She stopped brushing and Webster scrambled to his feet and escaped, settling a safe ten feet away from her. “Terry thinks you should stay out of this, Abby. And I tend to agree.”
“Ah. Found it.” I took the map to the kitchen table. “I need to understand what happened in Ben’s past, and maybe then I’ll know why someone wanted him dead.”
Kate marched over to the pantry and began searching the shelves.
“What are you looking for?” I said. “We just ate.”
She turned and held up a canister. “Sounds to me like you need a good detoxification. This tea from Africa will—”
“The red stuff that makes my lips swell?” I asked. “That tea is scary.”
“No. Something different.” She filled a mug with water and set it in the microwave. “Trust me. This will clear your head.”
Webster sauntered to Kate’s side and sniffed the air when she removed a tea bag from the canister. If a dog could look disgusted, Webster looked disgusted. He made a beeline for his lamb’s-wool rug by the back door and feigned sleep.
“Kate, did you hear me say our police expert, Sergeant Kline, failed to mention Ben was never indicted for that murder he supposedly committed?”
“I heard.”
“That’s an omission that kind of ticks me off. What about ‘innocent until proven guilty’ and all that founding-father stuff?”
“If the police think Ben was guilty of his wife’s murder, I’m betting they had good reason to suspect him.”
“There has to be more to the story. You knew Ben, how kind he seemed. I need to hear what happened, judge for myself.” I unfolded the map on the kitchen table and found the town of Shade, situated sixty miles north of Houston.
The microwave dinged and Kate took the steaming mug and dunked the tea bag in the water several times. “Okay. Let me go with you. Not today, since I have a client later this afternoon, but—”
“The sheriff said he could spare a few minutes this afternoon; otherwise, I’d have to wait until next week. It’s not my fault you have a life that actually requires a Franklin Planner. I’m doing this.”
“Like Daddy used to say,” Kate said, “trying to talk you out of something you’ve set your mind to is like trying to take dew off the grass. But when you get back, I want to put all this aside. We have unfinished business.”
“You’re talking about the house, I take it?”
She nodded. “I know you don’t want to live here alone once I move out, so we have decisions to make. Big decisions.”
“You’re moving in with Terry for sure, then?”
“I need to live with him before jumping into marriage. I don’t want us to end up like you and Steven. Watching what you went through with him has spooked me, I guess.”
“Spooked you? Come on, Kate. I found it entertaining—kind of like a circus, really. Steven the juggler, balancing two and three women at once. Steven the magician, disappearing for days on end. Steven the lion tamer, handling Abby’s temper with deft and evasive—”
“Abby!” Kate cut in. “Did you forget I had a front-row seat for your so-called circus?”
“Well, I’m a born-again virgin . . . not even angry with Steven anymore. He and I do much better as friends.” I foraged around in the depths of my purse for the ever-elusive keys, avoiding eye contact.
“You still care about him.”
“We had chemistry. Strong stuff. But it’s fading.” I waved a hand in dismissal. “Believe me, I can control my feelings.”
Kate filled a travel tumbler with ice, poured the tea in, and brought the cup to me. “Drink this on the way. Obviously you need a good detox.”
Once out the back door, I lifted the plastic tumbler to my nose. Even with the lid on, I could smell something herbal enough to drive buzzards off roadkill. Some things I would miss about Kate when she moved out; some I would not.
I poured the tea out the window at the first stoplight I came to.
Heat radiated off the blacktop as I drove away from Houston. We needed rain. Thanks to a late-summer drought, the usually vibrant green medians were parched brown stripes stretching into the horizon. As I sped farther from the city, the traffic thinned and I savored the expansive landscape still undefiled by strip malls and Wal-Marts. With the cruise control set at seventy, I considered what I’d learned from hacking into Terry’s computer. Seems Ben had been the chief suspect in the death of his wife. She’d died at home fifteen years ago, after swallowing a cold medicine laced with cyanide. Was it coincidence husband and wife died from the same poison? I didn’t think so, and I had no doubt Sergeant Kline would agree with me—if he had an agreeable bone in his body.
