by Bill Crider
“Never thought about it,” Parker said. “I wanted to be Mr. October, hitting home runs in the World Series, not investigating explosions in manufactured homes.”
“But here you are.”
“Yeah. I like doing this job, too. Now that I’m here, I don’t think I’d want to be doing anything else, even hitting those home runs. I trained a long time for this.”
“You have plenty to do with this drought.”
“More than enough,” Parker said. “We’ve already been out on a call this morning. Nothing serious.”
“Did you get to look over what’s left of the Crawford place?”
“I went out there. I heard about Terry Crawford, too. I don’t think I can help you with him, since he wasn’t killed in the explosion.”
“I know how Terry died. Right now, I’m more interested in what happened to his house.”
“I’m sure it was a propane explosion,” Parker said. “I even have the part of the pipe linkage that might have been responsible. That leaves us with a lot of other questions, though.”
“What questions?” Rhodes asked.
“Why didn’t anybody smell the gas? Propane has ethyl mercaptan in it so people will have warning, just like natural gas.”
“Nobody was there to smell it,” Rhodes said. “Larry was at Wal-Mart buying groceries, and Terry must have been outside.”
“For how long? The gas must have built up in the house.”
Rhodes didn’t know how long. “I guess he was outside for a good while, then.”
“Okay, if he was outside, what caused the explosion? Gas doesn’t just combust by itself. There has to be a flame or something to ignite it. If there wasn’t a flame, there had to have been a spark or something.”
Rhodes didn’t have an answer for that, either. He said he’d have to ask Larry Crawford.
“He’s planning a lawsuit,” Rhodes said. “How will what you found affect that?”
“Could be some carelessness on Larry’s part, or Terry’s. The manufacturer will say so. It’ll come down to who has the best lawyers.”
“Larry has Randy Lawless.”
“He’s the best from around here, for sure. The propane company or the home manufacturer, or both of them, will get somebody just as good. Lawless might get a settlement without ever going to court, though. Sometimes that’s the easiest way for the defendants.”
Rhodes figured that’s what Lawless was hoping for, and Larry, too.
“Could be a good settlement, too,” Parker continued. “Inflate the value of the house, put in a good bit for pain and suffering. Larry would’ve gotten the key to the mint if Terry’d been in there.”
Getting a big settlement would make Lawless very happy, Rhodes thought. The lawyer liked nothing better than winning a case or settling one that brought him a lot of notoriety and got his name in the local paper. If it got his name in the city papers, too, so much the better.
“It doesn’t matter much to Terry either way,” Rhodes said. “Him being dead and all.”
“I heard Jerry Kergan was killed, too. Some kind of hit-and-run. You catch who did it?”
Rhodes wished people would quit asking him that.
“I will,” he said. “Sooner or later.”
“Seems like you always do.”
“Me and the Mounties,” Rhodes said. “We always get our man.”
Chapter 17
RHODES HAD MISSED LUNCH AGAIN. HE’D PLANNED TO EAT AND then go by and talk to Mikey Burns, but when he took the bullets by the jail and put them in the evidence locker, Hack told him that he had other things to do. Like going to Wal-Mart for the book signing.
“I had to send Ruth out there for crowd control,” Hack said. “Cars all over the place.”
That didn’t sound good, so Rhodes figured he’d better go and check on things.
“You plannin’ to stick around, sign some books?” Hack asked.
Rhodes said he didn’t know.
“If you do, you be sure to bring me and Lawton one apiece. We can read, you know.”
Hack liked to watch TV at the jail, and Rhodes had never seen him with a book. However, he said he’d try to get a couple of copies.
“Better fill out this form, too,” Hack said. “Vacation time. Don’t want anyone to say you’re doin’ personal stuff on the county’s time.”
Rhodes filled out the form, wondering when he’d ever had an actual vacation. It had been years. He left the form with Hack and then drove to the highway, where he turned east toward the Wal-Mart.
