Shotgun Saturday Night dr-2

by Bill Crider

  “I understand,” Rhodes said. “And thanks, Ruth. You’ve given me something to think about.”

  “What about the various body parts found lying around the county?” Ruth asked. “Have you managed to get rid of them, yet?”

  “Not yet,” Rhodes said. “But I think Clyde Ballinger is going to take care of things. I talked to him and the doctor from Houston this morning, and I think they worked something out.”

  “I hope so. I hate to think of things like that lying around unburied. It’s just gruesome, or something.” She paused. “I wonder why Bert Ramsey didn’t just burn them?”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing,” Rhodes said. “There was something funny going on with Bert, obviously. Why would he call attention to himself by reporting those boxes? Why not just keep quiet?”

  “Unless what he was involved in wasn’t so bad,” Ruth said. “I mean, not as bad as severed body parts.”

  “It was bad,” Rhodes said. “It got him killed.”

  “I see what you mean. It’s worrisome, though.”

  “It certainly is. Obviously I need to have another talk with Wyneva Greer.”

  “You’ve met her?” Ruth sounded disappointed.

  “I’ve met her,” Rhodes said. “But I haven’t talked to her. I guess I misled you. I talked to the man she’s living with, but not to her. She didn’t say a word. Thanks to what you’ve told me, though, I can see that she probably has a few things she could tell me.”

  “Maybe I could talk to her,” Ruth said.

  “No, I’ll talk to her myself. I’ve already been out there once. I don’t want her and Buster Cullens to think I’ve assigned every officer in the county to them.” Rhodes knew that he was telling only half the truth. He also didn’t want Ruth Grady getting involved in a murder case, not when he suspected that Buster Cullens was the killer. I’m almost as bad as Hack, Rhodes thought.

  Heavy black clouds were massing in the northeastern sky when Rhodes left the jail just before nightfall. He thought that he detected a hint of a cool breeze. Maybe the dry spell was about to break.

  He got in the county car. He had told Ivy that he would come by, and he felt a little chill up his spine. He’d necked with her just like a schoolboy, and he hadn’t been a boy in a lot of years. He knew that to many people a little necking didn’t mean a thing. Times had changed a great deal since he was a high school kid. But he hadn’t changed, try as he might. He was still an old-fashioned man, with old-fashioned ideas, at least about a lot of things. One thing was women. In his way of thinking, you didn’t lead women on, not women like Ivy. You were honest with them, and you declared your intentions.

  Unfortunately, he still wasn’t quite sure what his intentions were. Did he want to get married again, or not? Was it worth the risk of doing again? There was a lot to gain, but there was a lot to lose, as he had already discovered once, the hard way.

  If Kathy were there, she would have told him to marry, he was pretty sure. When she’d taken the teaching job, she had said that she knew she was leaving him in good hands. There was no mistaking her meaning. She clearly expected him to marry Ivy, and she just as clearly approved. Rhodes was pretty sure he approved, too. Last night, he’d been absolutely sure. Now, he was wavering again. I didn’t know I was so wishy-washy, he thought.

  Ivy came to the door wearing jeans and a checked shirt. She’d had a haircut, and her hair was very short. She’d done nothing about the gray that flecked the blackness, and Rhodes approved.

  “Notice anything?” she asked.

  “Besides the haircut?” Rhodes asked. “I like it, by the way.”

  “No, not the haircut,” Ivy said, tilting her head. Rhodes saw the gold ball on her left earlobe.

  “My lord,” he said, “you’ve had your ears pierced.”

  Ivy took his hands and pulled him into the house. “That’s right,” she said. “I just thought, better late than never. They do it right there at the beauty parlor. It was an impulse, I guess. I think I’ve always wanted pierced ears, but I never had the nerve to get it done. What do you think?”

  Rhodes was feeling like a kid again, and he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. When he had been young, “nice” girls weren’t the ones with pierced ears. But that had been a long time ago. Surely he wasn’t that old-fashioned, was he?

  “I like it,” he said. And he did. “I’ll have to get you a pair of earrings with diamonds.”

  Ivy was pleased. “You’re sure? You don’t think I’m a hussy?”

