by Bill Crider
“No, he’s not dead. At least I don’t think he is. He was fine when I talked to him about half an hour ago.”
“Good. I’d hate to think there was a serial killer going around the county. Did you get the fella that killed Grat?”
“Not yet,” Rhodes said. “But I’m working on it.”
“How’d he die?”
“Somebody hit him in the head, then burned him up.”
Oliver mopped his face with the towel again. He tossed it down and said, “Jesus. That’s terrible.”
Julia didn’t say anything, but she nodded in agreement.
“I have one more question for you,” Rhodes said. “Do you know a woman named Linda Fenton?”
Oliver cut his eyes toward his wife, who didn’t seem to notice. She was sipping lemonade and looking down across the lawn at the road.
“I don’t think I ever heard of her,” Oliver said. “Does she live around here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Rhodes said.
Rhodes went by the jail after his talk with Oliver. He hadn’t learned much more from either Oliver or Beaman than he’d known to begin with, but he did discover that they were both liars. In fact, he was pretty sure that they were both lying about the same person, Linda Fenton, not that Rhodes blamed them. He’d probably lie too if he were involved with an ex-convict who’d been guilty of arson, especially if a man had just died in a suspicious house fire.
“Any calls?” Rhodes asked when he walked into the jail.
“Dr. Lewis,” Hack said. “He says that there’s no doubt about who died in that fire.”
“Grat Bilson,” Rhodes said.
“Right,” Lawton said, walking in from the cell block.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to tell him that,” Hack said. “It was me Dr. Lewis called, not you.”
“Sorry about that,” Lawton said, not looking sorry at all.
“What about Ruth?” Rhodes asked before the two old men could get started on each other. “Has she had any luck finding Linda Fenton?”
“Nope,” Hack said. “Or if she has, she hasn’t called in. You sent Ruth chasing after that Fenton woman, but you didn’t give her much to go on.”
What he meant, of course, was that he wanted Rhodes to tell him all about Linda Fenton. But Rhodes wasn’t going to do that just yet.
“I didn’t have much,” Rhodes said, wishing he’d thought to look at the license number of the old pickup that had been parked by the fireworks stand. He wondered if Jennifer Loam had. He’d have to call and ask.
But first he wanted to know what Hack had found out about the fireworks stands.
“You’d be surprised how hard it is to find out stuff like that,” Hack said. “Especially when somebody doesn’t want you to know.”
“You couldn’t just look in the court records? The tax rolls?”
“It’s not all that easy,” Lawton said. “Sometimes—”
“Who’s the one who did all the work?” Hack asked.
“You are,” Lawton said, “but—”
“But, nothin’. I’m the one who did the work, so I’m the one who tells the story.”
“Fine,” Lawton said. “Glory hog.”
“I’m not hoggin’ anything. I just said that I’m the one who did the work, so I’m the one—”
“Never mind,” Rhodes said. “Just get to the point.”
“That’s what I was tryin’ to do,” Hack said. “But Lawton wouldn’t let me. He kept buttin’ in.” Hack stopped and smiled. “Buttin’ in. Get it? He kept saying but, so he was buttin’ in.”
“I get it,” Rhodes said. “Now finish what you were telling me.”
Hack drummed his fingers on the desk as if trying to gather his thoughts. He said, “Like I was sayin’, it’s not always easy to find out who owns things. Sometimes the owner is just a name, like a corporation. The Big Bang Corporation, for example.”
“So what you have to do,” Lawton said, “is find the owner of the corporation.”
“I’m not gonna tell this if he keeps buttin’ in,” Hack said, not smiling this time.
Rhodes looked at Lawton, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Go on,” Rhodes told Hack.
“Sometimes you can’t even find the owner of the corporation,” Hack said. “I guess you could if you knew more about computers than I do, or if you had a month or so to dig around in the courthouse.”
“So what you’re telling me is that you didn’t find out who owned the fireworks stands.”
“No, I’m not tellin’ you that.”
“It sure sounds like it.”
“That’s because you keep interruptin’ me.”
“I beg your pardon,” Rhodes said.
“That’s okay,” Hack said. “I’m used to it. There’s something else I’m used to, too. You want me to tell you things, but you don’t ever tell me what’s goin’ on around here.”
Rhodes knew that Hack still wanted to know about Linda Fenton, but he wasn’t ready to get into that.
“You first,” Rhodes said. “Then me.”
