by Bill Crider
He wondered what she did want, though. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened at Milsby last night.
Rhodes opened the refrigerator and got out a plastic jug of low-fat milk, a package of thin-sliced bologna, and a jar of Gulden’s mustard. He’d hoped for a slice of cheese, but there was none in the usual spot. Kathy had forgotten to buy it. He made a sandwich with whole wheat bread and poured a tall glass of the milk.
After he ate, he would call Ivy Daniels.
Chapter 6
After Ivy Daniels’s husband had died in an automobile accident in another state, she’d immediately found a job. The husband had been a salesman of farm implements, had earned a good salary, and had been well insured; but Ivy was not the type of woman to sit around the house and live off insurance payments. She had an active mind and wanted to feel useful, which was also why she was running for justice of the peace.
Finding a job had been easy. She had happened to remark to Stan Pence, the owner of the independent insurance agency who had handled her husband’s policies, that she would like to go to work. Pence, who had been looking for a second secretary, hired her virtually on the spot. Ivy had been working for Pence for three years, and he secretly hoped that she would lose her political race. He would have a very hard time finding someone to replace her, because her efficiency and quick intelligence had made her almost indispensable to his office.
The office was where Rhodes reached her after he finished his lunchtime sandwich. “My daughter left a note asking me to call,” he explained after the first secretary had put him through to Ivy.
“Yes,” she said. “I. . I don’t really know how to put this, Sheriff, but it’s related to what happened at the forum last night.”
There was a pause.
“Well,” Rhodes said, “sometimes it’s best just to come right out and say what’s on your mind.”
“That’s true, but since I called earlier, I’ve thought it over. It’s not something I’d like to discuss on the phone. “
What do you know? thought Rhodes. Maybe she does want a date after all. But he didn’t say it. “If that’s the case, maybe we could get together after you get off work,” he said, and stopped. He found himself almost embarrassed. It had been quite a while since he had talked to a woman about meeting him after work. In fact, he’d never done it. The idea of the date began to grow in his mind, and he found himself feeling more and more like an adolescent. He glanced down to make sure that he wasn’t digging his toe into the rug. Why should a simple conversation with Ivy Daniels affect him this way?
He ended the awkward silence by saying, somewhat to his surprise, “I could pick you up about seven. We could have dinner.”
“‘Why that’s a very nice idea, Sheriff,” Ivy Daniels said brightly. It was clear that she was a little surprised herself.
“Don’t dress up,” Rhodes said quickly. “I mean, don’t. .”
“I understand, Sheriff. A man in your position wouldn’t have time for anything fancy. “
“Uh, it’s not that. It’s, well, never mind. We’ll go to Jeoff’s. Is that all right?”
“That would be very nice. I’ll see you at seven, then.”
“Yes, seven,” Rhodes repeated and hung up the phone. He wondered what he might be getting himself into.
At the jail that afternoon, Hack had the report on the bloodstains on Billy Joe Byron’s shirt. “Type A,” he said. “Same type as Jeanne Clinton.”
“And Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked.
“Plain old type O, is what our records show.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rhodes said. He sat down in a rickety desk chair. There might be all kinds of good reasons why Billy Joe had type A blood on his shirt, or there might not. Could Billy Joe be a murderer? To Rhodes it just didn’t seem possible. Billy Joe might peep in a window, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“What do you think, Hack?” he asked.
“I ain’t the sheriff,” Hack said. “I don’t get paid enough to do any thinkin’.”
“Pretend you’re getting a bonus this year.”
“In that case, I might think that it just don’t seem possible that a harmless sort of a fella like Billy Joe could murder somebody like Jeanne Clinton. Seems like if somebody like her told him to go away and leave her alone, he’d just go away and not say another word.”
Rhodes was glad to see that his own instincts weren’t too far out of line with Hack’s. “I feel exactly the same way,” he said, “but the same we better hang on to Billy Joe for
a few days. I don’t believe any lawyer is going to come around worrying about his civil rights, and it’s barely possible that he’s guilty. I wish he’d talk to us, but if he won’t I’ll just keep looking for answers somewhere else.”