  Rhodes laughed aloud. Ivy looked so young, and made him feel so young, that he kept forgetting that she was nearly his own age. She must have had the same thought he had. “Of course not,” he said. “How could anyone think that? It never entered my mind.” A good thing no one can arrest the sheriff for lying, he thought. Anyway, it’s just a white lie.

  “Liar,” Ivy laughed. She led him over to the couch, a not-very-comfortable model covered in thick gold cloth.

  “Well, maybe the thought did cross my mind,” Rhodes said. “You know, a man of my generation. . ”

  “Never mind,” Ivy said. “Tell me all the hot gossip of the county.”

  Rhodes told her about the doll that the Wheelis boy had found in the ditch. “Buddy’s not the most liberal-minded man in town, you know. Not too long ago he tried to charge a couple with adultery. I’d bet that by the time he turns in the evidence, it’s flatter than a pancake and rolled into a little ball.”

  Ivy laughed at the story, but she wanted to know about the murder investigation. Rhodes told her about the four men at the Gottschalk place, and he told her that Bert Ramsey’s funeral would be the next day.

  “I’d like to go,” she said.

  Rhodes was surprised. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I feel sorry for Mrs. Ramsey. She seemed so sad when we talked to her.”

  “Can you get off work?”

  “I think so. What time?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “Can you pick me up, or shall I go by myself?”

  “I’ll pick you up,” Rhodes said. “I’ll be there on official business, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t let you go with me.”

  “Fine. I’ll be ready.”

  Just at that moment, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, lighting up the darkness outside. It was followed almost at once by a tremendously loud roll of thunder. The lights flickered and went out.

  “Must have hit a transformer,” Rhodes said lamely.

  “Where was Moses when the lights went out?” Ivy asked.

  “I remember that one from the eleventh grade,” Rhodes said. “From Huckleberry Finn. He was in the dark. Just like us.” The eleventh hour, he thought. Oh, lord. He put his arm up on the back of the couch. He could barely see Ivy, but she was there. Oh, lord, he thought again.

  Chapter 10

  Rhodes was sure of two things the next morning. One was that he was not making much progress in finding out who had killed Bert Ramsey. The thought of attending the funeral brought that fact home, hard. So far, Rhodes had talked to Buster Cullens for a few minutes and learned nothing. He had also talked to four members of Los Muertos and learned even less.

  Why would Los Muertos want to kill Ramsey, anyway? Rhodes had no idea, and he certainly had no hard evidence that they were involved in any way at all. Mrs. Ramsey had heard motorcycles. That was it.

  And what about Buster Cullens? Again, he had Mrs. Ramsey’s story that Buster was now living with Bert’s old girl friend, along with Mrs. Ramsey’s strong feeling that Buster was guilty. And that was all. There was nothing to link the two men in any other way.

  What bothered Rhodes most was the money in Bert’s house, along with all the evidence of a lot of spending. Bert hadn’t earned all the money by doing odd jobs.

  The other thing that Rhodes was sure of was that he was now an engaged man. Or maybe he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it seemed to him that he’d made some pretty definite promi
ses. He was engaged, all right. Of course, they hadn’t set a date or anything like that. He wished he could remember his exact words.

  It didn’t really matter, however. Rhodes still felt like a teenager, and he also felt inordinately pleased with himself. He’d have to call Kathy and let her know.

  He had a bowl of Grape Nuts, got dressed in khakis, and rode down to the jail. There was not much going on. A nursing home patient was missing, but he had wandered off before, and no one was really worried yet. There had been a bit of vandalism at the high school, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Rhodes caught up on his reports and then went to pick up Ivy.

  Ivy was dressed in a dark gray suit, and Rhodes was once again impressed with her trim figure. She made no reference to the previous night, and neither did Rhodes. It didn’t seem like the proper time.

  The rainfall had settled the dust and greened up the grass, and the northerly breeze that had pushed in behind it had cooled the weather down to an almost bearable temperature. The cemetery would be muddy, but probably not too bad.