“That’s right. You’re the sheriff, and I’m just—”
“Never mind that. Tell me about the fireworks stands.”
“All right. If you want to be that way about it, I’ll tell you. What it boils down to is that I was able to get somebody in the courthouse, somebody who has a better computer than I do, to do a search of all kinds of documents on a state level. She could get access to some stuff that I didn’t even know about, so she found out who owns most of the fireworks stands in this county.”
“And that would be?”
“The Big Bang Corporation.”
“You’ve already told me that.”
“Yeah,” Lawton said. “But he didn’t tell you who the corporation president was. He told me, though. Want me to tell you?”
“If you do,” Hack said, “I’ll never tell you anything again.”
“You never tell me anything anyway, about half the time. I bet you tell Miz McGee, though. I bet you tell her all kinds of things.”
Hack pushed his chair away from the desk and started to get up.
“That’s enough,” Rhodes said. “Both of you simmer down. I need to know who owns those fireworks stands, and I need to know right now. So who is it?”
“It’s Jay Beaman,” Hack said.
Well, thought Rhodes, that explains how Linda Fenton got her job.
20
JAMES ALLEN, LIKE RALPH OLIVER, LIVED OUTSIDE THE CITY LIMITS. Before Allen had become a commissioner, he’d been a bulldozer operator. He and his wife lived in a small house, and as they had more and more children, the house had gotten bigger and bigger. Instead of building a new home, they’d simply added more rooms onto the one they already owned. It was an interesting bit of architecture, and it was in remarkably good repair. There was a paved road leading up to it, and the whole place practically gleamed in the dusky twilight. The yard, while not quite up to the standards set by Ralph Oliver, was still quite green. There was no sprinkler system that Rhodes could see, however.
Allen came out of the front door almost as soon as Rhodes stepped out of the county car.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your supper,” Rhodes said.
“Not at all,” Allen said. “Margie’s still working on it. Some of the kids are helping. What are you doing out here in the country?”
“I just found out something I thought you might be interested in knowing,” Rhodes said.
“What’s that?”
“I was doing a little snooping, and I found out who owns all the fireworks stands in the county.”
“Probably some yankee,” Allen said, smiling.
For some people in Blacklin County, a yankee was anyone who lived north of Dallas.
“It’s Jay Beaman,” Rhodes said.
For a full ten seconds, Allen didn’t say anything. He just stood there, looking at Rhodes. Finally he said, “You must be kidding.”
“I’m not kidding.”<
br />
“You mean to tell me that after all the time I’ve spent on trying to get fireworks under control, Jay Beaman’s been selling them?”
“That’s right. No wonder you never got any support from him.”
“I never got much support from anybody. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other commissioners were in on this with him.”
“They’re not,” Rhodes said. “Or at least they don’t own any stands. It’s all Beaman.”
“Then he must lobby them on the sly. I’ve never gotten anywhere with any of them.”
“It could be that they just like fireworks,” Rhodes said.
“There’s nothing wrong with fireworks,” Allen said. “Except that they can be dangerous and start fires. I hear you found out about that this afternoon.”
Rhodes grinned ruefully. “I found out, all right. The hard way.”
“I appreciate it that you let me know about this,” Allen said. “I’ll talk to Beaman and try to get him to listen to reason.”
“Do you think anybody else might have known he owned those stands?”
“Not unless it was the other commissioners. I don’t see how he managed to keep it a secret, though.”
Rhodes didn’t know, either. He wondered if Grat Bilson had found out. If he had, it might have given Linda Fenton and Beaman another reason to kill him.
“It was a secret from me,” Rhodes said.
“Me, too,” Allen told him.
“Maybe I can use it,” Rhodes said.
“What for?”
“I think maybe Beaman can tell me something about Grat Bilson’s death.”
“You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?”
“You never can tell, but even if he didn’t, I think he knows things that he’s keeping secret. The fireworks stands are just part of it.”
“Grat and Jay never liked each other. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Jay killed him. Jay doesn’t like people who get in his way.”
“Who does?” Rhodes said.
“I guess most of us don’t. Jay gets more upset than most, though. I’ve seen him throw some real fits.”
“He seems calm enough at the court meetings.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve never seen him in private. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill someone. And then there’s Yvonne. She was the one who started the fire today, shooting off a pistol, right?”
“That’s right,” Rhodes said.
“I wouldn’t put it past Yvonne to have killed Grat. They had all kinds of trouble. It had to be either Yvonne or Jay, don’t you think?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Rhodes said.