The Shade police had taken Ben into custody right after Cloris’s death, but he’d been released the same day. Seems no direct evidence connected him to her murder. He was questioned several times in the months that followed, and from what I could discern from the brief reports I’d read, he was their only suspect, his apparent motive being a large insurance policy taken out on Cloris the year before.
But even though I’d learned where Ben lived before working for us and heard about his troubled past, I still had no idea if he left any family behind. But I intended to meet them and offer them any help they might require if, in fact, they existed. As I drove deeper into rural America, I thoroughly convinced myself I was doing what Daddy would have done by paying my respects to an employee’s family. You’d have thought I’d never heard a word about the road to hell.
An hour later I sat across from Sheriff Stanley Nemec, his battered wormwood desk between us. The ceiling fan churned above, crying out for WD-40 every few seconds. A chaw of tobacco bulged in the man’s left cheek, and his gray-streaked mustache gave way to a quarter-inch stubble on his cheeks and chin.
After pressing his tobacco lower between his cheek and gum with a fat finger, Nemec said, “Died a complicated death, Mrs. Cloris Grayson did. Someone went to plenty of trouble.”
“And you’re certain Ben killed her?” I said.
“A lead-pipe cinch. He had plenty of time and plenty of reason to do the deed. What chaps my hide is that if you’re persuaded to kill someone, you shoot ’em and get it over with. Nail them in the back, if you can’t look ’em in the eye. Only a coward slips poison in stuff that’s supposed to make you feel better.”
“Could she have committed suicide?” I asked.
“I considered the possibility and rejected the notion ten seconds later. Why go to all the trouble of taking cold capsules apart and packing them with cyanide? Hell, she coulda just swallowed the stuff.” Nemec leaned forward and spit in the paper cup he held.
“I see your point. But could anyone besides Ben have tampered with the medicine?”
“I suppose, but no one had a motive ’cept for him. Course, he had himself a convenient alibi. Doing carpenter work up on Ridge Road in front of six men the day she died. But I always said he coulda snuck that poison in anytime.”
“There was no real proof he murdered her, though?”
“No signed confession. No fingerprints on the medicine bottle. No cyanide in the shed. None of that. So, much as I tried, I couldn’t pin anything on him.”
“But you still think he killed her?”
“Sure as hell’s hot.”
“Did Ben have any relatives besides Cloris?”
“They had no kids, and he had no other kin I know about, but he remarried not long ago. Local widow named Ruth Sawyer. Fine person, too. What she saw in him is the real mystery here.”
“He had a wife?”
“Yeah. They was newlyweds.” He said this last word with undisguised contempt.
“You disliked Ben?” I said, thinking it odd that a newly married man would work so far from home. Had he come back here on his days off?
“Disliked Ben?” the sheriff was saying. “Nah, I hated him. Made his life hell after he murdered Cloris. Figured if I couldn’t stick him in jail, I’d make him feel like a cell might not be such a bad i
dea. Better than livin’ with me hounding him day and night. To this very day, I don’t understand why he stayed in this town.”
“Did he ever offer an explanation?”
Nemec nodded and spit again. “Oh, sure. Told me every chance he got how he’d never leave until he proved me wrong. Then he goes and marries the widow of the guy who sold him all that insurance on Cloris. I considered that more than a little fishy.”
“But his wife’s death was years ago. Did Ben even know Ruth Sawyer then?”
“Course. Everyone knows everyone here in Shade.” I’m sure they did. “Seems Ben’s wife is the person I came here to find. Could you tell me where she lives?”
“I already broke the news to her after HPD faxed the first report yesterday. She’s pretty tore up, so you best leave her alone.” He leaned back in the chair, his gut hanging over his belt. Rusty-brown tobacco stains dotted his dingy shirt, along with whatever he’d had for lunch. Something with mustard, I decided.
