it, but The Happy Hour is certainly not a very choice spot. The boss is hardly the sort to get chummy with the law, if you know what I mean.”

  I took a cigarette from the package in my pocket and lit it slowly. I was feeling more and more pleased with myself. I liked the look of astonishment on Hank’s face, too. After one or two puffs on my cigarette, I let my eyes go big.

  “I should have asked permission first,” I said, glancing down at the cigarette. “Maybe smoking isn’t allowed during the third degree.”

  “It’s quite all right,” the sheriff replied stiffly.

  “Is there anything else you want to know?” I asked.

  “Noooo. I thought you might like to have me explain one or two points, though,” the sheriff said.

  I most certainly did but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I smoked quickly. The cigarette burned too fast and, as I inhaled, the hot smoke burned my throat. I wanted a cup of water desperately but, after my big head-shaking, slow-smiling scene a moment before, I didn’t have the nerve to mention it.

  “We’re right on the border here in Ysleta,” the sheriff said. “A few years back they used to allow gambling on the other side. That brought in a bad element and, even though we’ve worked hand in glove with the Mexican government, it seems we can’t get rid of the element. Tourists flock around here during the season to see these places. Nothing for ’em to see but a bunch of saloons like they can see any place else, but as long as they keep coming there’ll always be guys around to clip ’em. During the last few months a new menace has cropped up. It’s a dope racket. The difficult part of all is that the dope is grown right here in Texas. It’s known as a weed; of course, it’s cultivated here. Loco weed, the natives call it. The proper name is marijuana.”

  “Reefers!” I said. As I spoke I could almost see Gee Gee’s face when she was telling me about Gus.

  “Yes,” the sheriff replied. “It’s sent out of this state in bales, fifty- and hundred-pound bales. We got one of the trucks but we couldn’t hold the driver. He said it was given to him for cotton, and we couldn’t even find out who gave it to him. His instructions were to carry it as far as Galveston, then it was to be picked up. If it were just marijuna, it wouldn’t be so bad. People say marijuana isn’t habit forming. I have my own ideas on that score, but most folks say the danger in smoking these cigarettes is that, after a while, people become immune to its influence. They take up cocaine, and from there it’s only a step to heroin. Sometimes these dealers spike the cigarettes with hashish or the scrapings of opium bowls. That’s done to get the customers in the habit.”

  “You oughta write a book about it,” I said.

  “I have,” the sheriff replied.

  I was sorry I mentioned it. The gleam in the sheriff’s eye told me he was on his favorite subject. I still wanted a cup of water, and my cigarette had smoked down to a short butt that was burning my fingers. It seemed disrespectful to drop it on the floor, but I did. Then I ground out the glow with the toe of my shoe.

  “The head of the narcotic division in Austin traced the source of supply to my section,” the sheriff said. His bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I followed a lead as far as The Happy Hour. Then I lost it. We found a small tin of heroin in one of the employees possession. The man was completely under the influence of drugs, and we couldn’t get a thing out of him. That’s as far as I got with my lead. I’ve watched the mail; I’ve watched every employee. Nothing incriminating about any of ’em. Nothing but that tin of dope. Yet I know for a fact that someone at The Happy Hour is responsible for part of this dope peddling.”

  The sheriff sighed heavily. His fingers drummed on the table before him. Had I not remembered how rude he had been to Biff and me the night before, I would have felt sorry for him.


  “Now these murders,” the sheriff said. “They must be mixed up with that business in some way.”

  His hands were still now. Then he pounded on the table until I thought it was going to break into splinters.

  “But I’ll find the guilty one,” he said.

  “Well, don’t look at me, brother,” I said. “I just got in town.”

  “I know,” the sheriff said. “So did the corpse. And not long after you all arrived we found another corpse. Then there’s a little matter of untruth. That Graham girl, for instance. It was stupid of her not to come to me immediately after finding the body. She should have told me about the Gus business in Los Angeles …”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’ve trouble enough sticking up for my mother without making alibis for friends, but how was Gee Gee supposed to know you were looking for reefer peddlers? She sees a dead guy in the bathtub. She knows him. She has reasons, maybe, for wanting him out of the way. Under those circumstances I don’t blame her for keeping her mouth shut.”