Hack hadn’t exaggerated. The parking lot was full, and cars were parked along the shoulder of the highway. Ruth Grady was doing her best to keep traffic moving and to stop people from parking on the highway itself. Either Wal-Mart was selling dollar bills for a penny or Blood Fever was going to be number one on the Clearview best-seller list.
Rhodes stopped beside Ruth and rolled down the window. “Are you going to be able to handle things here?”
“I think so.” Ruth lifted her hat and wiped sweat off her forehead with her shirtsleeve. “Things have slowed down a little now. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Vernell Lindsey’s going to be jealous.”
Vernell was a local romance novelist. She’d had some success with her signings at Wal-Mart, but nothing like this.
Rhodes left Ruth and drove through the packed lot, going around to the back of the building, where the automotive department was. He parked by a stack of new tires. He could smell the rubber when he stepped out of the car.
A man was changing tires on a truck in one of the bays. Rhodes told the man who he was and said that he was going to leave his car there for a few minutes.
“You better get on in the store, Sheriff,” the man said. “I think they’ve been waiting for you.”
Someone behind the cash register at the counter inside pushed the button that unlocked the door to the bays, and Rhodes went inside.
“They’re all at the front of the store,” the clerk said. “Sure are a lot of ’em.”
Rhodes could hear the hum of conversation even where he was standing at the back of the store. He didn’t know what to think about that, so he just started making his way through the aisles. He passed the electronics section, where the flat-screen TV sets were all showing a Star Wars DVD. Rhodes didn’t know which episode it was.
He turned left to go up the wide aisle in the middle of the store. He saw that the whole area up front was packed with people. There were so many of them that he couldn’t see any of the checkout lanes.
Thelma Rice and Pearl Long, two members of the Older Women’s Literary Society, were right in front. Rhodes wasn’t surprised to see them. He’d spoken to the group once about a murder, and both women had expressed interest in Blood Fever. More interest than they’d expressed in the murder, as Rhodes seemed to recall.
Some of the members of the Red Hats were also there, right beside Thelma and Pearl. They weren’t in their purple dresses and red hats, but Rhodes recognized them anyway. He’d spoken to that group about the murder, as well.
Shoulder-to-shoulder with them were Seepy Benton and Randy Lawless. Benton was wearing his hat, so he was easy to spot. Next to him was Jennifer Loam, her camera in hand.
Rhodes sighed.
Claudia and Jan stood behind a long table, their backs to him.
Thelma Rice spotted Rhodes. She pointed at him and called out, “Here comes the sheriff!”
Claudia and Jan turned around and saw him. They looked relieved.
“It’s about time you got here,” Claudia said when he arrived at the table. “We’d about given up on you.”
She was a petite blonde with very blue eyes and a nice smile. She wasn’t smiling now, however. Rhodes thought she might be a little miffed that he was late.
Jan was miffed, too, but she was trying not to show it. She gave him a quick smile that showed her dimples, and then asked him if he was ready to sign books.
Rhodes looked at the table in front of them.
It was piled high with paperbacks. He thought there must be a hundred copies at least. Looking over the crowd, he wasn’t sure that would be enough.
“We have more,” Claudia said, as if reading his mind. She pointed to four cardboard boxes under the table. “Forty-eight books to a box.”
Rhodes figured that would take care of any crowd you could draw in Clearview, but he didn’t think he had time to sit down and sign that many books. Not that he had any right to sign them. He wasn’t the author anyway.
The crowd was getting impatient. Four or five Wal-Mart employees in their blue vests were trying to make sure no one rushed the table.
“Everyone check to be sure you have your numbers,” one employee said. “Nobody gets a signed book without a number.”
“Numbers?” Rhodes said.
“They got numbers as they came in,” Jan said. “They’ll come to the table in order.”
“We’d better sit down,” Claudia said. “I hope all our signings are this good.”
“They won’t be,” Jan said. “We won’t have the main attraction with us.”