“I want to speak to her, so if you don’t mind—”
“I do mind. I don’t want you bothering the woman. She’s been widowed twice now.”
I rose. “Since everyone knows everyone here, I suppose plenty of other folks in Shade could point me in the right direction.”
Nemec stood and placed his chunky hands on the desk, his jowled face dark with anger. “Don’t go bringing up that murdering no-good’s name around my town. Just go back to Houston and leave us be.”
“I wouldn’t have to bring up his name if you’d simply help me out,” I replied sweetly, countering his agitation with a calmness that surprised me. For some reason, I had gained an advantage with this man, though I wasn’t sure why.
He stared at me for a second, his lips pursed, eyes narrowed. “Okay. I’ll tell you where Ruth lives if you have to know. But you’ll need to answer me one thing first. The fax from HPD said Ben was poisoned, nothing else. Exactly how did that son of a bitch get his?”
“Cyanide,” I answered quietly.
His mouth spread in an unpleasant smile, revealing stained, uneven teeth. “Finally got a taste of his own medicine, huh?”
Not long after I left the sheriff’s office, I sat down with Ruth Grayson in the small front room of her one-story wood-frame home. Our comfortable twin chairs with their worn upholstery offered a view out a large picture window. A round oak table covered with lace doilies sat between us.
After I’d offered my condolences and told Mrs. Grayson what I could remember of Ben’s last day on earth—which was precious little, unfortunately—she wanted to fix me tea, even offered to cook me an early supper, but I persuaded her I needed nothing more than time to talk about Ben.
Twisting a blue tissue with arthritic fingers, she said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know this is difficult,” I said, “but I visited the sheriff first and he was telling me that—”
“Oh, I know what he said, that my Ben was a killer. That he murdered Cloris. Isn’t that right, miss?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“Let me set you straight, then. Ben loved Cloris with all his heart. That’s one reason I didn’t marry him when he first asked me. Her ghost was still perched on his shoulder. The man missed her something awful.”
“And this is the woman he was accused of killing?”
“Don’t make sense, do it? But Miss Rose, I’m not sure Ben would be happy with me talking about Cloris. That was his business, like he always told me.”
“Okay, let’s talk about Ben, then. Why are you so certain he was innocent?”
“You married, Miss Rose?”
“I have been, yes.”
“Because if you’ve been married, then you know that if you live with a man, see how he does you day in and day out, how he handles what the Lord sends him, well . . . you know if he’s a liar. Ain’t that true, miss?”
“Yes,” I said, silently adding, though sometimes not right away. “But why didn’t Ben leave Shade? He could have started over in a new town.”
“He feared the insurance company would think he was guilty if he ran off. You see, they tried to wangle out of paying after Cloris’s death, seein’ as how he was a suspect and all.”
“Sheriff Nemec mentioned an insurance policy,” I said.
The weather-worn skin over her prominent cheek-bones took on color. “He told you about that, did he? Bet he didn’t mention how Ben only bought that insurance to help my first husband out. We were losing our shirt with the farm and started selling policies on the side. So Ben—and plenty of others, I might add—bought insurance he didn’t even need. And that was the Ben Grayson I knew.” She nodded, her mouth drawn into a stubborn pucker. “He was never no wife killer. Not never.” Her chin quivered and she fought back tears, then said, “It’s okay, Miss Rose. Don’t look so worried. I’m all right.”
“Please, call me Abby.” I reached across and touched one thin arm. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I want to help. How can I do that?”
“You could help me bring him home so I can put him to rest. I never been to Houston. Wouldn’t know where to start if I had to go there and . . . find him.”
“I’ll arrange everything. You won’t have to leave your home.”
“You’d do that for a stranger?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
She studied my face, then said, “You’re one fine lady, Miss Abby. Even if you do come from the city.”