“Fine with me,” said Hack. “Another thing. Buddy came in and told me to let you know that as far as he can establish there’s no connection a’tall between Terry Wayne and Ralph Claymore.”
Rhodes shook his head. “OK, but tell him to keep on looking. Something funny’s going on there.”
“Right,” Hack said, picking up a slip of paper from in front of his radio. “Now there’s a few other things I need to ask you about.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Ella Conner.”
Rhodes groaned. “The ducks?”
“You guessed it,” Hack said, smiling. Ella Conner started calling every spring, as regular as the change of season, about her neighbor’s ducks, which she felt were illegally harvesting her garden spot.
“Did you send anybody around?” Rhodes asked.
“Sent Buddy. He run the ducks back home. Ella wanted him to shoot one or two of them for what Buddy says she called an ‘object lesson.’”
“Lord, I hope Buddy had more sense than to do something like that.”
“He did, but if I was you I wouldn’t be countin’ on Ella’s vote this time around. Old Man Evans’s either, come to that. He was pretty mad about Buddy chasin’ his ducks.” At the thought of the deputy pursuing the criminal ducks, Hack laughed aloud.
Rhodes tried to manage a smile, but he wasn’t able. It was almost too much. Murder wasn’t bad enough. Now he’d lost two votes because of ducks in Ella Conner’s garden spot.
“Then there’s this guy upstairs,” Hack said.
“What guy upstairs?”
“The Polish refugee,” Hack said, clearly enjoying himself.
“You’re kidding,” Rhodes said. He was actually surprised. This was a new one on him.
“Not kidding a bit,” Hack said. “Picked him up out on 77, walking the median stripe. What do they drink over there in Poland? Besides water, I mean?”
“Vodka, these days,” Rhodes told him.
“Yeah. Well, this guy must have drunk about ten bottles of the stuff. “
“Can he speak English?”
“Some. Enough to say he’s a Polish refugee. Why, you goin’ to question him?”
“I thought I might,” Rhodes said.
“Wouldn’t do you no good right now,” Hack said. “He’s snorin’ so loud, you couldn’t hear what he said.”
“We’ll check him out later then,” Rhodes said. He changed the subject. “Tell me, Hack. What do you know about Bill Tomkins?”
Hack thought for a second or two. “He’s the fella found Jeanne Clinton’s body, right?”
“Right. You know much about him?”
“Not a lot, and that’s the truth. I don’t know too many folks over in Thurston. I hear he don’t work for a livin’, though. Supposed to have some kind of a disability pension from the government.”
Rhodes thought about Tomkins and his breathing problem. Maybe that was the reason for the pension.
“Ever hear anything about him and Jeanne?”
“Not a thing, and from all I’ve heard lately that Jeanne was a mighty nice girl. Maybe a little wild when she was younger, but not a bit of it anymore. Marryin’ old Elmer seems to have calmed her down a whole lot. Anyth
ing about her and Bill Tomkins, well, I expect you’d have to ask around over in Thurston for something like that.”
“That’s what I plan to be doing,” Rhodes said. But that will have to wait until tomorrow, he thought. He already had his evening planned; even a good sheriff couldn’t devote his whole life to the job.
He didn’t mention his meeting with Ivy Daniels to Hack. Hack might interpret it as a date instead of as a meeting with an informant.
That evening, Kathy was careful not to make any remarks about her father’s plans. She was privately of the mind that it was time he started having a little social life, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he would like to have her say.
Rhodes bathed and dressed in a sport shirt and slacks. It felt strange not to have on his badge and twill uniform. It felt even stranger not to have his.38 caliber Police Special hanging on his belt. He didn’t particularly like to carry it, but people expected it of him, so he did. Now, without it, he felt slightly unbalanced, as if he might tip over backwards and fall.