“That’s you,” Claudia told Rhodes. “In case you didn’t know.”
The two women sat down, and Rhodes took a chair beside them. Jennifer Loam snapped a picture. Rhodes hoped he didn’t look as addled as he felt.
Jan took a book off one of the stacks and handed it to him, telling him to see how he liked it.
The brightly colored cover showed a man who looked nothing at all like Rhodes. In fact, he looked a little like Terry Don Coslin, who had lived in Blacklin County and later become famous as a cover model for romance novels, including one Vernell Lindsey had written. Terry Don wasn’t the man on the cover, however, because Terry Don was dead.
Not only did the man look nothing like Rhodes; he was wearing a large western-style hat and some kind of tight-fitting khaki uniform. Rhodes never wore a hat, and while the deputies were required to wear uniforms on duty, there was no such requirement for the sheriff.
The man on the cover—Sage Barton, no doubt—was crouched behind the open door of a car with a light bar on top. The light bar practically rippled with red and blue. Sage Barton was blazing away with a pistol that looked like a Frontier Model Colt .45 at three men running out of a bank building. The woman cowering behind Sage was dressed like Daisy Duke, except that her shorts might have been tighter.
“Good grief,” Rhodes said.
“Isn’t it great?” Jan said. “A cover like that will sell a lot of books for us.”
“Very realistic,” Rhodes said.
Jan gave him a sideways look. Rhodes tried to appear completely innocent.
“Open the book,” Claudia said.
She helped him open it to the right place, the dedication page.
“Read it,” Jan said.
Rhodes read the only lines on the page, which said, “This book is dedicated to Dan Rhodes, the handsome crime-busting sheriff of Blacklin County, Texas, without whose help and inspiration it would never have been written.”
“Well,” Rhodes said. He was flattered and surprised. “That’s really nice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now you can see why we wanted you here. People will get a book signed by both authors and the person it’s dedicated to. It will be a collector’s item.”
Rhodes didn’t know about that. He just knew the whole thing was a little too much for him.
Claudia and Jan didn’t give him time to think about that. They said, “We’re ready,” and the Wal-Mart employee called out, “We’re starting. Number one?”
“That’s me!” Seepy Benton said, and he moved away from the crowd to the table.
What have I gotten myself into this time? Rhodes wondered.
He was still wondering the same thing a couple of hours later, when all the books had been signed and most of the customers had gone home to read their purchases. Or to put them on the shelves to point out to visitors.
Jennifer Loam was still there, talking to Claudia and Jan and recording their comments on her little digital device.
Seepy Benton was there, too. He’d wandered off somewhere, but now he was back. Rhodes wasn’t happy to see him.
“I’ve read a lot of the book already,” he said. “I’m a speed reader, among other things.”
Apparently, Benton is a good many things, Rhodes thought, but humble isn’t one of them.
“I didn’t realize you’d led such an exciting life,” Benton continued. “I’ve been involved in crime busting, myself, and it was never quite like this.”
He brandished the book to emphasize his point.
“Don’t let the book fool you,” Rhodes said. “It’s never been quite like that for me, either.”
“No need for false modesty,” Benton said. “Anyway, I’ve been doing a little sleuthing around on the side today, and I think I can help you some more with our case.”
“It’s not our case,” Rhodes said. “I want you to keep out of it.”
“What case?” Jan said, turning away from Jennifer Loam.
“Nothing,” Rhodes replied.
“Murder,” Benton said. “Murders, actually. Plural. Two of them.”
“Why didn’t you call us?” Jan said. She poked Claudia in the back. Claudia turned around. “We need to hear about this. We might be able to use it in the next book.”
“Next book?” Rhodes said.
“We got a two-book contract. We’re working on number two now, but if the books sell, we’re sure to get a contract for more. Now what’s this about murders?”
“Yes,” Claudia said. “What about them?”
