by Bill Crider
“The Crawfords,” Benton said. “That’s who I was talking about. Larry and Terry Crawford. They’d come into the restaurant, and Mr. Kergan would take them to his office. They’d leave later without eating. So obviously they weren’t here for the food.”
“Obviously,” Rhodes said.
“I’ll tell you who else was here, too. You know the commissioners?”
“I’m the sheriff, remember?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher, but I tend to overexplain things, even when it’s not necessary. Of course you know the commissioners. There’s one of them who doesn’t like me much. He thinks I’m a pest.”
“Imagine that,” Rhodes said.
Benton looked at Rhodes and shook his head. “I’m not a pest. I just want people to do their jobs and mow the ditches now and then.”
“Right,” Rhodes said. “What do the ditches have to do with this?”
“One of the people who spends time in Mr. Kergan’s office is the commissioner for my district.”
“Mikey Burns.”
“That’s the one,” Benton said.
Benton was right about having some interesting information, Rhodes thought. He considered apologizing but decided not to. It might give Benton the idea he was being more helpful than he actually was.
“And there’s a woman, too,” Benton continued. “I don’t know her name, but I know she works with computers. She’s been out at the college a time or two, talking to some of the IT people.”
“What’s she look like?”
“She’s short, and she has blond hair. Not old. Not young. Kind of cute.”
“Mel Muller,” Rhodes said, though he wasn’t sure.
Benton shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry,” Rhodes said. “I’ll find out.”
Rhodes sent Benton away, then told Ivy to take the Edsel home and go to bed.
“How will you get home?”
“Duke will take me.”
Duke Pearson was the deputy who’d responded to one of the calls Rhodes had made.
“Are you all right?” Ivy asked.
“Just bruised.”
“And not as clean as a weasel, either.”
“It’s a hazardous job.”
“But somebody has to do it.”
“Right. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get in.”
“You’d better wake me. I want to know you’re home.”
Rhodes promised he’d wake her if that was what she wanted, and Ivy drove away.
Rhodes went inside the restaurant to make sure that Kergan’s office was sealed. It was.
Duke Pearson was just about finished with his questioning of the employees. The server whom Rhodes had talked to earlier was waiting his turn in the foyer, while Duke was talking to one of the cooks in the big dining room. Rhodes called the server over and asked his name.
“Ralph Meadows. Everybody calls me Scooter.”
Scooter was about twenty, Rhodes guessed. He had brown hair that was cut very short, a wide face with a big nose, and ears that stuck out a little too much. He still looked a little shocked at what had happened.
“All right, Scooter,” Rhodes said. “How long have you been working here?”
“Ever since the place opened. I live in Thurston, and Mr. Kergan knows my daddy. Knew him, I guess I should say. I still can’t believe he’s dead.”
“Your father’s Henry Meadows?”
“That’s right. You know him?”
Scooter seemed surprised that anyone would know his father, but Rhodes had met the man a couple of times. He was the only thing resembling a mechanic in Thurston and did minor car repairs in the shell of an old building that had once housed a service station. There was no service station in Thurston now, just a couple of gas pumps at a little convenience store out on the main highway that bypassed the town.
“Not well. He got you this job?”
“Yeah. He talked to Mr. Kergan about it. I guess I don’t have a job now, though.”
Rhodes didn’t know what would happen to the restaurant. Kergan wasn’t married, and Rhodes didn’t know about the next of kin.
“Has anybody told Miss Muller?” Scooter asked.
“Melanie Muller?” Rhodes said.
He’d told Benton he’d find out, but he hadn’t known it would be quite so easy.
“I think that’s her name. She does computer stuff. I think she and Mr. Kergan were pretty good friends.”
“You mean they were dating?”
“Do old people date?”
Kergan was around fifty. Rhodes figured that to Scooter that was about the same as being around a hundred.
“Sometimes they do,” Rhodes said. “Just for company. Somebody to watch TV with. You know.”
“I guess,” Scooter said. He looked doubtful. “Anyway, Miss Muller was here a lot, and she ate for free.”
“Did she spend any time in Kergan’s office with him?”
“She went in there sometimes. They closed the door.”
Rhodes asked a few more questions, the standard ones about enemies or people that Kergan might have had trouble with in the restaurant, but Scooter was no help. He didn’t know a thing about Larry and Terry, though he thought “two guys who looked alike” had been in several times to talk to Kergan.
“Do you think I should come to work tomorrow?” Scooter asked when the interview was over.
“I don’t think you need to bother,” Rhodes told him.
Duke Pearson drove Rhodes home when the interviews were completed. He’d been with the department for only a few months. For years, he’d worked as a deputy in a small county in West Texas, but his wife was from Clearview, and they’d moved there to take care of her mother, who was in the first stages of Alzheimer’s.
Pearson was a burly man with graying hair that he combed back on the sides. He smiled a lot, and people seemed to like him. He was also good at his job, and Rhodes was glad to have him in the department. Unfortunately, he hadn’t found out much from the people he’d interviewed, not even as much as Rhodes had found out from Scooter.