“I understand that Jeoff’s is a pretty fancy place,” he said to Kathy, who was sitting in the kitchen at the round oak table with a stack of ruled papers in front of her.
Kathy put down her red pen, moved the papers aside, and looked at her father. “‘Fancy for Clearview, maybe,” she said. “That’s about all you can say for it. But the food’s not bad.”
“You can get wine there,” Rhodes said, half questioningly.
“Yes, but you have to be a member of their private ‘club.’ That just means that you pay the waitress a five-dollar fee, and she gives you a card with your name and membership number on it. Then you can order wine anytime you go for a year.”
“I don’t know very much about ordering wine.”
“Just ask for the house wine. It’s not bad, and you can get it by the glass instead of by the bottle.”
“You’ve been there, I take it.” Rhodes was not really surprised.
“Sure. Where else is there to go if you want a good meal and a pleasant atmosphere?” Kathy picked up her pen and started looking over the top paper. “It’s very popular.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m just not used to this sort of thing,” Rhodes said ruefully. “I’m too old to be taking a strange woman out to dinner.” He glanced down at his stomach and was dismayed that he couldn’t quite see his belt buckle. “I don’t know why I didn’t just go by her house and see what she wanted to say. Sometimes I just talk before I think about what I’m getting myself into.”
Kathy stood up and kissed her father on the cheek. “Don’t be silly. It’ll do you good to get away from your problems and have a nice dinner with an attractive woman.”
Rhodes had to laugh. “It almost seems as if you’ll be glad to get rid of me. You sound like you want me out of the house.”
“That’s not it at all. Just enjoy yourself and don’t worry so much.”
“I’ll try,” Rhodes said, not making any promises.
Jeoff’s was on a side street just off a main thoroughfare. It was actually a remodeled private home, with tables in the various rooms. There was a green, tree-shaded yard, which was crossed by a sidewalk. To obtain entrance, customers had to ring the doorbell, which was answered by a young waitress dressed as if she might be about to set off for school. It was all a little too cute for Rhodes’s taste, but Ivy Daniels seemed to like it.
“Look at all the plants,” she said as Rhodes held her chair for her. “They’ve really done a nice job with them.”
It was true. The room in which they had been seated looked to Rhodes like a miniature jungle. The walls were hung with baskets of green plants, and not a corner was bare of something growing. In fact, the room was so small that there was room only for the one table and all the plants. Rhodes liked the privacy, but he wasn’t overly fond of the plants.
“They’re all right,” he said. “It’s the skylight that does it.” In remodeling the house, the restaurant owners had installed a sizeable skylight in each of the dining rooms.
Rhodes walked around the table to his own seat, brushing a Boston fern with his leg. The waitress came in, and he paid her five dollars to join the ‘club.’
“What wine can I get you?” the waitress asked, after Rhodes had slipped his new identification card into his billfold.
“What are the house wines?” Rhodes asked, feeling sophisticated.
“We have a white wine and a rosé,” the waitress said. “Which would you prefer, Ivy?” Rhodes asked. They had decided on first names while driving over.
“The rosé, please,” she said.
“I’ll have the same,” Rhodes said.
The waitress left them with menus, and Rhodes glanced covertly at Ivy while choosing his meal. He had to admit that he liked what he saw: a good, strong face, not exactly pretty, but certainly handsome. Her hair was short and seemed to accent her features in just the right way, softening them slightly. Her eyes were blue, and her teeth were even and straight.
But what does it matter? Rhodes thought. I’m not really interested. “What looks good to you?” he asked.
“The small tenderloin, I think. Well done,” she added.
“Sounds good to me too. I’m glad I won’t have to watch the blood when you cut.”
I’ve got to do better than that, Rhodes thought, even if I’m not interested.
But Ivy seemed not to notice anything crude in his statement. “I’ll have the salad, not the soup, and a baked potato instead of the French fries,” she said.
“So far, so good,” Rhodes said. “I’ll have the same thing.”