Rhodes stood up. His hand was tired from giving out so many signatures, and he didn’t plan to stay in Wal-Mart any longer.
“I’d like to introduce you to Seepy Benton,” he said. He clapped Benton on the shoulder. “He can tell you all about it.”
“Really?” Jan said.
“Really,” Rhodes told her, and he turned to leave.
By the time Rhodes had taken two steps, Benton was in the chair the sheriff had vacated, leaning close to Jan to tell her all he knew.
Chapter 18
WHILE HE WAS SIGNING BOOKS, RHODES HADN’T BEEN THINKING about what he was doing. He hadn’t tried to think of a different inscription for each person; in fact, he hadn’t used an inscription at all. His only problem had been deciding whether to sign “Sheriff Dan Rhodes” or simply “Dan Rhodes.” He’d gone for the latter because it was shorter and he could get the books back to their owners faster.
So because he hadn’t had to think about what he was doing, Rhodes had thought about the deaths of Terry Crawford and Jerry Kergan. He didn’t doubt at all that the two were connected somehow. The black pickup was evidence enough of that. The problem was that he couldn’t figure out exactly how they were connected. He couldn’t come up with any real connection at all.
True, there were people who’d had it in for Crawford, but the same people wouldn’t have had any reason, as far as Rhodes could see, to kill Kergan.
Both men had known some of the same people, and they’d known each other, but they hadn’t known all of the same people. If they had, it might have made it easier to narrow down the suspects. And if only Rhodes could figure out who owned the black truck, things would become easier still. Rhodes thought the owner might be Jamey Hamilton, but he was far from sure. Buddy might have found out something about that, and Rhodes would check later. Right now, he was going to have that talk with Mikey Burns.
Driving toward the precinct barn, Rhodes considered what Seepy Benton had said. Was it possible that Benton really did know something important about the case? It didn’t seem likely, but Rhodes regretted having walked away without at least talking to him for a minute or two.
If he hadn’t been so worn-out from signing the books and so eager to leave Wal-Mart, Rhodes would never have acted as he had. Oh, well, he told himself, I can always talk to Benton later. He just hoped that Claudia and Jan wouldn’t stick around tow
n to add their help to Benton’s. While one amateur helping out was bad enough, three would be intolerable. He was glad the two women had to move on and sign books somewhere else.
The trouble, he realized, was that the three of them no longer thought of themselves as amateurs. They’d all been part of the academy, so they all thought of themselves as professionals. Or, if not quite professionals, at least on the inside of things. They’d toured the jail. They’d seen the firing range. They’d done a ride-along. In their eyes, they were practically officers.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. The words echoed in Rhodes’s head.
He told himself that the academy was still a good idea, that none of the students had been involved in what had happened to Crawford and Kergan, and that none of them would be a hindrance to his investigation. They’d all enjoyed the class, and they’d all be supporters of the department. The only problems seemed to be Benton and maybe Max Schwartz. Claudia and Jan didn’t even live in the county, so they wouldn’t cause any trouble. Judge Parry was wrong about the whole situation.
Or so Rhodes tried to convince himself. It wasn’t easy, and all in all, he was glad when he arrived at the precinct barn, where he had other concerns.
When he went inside, Mrs. Wilkie picked up a copy of the book from her desk and held it up for him to see.
“I appreciate you signing this for me,” she told him. I’m going to read it real soon now. I hear it’s about you.”
Rhodes didn’t even remember signing a book for her, but so many people had been at the Wal-Mart that there was no way he could remember all of them. Some of them he’d hardly glanced at. He did recall that Ivy had been among the last fifty or so people who came by.
Ivy had told him that she was glad they’d used that old photo of him for the cover. He’d told her he was, too, and asked why she hadn’t just let him bring a book home with him. She’d explained that she wanted to be there in person to see what being married to a celebrity was like.
Rhodes hadn’t even smiled at that. He’d just handed her a couple of extra books and asked her to buy them for Hack and Lawton.