“I got the feeling they didn’t want to talk about their boss even if he was dead,” Pearson said. His voice was gravelly. “I don’t know if that means anything.”
Rhodes didn’t know for sure, either, but he thought it might.
“Something was going on at the restaurant,” Rhodes said. “I don’t know what it was—yet.”
He brought Pearson up to date on the Crawfords.
“So you don’t think Kergan’s death was an accident?” Pearson said.
“Let’s say it’s highly unlikely.”
“And you think the Crawfords are tied into it?”
“If I were a betting man, which I’m not, I’d lay good odds that they were.”
“Anything you want me to be looking for tonight?”
“That truck,” Rhodes said. He described it again. “If you see it, call it in. Follow it if you can. Don’t try to stop it.”
“After seeing what happened to Kergan, I’m not likely to stand in front of it, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I mean,” Rhodes said.
It was late when Rhodes got home, well after midnight. Speedo wanted to play, but Rhodes wasn’t up to it. His chest hurt, and he wanted to take a bath and go to bed. He found Speedo’s ball and threw it for the dog to fetch a couple of times, but that was all the fun he could stand.
“Sorry, Speedo,” he said. “Maybe in the morning.”
Speedo stood and watched him as he went in through the back door, but when Rhodes looked back outside, the collie was already in his igloo.
Sam was still in the kitchen, sleeping on the floor near the refrigerator. Yancey was nowhere to be seen.
Rhodes went into the bathroom and took off his shirt. A big area in the middle of his chest had turned an ugly yellowish color, and it was starting to turn purple in places. It would be even more colorful in the next day or so.
Rhodes’s brain wasn’t functioning at peak efficiency, and he kept thinking there was something he’d seen that day that was out of place, a puzzle piece that might fit if he could only figure out what it was.
But he couldn’t. It was too late, and he was too tired. He dried off and got in bed beside Ivy.
“Were you planning to wake me up?” she said as he lay down.
“I was going to wait till you started snoring. Then I was going to prod you a little.”
“I don’t snore,” Ivy said.
“Only in a very genteel way.”
“I’m going to prod you if you say that again.”
“I think I’ll just go to sleep,” Rhodes said.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me, too,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 13
THE NEXT MORNING BEGAN WELL. RHODES’S SHOULDER AND chest didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought they would, and he figured they’d be fine in another day or so. He went into the backyard and played with Speedo and Yancey, who took turns chasing the ball and bringing it back to him. They never really wanted to let him take it from them, and part of the game was to let them growl and shake their heads when he tried to remove it.
It was already getting warm, so Rhodes didn’t lark around with the dogs for long. He let Yancey back into the house and drove to the jail.
The day started to go downhill when he arrived there. Hack extracted all the details about the previous night’s events at Dooley’s from Rhodes while he was writing up his report and then informed him that Ruth hadn’t found any prints on the whiskey jars.
“They must’ve wiped ’em, or used gloves,” Hack said.
Rhodes wasn’t surprised. Crawford wasn’t entirely stupid.
But that wasn’t all. Hack also told Rhodes, after a bit of coaxing, that there’d already been several calls that morning, one of which concerned an infestation of possums in Mrs. Hallie Owens’s attic.
“Been chewin’ on the wires up there,” Hack said. “Miz Owens is afraid they might cause a fire. You’re supposed to go there and evict ’em.”
“Why me?” Rhodes said.
He took off the reading glasses he’d had to put on to do the report and stuck them back in his shirt pocket.
“Because you’re the high sheriff,” Lawton said. “It’s your job.”
“That’s right,” Hack agreed. “Miz Owens asked for you in person because she voted for you in the last election, and she figures you owe her.”
“Send Buddy,” Rhodes said.
“He’s at the courthouse checkin’ on Jamey Hamilton’s car registration. After that, he’s got to call those Dodge dealers and talk to some welders. He’s already checked the reports on stolen vehicles. Nothing about any old truck in them. Anyway, he won’t have time to climb up in any attics.”
“Have you heard from Ruth?”
“She’ll be doin’ her patrol, but her wrist is still hurtin’. No use for you to try sendin’ her. She couldn’t do the climbin’.”
Rhodes wasn’t going to do any climbing, either, not if he could help it. His chest was too sore.
“Call Mrs. Owens and tell her we’ll send somebody out there later. Buddy’s bound to finish with that other stuff pretty soon.”
“Miz Owens is gonna be mighty disappointed when you don’t show up,” Hack said. “She asked for you specially.”
“But if you don’t go by her place, maybe you can handle the loose donkey,” Lawton said, and Hack gave him a hostile stare.
“What loose donkey?” Rhodes said.
“The one at the car wash,” Hack said, taking over. “I don’t know if somebody was washin’ it or not, so don’t ask me that. All I know is we got a call, and there’s a loose donkey at the car wash.”
“Could be a mule,” Lawton said. “Lots of people can’t tell the difference.”
“Donkeys’re colored different, usually,” Hack said. “Sound different for sure.”
Rhodes wasn’t interested in a lesson in donkey and mule identification.