  “Reasonable enough,” the sheriff said, nodding his head slowly. “In any other case than a murder case. I understand you and your husband were mixed up with a murder once before …”

  “Not exactly mixed up. Biff only found the murderer, that’s all.”

  If I expected a look of respect for Biff after my announcement, I certainly would have been disappointed. The sheriff brushed away my statement as though it were an everyday occurrence for a burlesque comic to find a murderer. His mind was on facts, he said rather coldly, not fancy.

  “I’m not going to discuss your mother at all,” he said, “other than to mention the fact that she lied about the gun. As for the three people traveling with you to open an engagement at The Happy Hour, well I guess work is work, but I didn’t think any self-respecting, decent people would play a night club like The Happy Hour.

  “There’s nothing wrong with The Happy Hour that a police clean-up wouldn’t cure,” I said. It wasn’t the thing to say, but it was too true for me to let the chance slip by.

  “What about Corny Cobb? Is he the type of person a couple of honeymooners would invite along for the trip?” the sheriff asked.

  “You don’t know my husband,” I replied. There must have been a weary note in my voice.

  The sheriff dismissed me. For the time being, he added hastily. He saw me to the door and spoke in an undertone to the two men who were waiting outside. I didn’t hear his words, but I knew he was asking them to bring someone else in for questioning.

  The picture that greeted me when I returned to the trailer was a familiar one. Gee Gee was still playing cards with Mandy and Biff. Corny was tenderly nursing a drink. Dimples was plucking her eyebrows. The mirror hung from the door-knob of the front door, and Dimples sat on the top step. Mamie stood by, stage-managing the beauty operation.

  “You’re not doing it right,” she said. “Why don’t you girls let me do these things for you? I’ll admit the only training I’ve had was a mail-order house, but I have had a lot of experience. For instance, you should put alcohol on first …”

  “I wouldn’t waste it like that,” Dimples muttered. “And what’s more, I like to do it myself. A smart guy once told me it had something to do with masochism or something. Anything that goes by a handle like that is for me.”

  Biff got to his feet and yawned loudly. “Think I’ll go for the papers,” he said.

  The mail delivery was at noon, and the trailer post-boxes were at the bend of the road. Biff whistled softly as he sauntered down the road.

  I thought it strange that no one had asked me anything about my interview with the sheriff. They seemed to take it as a matter of course that nothing new had happened. The thought disappeared and another took its place. The new thought was an uncomfortable one. It made me tingle as though my feet had gone to sleep.

  The tingling traveled slowly up my spine. I suddenly wanted to yell to Biff. I wanted to tell him not to leave me, that I was going to need him. I knew something was going to happen and, whatever it was, I didn’t want to be alone when it did.

  If Mother hadn’t called me from the trailer, I would have followed Biff down the road, but Mother’s voice sounded so urgent. “Is that you, Louise?” she asked.

  She opened the bedroom door and stood on the top step. Her face was swollen and tired-looking. The bright sunlight made her eyes water; her breathing was heavy. Even as she stumbled down the steps and walked toward me she spoke hurriedly.

  “What did the sheriff say to you?” she asked. “Did he say anything about me?”

  I’ve never seen Mother look so ill. I put my arms around her trembling shoulders and tried to force her gently into the chair.

  “He didn’t ask me anything new,” I said soothingly, “just the usual things. Certainly nothing to upset you like this.”

  Mother pushed me away. Her face was crimson. Small beads of sweat covered her forehead.

  “You’re lying!” she shrieked. “Everybody’s been lying to me right along. Even my own daughter is against me!”

  Great blue veins stood out on Mother’s neck. Her eyes searched my face frantically. When I tried to hold her, she swung her arm about. Her fingers were like claws as they clutched at the air.

  Mandy jumped to his feet, upsetting the cards and Corny’s bottle. He ran over to Mother and tried to help me hold her, but Mother scratched at him and pounded his arm with her first. Mandy drew away and looked around helplessly.