  They arrived at Ballinger’s. Rhodes parked in front, this time, and they went in. They signed the register and sat in the back of the small chapel. Rhodes didn’t like funerals.

  The organist played a series of the slowest, most maudlin tunes imaginable-”In the Garden,” “Sunrise,” “The Old Rugged Cross.” Rhodes was going to make out a list of upbeat numbers for his own funeral and request that they be played at top speed. He was considering “The Uncloudy Day” and “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder” when the rest of the small crowd began to trickle in.

  Rhodes recognized some of them, people for whom Ramsey had worked, for the most part, except for old Tink Lindsey and his wife. Attending funerals was their only form of entertainment, and Clyde Ballinger had once told Rhodes that the Lindseys hadn’t missed a funeral at his establishment in the last fifteen years.

  The minister came in and stood beside the open casket. Then the family came in and was seated in an alcove just off to the left of the main section of the chapel. There were Mrs. Ramsey and two men. Rhodes didn’t know the men, but he assumed they were uncles or cousins. The minister had just begun to speak about “the dear departed” when Wyneva Greer came in. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a faded blue shirt. She walked down near the front and took a seat.

  The minister began talking about how he had searched for a scripture appropriate to the life of a man like Bert Ramsey, someone who’d made his livelihood by helping others. “In the course of my search,” he said, “I came across Chapter 4 of Ephesians, in which Paul says. .”

  It was at this point that Mrs. Ramsey looked up and saw Wyneva Greer. “Get that woman out of here,” she said, in a stage whisper.

  The preacher stopped abruptly in his talk. “Preach on, preacher,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “Get that woman out of here,” she hissed to one of the men beside her.

  The preacher, unable to figure out just exactly what was happening, remained silent. “Preach on, preacher,” Mrs. Ramsey said again.

  The minister tried to pick up the thread of his talk. “Ah. . now in Ephesians, Paul speaks of how people have different abilities, and of how some are put here for service. .”

  Neither of the men by Mrs. Ramsey had made a move, so she hauled her bulk up and squeezed herself out between the narrow pews, heading for Wyneva. The minister stopped again.

  “Preach on,” Mrs. Ramsey said over her shoulder. The minister stood with his mouth open, but nothing came out.

  Wyneva sat stolidly, watching Mrs. Ramsey approach. Ivy’s elbow touched Rhodes lightly in the ribs. Rhodes had had a bad experience at the last funeral of a murder victim he’d attended, one which he wasn’t eager to repeat. He got up, and he started for Wyneva Greer.

  Mrs. Ramsey got there first and reached for Wyneva’s shoulders with her huge hands. Before she could get a solid grip, Rhodes brushed her arms aside, took Wyneva’s arm and pulled her into the aisle.

  “I got a right to be here,” Wyneva said.

  “You ain’t got no rights at all, you godless hussy,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “Bert wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Get on out of here, right now!” She turned back to the minister. “And you get on with your preachin’,” she said.

  Rhodes noticed the Lindseys, who were sitting with rapt expressions on their faces. He would have bet that they were enjoying this funeral more than any one they’d attended in the past fifteen years. He increased his pull on Wyneva’s arms, and she reluctantly gave ground. By the time Mrs. Ramsey got turned to face them again, Rhodes had backed Wyneva nearly all the way to the rear of the chapel.

  Mrs. Ramsey appeared satisfied. Rather than working her way back to the family section, she sat in the nearest pew. “Get on with it, preacher,” she said.

  The preacher cleared his throat, and as Rhodes was pulling Wyneva through the back door the message was beginning again.

  Clyde Ballinger, who had come around from his spot near the family, was waiting for Rhodes and Wyneva when they left the chapel. “I swear I never saw anything like that,” Ballinger said. “That old woman was on a real tear.”

  Wyneva jerked her arm free of Rhodes’s grip. “Crazy old bat,” she said. “I got as much right as the next person to sit in there.”

  “You have a right,” Rhodes said, “but I have a feeling that if you go back in there, there won’t be much of a service.”

  “You can walk around with me and listen by the family section,” Ballinger said.

  Wyneva shook her head. “That’s all right. I guess it was a mistake for me to come here. I’m going outside for some air.” She started for the big double door in the front of the building. Rhodes followed along.