The waitress came with the wine and took their orders. After she had gone, Rhodes decided that it was time to find out why Ivy Daniels had wanted to talk to him. He took a sip of the wine, which wasn’t too bad, although he didn’t really like wine, and said, “I was a little surprised to get your call. Were you that impressed with me last night?”
Ivy smiled. “It does have to do with last night,” she said, “but not necessarily with my impression of you.”
“You weren’t impressed, then?”
“Oh, I was impressed, all right, but I was more impressed with that stunt of Ralph Claymore’s. I thought it was quite unfair.”
The waitress came back in with the salads and a basket of breadsticks and crackers, along with a revolving stand holding various kinds of dressing. Ivy helped herself to the Thousand Island, as did Rhodes. Then he took a breadstick and unwrapped it. “I don’t think that what happened was entirely Claymore’s fault,” he said. “I’ve done a little checking, and I’m pretty sure that he and Terry Wayne-the guy who made the big scene-don’t know one another.”
“Oh,” Ivy said. “I was so sure that it was a setup.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t a setup. I agree with you that it was. I’m just saying that I don’t think it was Claymore’s idea. I think that Wayne probably went to him with it.”
“But he went along with Wayne.”
“Well, you can’t blame him, really. It was a ready-made piece of sensation.”
“Yes, and it made the front page of this afternoon’s paper.”
Rhodes usually read the paper after eating supper, and in his rush to pick up Ivy he had forgotten all about it. “Is that so?” he said.
‘‘It’s so. The paper didn’t really take sides, but it didn’t look so good for you.”
They ate in silence for a minute. They both knew that the Clearview paper rarely took sides in any election.
Finally, after mastering a particularly large piece of lettuce, Rhodes said, “I’ll bet you didn’t call just to offer me your sympathy.”
“That’s right, I didn’t. I don’t really know how to go into this. It’s just that I didn’t like what happened, and I know something that probably you should know. But it may not be important at all, and I don’t like to think that I’m being vindictive by telling you. Besides. .”
“Hold on, hold on,”‘ Rhodes said. “The best thing to do i
s just to tell me. Then we’ll work on the morality of it. It’s too late to hold back now.”
“Couldn’t we just have a nice dinner and talk about something else?”
Rhodes suddenly realized how much he was enjoying talking to this woman, and he knew that he really didn’t care if she had anything of importance to tell him or not. But he said, “I think that you should go ahead and tell me. You wanted to, or you wouldn’t have called. We can have another dinner later and talk about something else at it.”
Ivy looked at him. “That would be very nice. The other dinner, I mean. I think I’d like that.” She paused and took a sip of wine. “Now. What I wanted to tell you was this. I have an aunt who lives in Thurston. She told me yesterday afternoon that Ralph Claymore has been visiting Jeanne Clinton.”
So that’s why he avoided that topic last night, Rhodes thought. He didn’t want to be tied to it in any way. “How does she know?” he said.
“Someone told her, she said.”
“Did she say who it was?”
“Yes. Someone named Bill Tomkins.”
Chapter 7
It was Friday morning, the morning that most residents of Blacklin County looked forward to each week. But that was not the case in the sheriff’s department. Friday meant that the weekend was coming, the weekend when ordinary citizens would be getting ready to go to the lake and do a little fishing, go to the local clubs and do a little drinking, go out on the highway and blow the carbon out of their car’s engine. For some other citizens, not so ordinary, it meant a chance to sneak in a not-so-carefully guarded store or get up a friendly little game of poker in an abandoned warehouse or maybe just drive off from a convenient self-service gas station without paying.
The latter types the sheriff’s department would always have with them, and to tell the truth Rhodes and his deputies didn’t even spend very much time worrying about them. They had to worry about the ordinary folks, the ones whose boats hit a snag in the lake and disappeared under the brownish water; the ones who got a little too excited when their girlfriends won a wet T-shirt contest and strangers, who had to be disciplined, looked at them too long and hard; the ones who were out endangering everyone else’s lives by zooming down the county roads at ninety miles an hour.