  Gee Gee and Dimples were frozen to the spot. So was Mamie. They didn’t try to hold Mother back as she ran toward the office.

  “I’ve got to talk to him again,” she screamed as she ran. “I’ve got to tell him everything before it’s too late.”

  Gee Gee grabbed my arm and held it so tightly I could feel the blood leaving my hand. “Let her get it off her chest,” she said. “Maybe she really does know something.”

  “Let go of me,” I heard myself say. “She’s sick. Can’t you see that?”

  I wrenched my arm away from Gee Gee and ran toward the office. When I was still a hundred yards from it, I saw the door close behind Mother. I ran faster until I could feel the knob under my fingers. I turned it and tried to open the door. It was locked.

  “Let me in,” I screamed. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Don’t listen to her.”

  The door remained closed. I ran around to the side of the cabin and pounded with both fists on the window. There was no answer. I beat on the window sill until my hands felt raw. The rough wood of the sill left splinters on my knuckles and a broken fingernail hung loosely from the cuticle. It began to bleed as I stared down at it stupidly.

  Then I heard the door open. I ran around the small building and into the room.

  Mother stood at the door. The sheriff and the two men stood near her.

  “You’re too late, Louise.” Mother was calm, too calm. It was as though she were in a trance. “I’ve told them everything. I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. They would have found out anyway, and I think it’s better this way.”

  Mother smiled up at the sheriff. It was a sad little smile that made my heart skip a beat.

  “Shall we go now?” she asked in a small, childlike voice. Mother turned to me then. “No one will blame me for killing them when they know the truth,” she said simply.

  The sheriff took Mother’s arm and helped her to the car. She waved to me as she sat next to him in the front seat. She went on waving to me until the car was out of sight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Biff raced the motor for a minute. Then he let it idle as he held both my hands tightly.

  “Pull yourself together, Punkin,” he said. He had said it many times before. It wasn’t the repetition that annoyed me; it was the coaxing note in his voice. I tried to pull my hands away, but he held them tighter.

  “This throwing your weight around isn’t helping Evangie any,” he said. “Instead of following them this minute, you oughta lie down and rest a while. Have a cu
p of tea or a drink …”

  “Oh, stop babying me!” I said. “It’s all right for you and Gee Gee and Dimples and everybody to keep on saying ‘pull yourself together.’ It isn’t your mother who’s sitting in jail with a murder charge hanging over her head. It isn’t your mother who confessed to something she didn’t do just because it was forced out of her. I think you all want to believe she did it. It’s easier than having the cops suspect you. And that goes for the whole damn bunch of you, too. I’m going to my mother and I’m going right now.”

  “Very well then,” Biff said quietly. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You can drive or get out. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  “Look,” Biff said after a moment. “No one forced Evangie into anything. She said what she wanted to say when she wanted to say it. And it seems to me she has enough on her mind without you doing a free Bernhardt for the cops. Save that talent for the theater; a little of it wouldn’t hurt your career a bit. And where do you get that ‘she’s not your mother’ dialogue? Just because they put an in-law handle after it is no sign she isn’t my mother, too. I got her when I married you. From now on remember that she’s as much my mother as she is yours.”

  Biff shoved the truck into gear and faced toward the main road. For a moment I thought he deliberately drove through every rut and bump. Then I looked at his face. I had never seen his jaw set as firmly. I felt suddenly ashamed of my outburst.

  “It wasn’t only you,” I said, “but the others, too. You didn’t see them or hear them like I did. They acted like they almost expected Mother to confess. Even Gee Gee was funny about it, and Corny, with his ugly, gloating face, smiling to beat hell. He was glad, I tell you, really glad. I could have killed him. I think I would have, too, if Mandy hadn’t pushed him away from me. Then you, instead of helping me, what do you do? Nothing, that’s what. You waste hours talking about it instead of getting to her.”

  “It was ten minutes, not hours,” Biff said. “Confession or no confession, they won’t hang her before we get there. Now shut up and light me a cigarette.”