  “Mrs. Ramsey really has it in for you,” Rhodes said when they were outside on the long cement porch. “Do you have any idea why?”

  “Sure I do,” Wyneva said. “She thought I corrupted her precious boy. Well, she’s sure wrong about that.” She stopped. “Buster said I wasn’t to talk to you, though.”

  “Buster doesn’t have anything to do with this, does he?” Rhodes asked.

  “I can’t say.” Wyneva stepped off the porch and started down the walk. When Rhodes followed, she began to run. She was faster than he would have thought, and he really didn’t want to leave Ivy alone. He could talk to Wyneva later, so he let her go.

  He went back inside the funeral home, but he didn’t enter the chapel. He’d never liked the end of the service, where everyone had to walk down the aisle and take a last long look at the dead. He’d seen enough of death in its natural state, but he thought that the efforts of morticians did little to improve things. If anything, the distortion of life that they produced repelled Rhodes as much or more than the real thing. Not that he’d ever tell Clyde Ballinger that.

  While he waited, he decided to go to the graveside service, which was to be held at the little cemetery by the Eller’s Prairie Baptist Church. After the service, he could go have another talk with Wyneva and with Buster Cullens.

  Rhodes walked out to his car and got Hack on the radio. “Call Buddy off the funeral traffic detail,” he said. “I’ll work it myself.”

  “Roger,” Hack said.

  “What?”

  “Roger,” Hack repeated.

  “Oh,” Rhodes said. “Over and out.” Hack must have been talking to Ruth Grady again. He wondered if she’d brought in another cake.

  The first mourners, if that was the proper term, began to leave the funeral home, and Rhodes went back up on the porch to wait for Ivy. “Did the rest go all right?” he asked when she came out the door.

  “As right as those things go,” she said. “Who was that poor woman?”

  “I thought Mrs. Ramsey was the one you felt sorry for,” Rhodes said.

  “Not anymore. Who was that?”

  “That was Wyneva Greer, former live-in girlfriend of the late Bert Ramsey.”

  “Oh,” Ivy said.

  “I’m going on to the gra
veside,” Rhodes said. “Do you want me to run you by home first?”

  “I have the whole day off,” Ivy said. “I don’t mind spending a little more time with you. It’s never dull.”

  “It usually is,” Rhodes said. “Just wait till you’re around me all the time.”

  Ivy looked at him closely. “I’m actually looking forward to that a lot,” she said.

  Rhodes blushed. “Let’s get in the car,” he said.

  While the hearse was being loaded from the rear of the chapel, Rhodes and Ivy drove to the only intersection of Clearview that would need traffic control. Rhodes stopped the car and got out, and as the short funeral procession approached he held up a hand to stop the cars on the side street. There were only three, two on one side of the intersection and one on the other, and they would probably have stopped without Rhodes’s being there.

  There were only seven cars in the procession, counting the hearse. When they had passed, all with their lights on, Rhodes got back in with Ivy, turned on his own lights, and followed along.

  When they were only about a mile out of Clearview, Rhodes heard the motorcycles. There were four, and they came roaring up behind the procession at more than fifty miles an hour. Rhodes could hear the thunder of their pipes even though he had the windows up and the air conditioner on.

  There were four bikes, all in a single line. As they zipped by the car, Rhodes had no time to look closely at the riders, but he figured he knew who they were.

  The bikes sped by all the cars in the procession, and luckily there was no one coming in the other direction.

  When each rider drew even with the long, black hearse, he did a wheelie, gliding past the hearse with the front wheel of the bike in the air. As the front wheel touched the road again, each rider gunned his engine and swung back into the right lane of the road. Rhodes couldn’t see them after that, but the diminishing sound of their exhausts told him that they were rapidly pulling ahead.

  “Aren’t you going to arrest those hooligans?” Ivy asked.

  “Nope. They saw me just as clearly as we saw them,” Rhodes said. “And they know I’m not going to disrupt this funeral procession to go chasing after them. It’s just their formal salute to a departed member, I guess. Nothing to make a fuss about.”