“What this county needs is an animal-control officer,” he said.
“Commissioners won’t go for it. You’ve been doin’ too good a job.”
Rhodes knew Hack was right. He said, “Call Franklin Anderson about the donkey.”
Anderson was a cowboy for hire. He worked on several ranches around the area, and he occasionally did jobs for the sheriff’s department.
“He’ll want to know who’s gonna pay him.”
“The owner will.”
“And if we can’t find the owner?”
“The county will.”
The county had a fund for that kind of thing, but it wasn’t a lot of money. The commissioners preferred it when the owner could be found and made to pay Anderson’s fee.
“Maybe you could adopt it,” Hack said. “You got a way of pickin’ up animals on the job.”
“Two dogs and a cat are more than enough. I don’t think Speedo would like sharing the backyard with a donkey.”
“Or a mule,” Lawton said. “Dependin’ on which one it is.”
“Caller said a donkey,” Hack reminded him. “I’m bettin’ it’s a donkey.”
“Could be a burro,” Lawton said. “Now, your burro really does look like a donkey.”
“I thought a burro and a donkey were the same thing.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Your burro—”
“That’s enough of that,” Rhodes said.
Hack and Lawton looked at each other and stifled grins. Rhodes asked them if there were any other calls he needed to deal with.
“Nothin’ important,” Hack said. “But don’t forget about Miz Owens’s possums.”
“Dogs might like a possum around the house,” Lawton said. “I know a guy kept one for a pet once. He says—”
“Never mind,” Rhodes told him.
The door of the jail opened and Jennifer Loam came in.
“Never mind what?” she said.
“Possums,” Hack told her. “It’s a big story. Front-page stuff. They’re runnin’ wild in Miz Hallie Owens’s attic.”
Jennifer didn’t appear to be ready to yell “Stop the presses.” “What I want to know about is Jerry Kergan.”
Rhodes told her the bare facts, while trying not to appear too evasive.
“You don’t have an identification on the truck?” she asked when he was finished.
Rhodes told her that Buddy was working on it. He didn’t mention his other encounter with the truck or anything else that had happened at the Crawford place. Jennifer would make the connection soon enough, he figured.
“You have a big event scheduled this afternoon, don’t you?” she said.
Rhodes had completely forgotten about the book signing, and he was sorry to be reminded.
“I’m not sure I can make it,” he said.
“You better be there,” Hack said. “You’re gonna be famous, and you don’t want to miss out on the beginnin’.”
“I’ll be covering it for the paper,” Jennifer said. “I’ll want some pictures of you and the authors. I think there’ll be a big crowd.”
Rhodes hoped no one would show up. “I’ll be there if I can. I have a murder investigation going on.”
“The signing won’t take much of your time,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see you there.”
“Don’t count on me.”
“All right, I won’t, but I’m sure the authors will.”
Jennifer left to drive to Dooley’s for a picture of the Dumpster, and Rhodes told Hack that he was going over to the courthouse, where he had an office.
“You might check on Buddy while you’re there,” Hack said.
“Unless he’s left already.”
Rhodes said that he would.
“What about them possums? Miz Owens is gonna call back sure as you’re livin’.”
“Tell her we’re working on it,” Rhodes said.
Rhodes had always liked his office in the courthouse for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it was private. He didn’t have to listen to anybody discussing the difference between burros and donkeys.
Unfortunately, the other reason had recently been taken away from him. In the past, he’d been able to get Dr Pepper in glass bottles in the soft-drink machine near his office. Not anymore. The machine had been removed and replaced with an up-to-date model that dispensed plastic bottles. The only thing that surprised Rhodes was that the old machine hadn’t been removed long before.
The good news, however, was that sometime within the past week, the Dr Peppers placed in the new machine all had little notices on the bottles declaring that the drinks were made with real sugar instead of corn syrup. For years, the only way Rhodes had been able to get Dr Pepper made with real sugar was to order it from the plant in Dublin, Texas, but now it seemed that other places were using real sugar again.
So while Rhodes had to suffer the plastic bottles, he got real sugar in his drink. And the drinks were in much bigger bottles. He still preferred the glass ones, but he figured that the real sugar was worth making a sacrifice for.
But there was another problem. The machine was so complicated that it often shook the Dr Pepper up and caused it to spew if Rhodes opened it as soon as he got it. He had to be careful.
He put his money in the machine, got the Dr Pepper, and went to his office. He left the drink on his desk without screwing off the cap and went down to the basement, where the tax office and vehicle-registration department were located. One of the clerks told him that Buddy was still there, and he asked her to send him up when he got through with what he was doing. The clerk said she’d be glad to do that, and Rhodes went back to his office. He took the stairs instead of the creaky elevator. That way, he got a little exercise and didn’t have to worry about being trapped between floors.
The Dr Pepper was all right when Rhodes returned, so he opened it and took a swallow. It wasn’t as cold as it would have been from a glass bottle, or so he thought, but it made him feel a little better, and he set the bottle down so that he could make a call to the TABC and let them know about the still he’d found at the Crawfords’.