I smiled. “I take that as a high compliment. I have one more question. Ben was using the name Garrison while he worked for me. Why did he change his name?”
She blinked her red-rimmed eyes several times, looking as if she’d put a bucket down a well and brought up Coke instead of water. “He was using some other name? He never said a word about that.”
“When did you speak to him last?”
“About a week ago. He called, said he was making progress. Sounded happier than I think I can ever remember.”
“Making progress? On what?”
“Well, I assumed on finding out who killed Cloris. That’s why he went to Houston in the first place. He’s been trying to find the person who killed her ever since she died. Sometimes he’d follow a lead for weeks and come back with nothing. But this last time was different. He’s been gone long on three months.”
I leaned back in the chair, questions flying through my brain like gnats. “I-I guess I assumed Ben came to Houston to find work.”
“Oh, no, Miss Abby. We had plenty of money since the insurance finally paid him what they owed—with interest, I might add.”
So Ben had ended up at my house to search for the truth about his wife’s murder. What clue had led him to us? Had he found the proof to clear his name? And was he killed because of what he’d learned?
I stood. “You’ve been so helpful, Mrs. Grayson. I won’t keep you any longer.”
“You’ve gone white as flour, miss. You sure you’re all right?”
“Well, I’m not sure I understand why he ended up working for my sister and me, that’s all.”
“Could be a simple explanation, Miss Abby. Ben’s been a workingman all his life. Could hardly think straight if he wasn’t using his hands. Can’t see him holin’ up in some hotel while he was in the city. That woulda never suited him. Carpentry was his first love, but he liked working with the earth, too. My guess is he took the job to keep busy while he looked for the killer.”
“Maybe,” I said, not sure I bought this explanation.
Ruth Grayson and I exchanged phone numbers, and I promised again that I’d move Ben’s body back to Shade for burial as soon as the police gave me the okay.
After we said our good-byes, I walked out into the late-afternoon heat, slid behind the wheel of my Camry, and pulled onto the dirt drive that led to the main road.
A cloud of dust signaled the approach of another vehicle, and with the road barely wide enough for my car, I wasn’t sure I could squeeze over without side-swiping the rail f
ence. I started to back up, but then recognized the car and braked.
Willis’s Mercedes lurched to a halt beside me, and he rolled down his window.
I did the same and tried to sound pleasant despite my irritation. “Hi, there, Willis.”
“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Long way from home, aren’t you?” I forced a smile. I was not in the market for a surrogate father, even if he’d driven sixty miles to apply for the job.
“I asked you why you’re here.” His nose wrinkled and the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose edged closer to his eyes.
“Paying my respects to Ben’s widow.”
“Kate tells me you found things out about Ben. Unpleasant things.” He blotted his wet forehead with a handkerchief.
“Depends on whose version you listen to. And exactly why are you here?” Heat poured in through the open window, and I could feel sweat erupting on my hairline.
“Charlie expected me to look out for his girls after he died, so when Kate told me what you were up to, I thought I should help. The sheriff sent me this way.”
“You may be surprised to learn that I go to bed after Letterman, so I qualify as an adult. I can handle my own affairs.”
I pressed the window control and stomped on the gas, leaving him behind in a whirl of red dust.
5
Willis followed me home from Shade, coming in on my heels through the back door when we arrived. To my dismay, Kate immediately invited him to dinner.
She had prepared an organic vegetable ragout, and we ate in the kitchen, probably because any concoction containing rutabagas was never meant to be eaten in a dining room the size of a football field. No, I consider rutabagas, turnips, and collard greens to be kitchen food, the kind of stuff you feed the dog when no one’s looking.
Willis seemed completely unruffled by our previous testy encounter, so after we finished eating, I reminded him about his offer of assistance when he’d come over yesterday. “I think that’s why you drove all the way to Shade today, right? To help me out?”
“That’s right.” Willis wiped a zucchini seed off his chin with his napkin.
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