Rhodes got Hack on the radio and asked how Yvonne Bilson was doing.
“She’s not happy,” Hack said. “But she’s not causin’ any trouble. Lawton says she’s just curled up in her cell and not sayin’ much.”
“He might want to check on her now and then. If Ruth comes in, have her take a look, too. We don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Nothin’s gonna happen. She’s not suicidal, just depressed.”
Rhodes thought Hack was right, and he wondered what was depressing Yvonne more, Grat’s death or the fact that she was in jail.
“I want you to do something for me,” Rhodes told Hack.
“What’s that?”
Rhodes told him to call Jennifer Loam.
“She might still be at the newspaper office, or she might have gone home,” Rhodes said. “Find her and ask if she got the license number of the pickup that was parked at the fireworks stand this afternoon.”
“Don’t need to,” Hack said. “She called right after you left. Said she was sorry she hadn’t called sooner but that she forgot in all the excitement. Said she thought maybe you’d gotten the number, what with you bein’ a professional lawman and all.”
“I was busy,” Rhodes said, but he knew he should have been more alert. “Did you get the number to Ruth?”
“Yep. Did somethin’ else, too.”
“What?”
“Checked with the DMV to see who owned the truck. Want to guess?”
“Why don’t you just tell me.”
“I bet you could figure it out if you just gave it a second or two.”
“Jay Beaman,” Rhodes said.
“See? I knew you could do it. That’s why you’re the sheriff, and I’m just—”
“All right,” Rhodes said. “If Ruth catches up with that truck, you let me know.”
“That’s my job,” Hack said. “You can count on me. Even if you don’t—”
Rhodes signed off before he could finish.
When Rhodes got out of the county car at his house, he could hear Yancey yipping and yapping at the back door. Speedo walked over to Rhodes and looked up at him.
“You think he makes too much noise?” Rhodes said.
Aside from wagging his tail, Speedo didn’t answer, not that Rhodes had really expected him to.
“Well, I think he does,” Rhodes said. He bent down and rubbed Speedo’s head. “I guess we’d better let him out. Maybe he’ll calm down.”
Speedo looked doubtful, and Rhodes didn’t blame him. Rhodes walked over to the back door. Speedo, after a moment’s hesitation, followed along. When Rhodes opened the door, Yancey tumbled out like a cotton ball on legs, still yipping, and immediately started chasing Speedo all over the yard.
Rhodes wondered if Speedo was running because the smaller dog was so annoying or if Speedo just liked playing chase. Not that it mattered, but Rhodes thought that it was the latter. In fact, both dogs seemed to be having a wonderful time in spite of the fact that it was still over ninety degrees. So Rhodes left them to it and went inside.
Ivy looked up from the book she was reading when Rhodes came into the den.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“When?” Rhodes said.
“All day. I heard that you had a fistfight with a woman and then mud-wrestled with her.”
“You’ve been talking to Hack again, haven’t you.”
“Maybe,” Ivy said. “Or maybe I just looked in the clothes hamper.”
Rhodes had finally told Hack all about Linda Fenton and janesinjail. com, so he was the logical source of Ivy’s information. The singed and muddy clothes would merely have confirmed what Hack told Ivy.
“What about the bathroom?” he asked.
“The tub was awfully clean,” Ivy said. “Cleaner than it’s been in a day or two, at least. I assume that someone must have messed it up pretty badly and then tried to cover his tracks.”
“You should have been a cop,” Rhodes said.
“I thought it would be easier just to marry one. Now tell me all about it.”
“How much do you know?” Rhodes asked.
Ivy closed the book after putting a piece of paper in it to mark her place.
“Not as much as I’d like to,” she said.
“Why don’t we go out for something to eat, and I’ll give you the whole seamy story,” Rhodes said.
“Good idea,” Ivy said. “Where shall we eat?”
“I could use a hamburger.”
“Not from McDonald’s, I’ll bet.”
“I was thinking the Bluebonnet.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ivy said.
The Bluebonnet was at the edge of town, out past the Wal-Mart. It had been there for as long as Rhodes could remember, and it had served the same kind of hamburgers for just as long. The meat was cooked on a grill that you could see from where you were sitting. You could smell the meat frying, and you could listen to the pop and sizzle of the fat while you waited. The tables were wobbly, and the old wooden floor wasn’t level, not even close, but that didn’t bother Rhodes. He wasn’t there to check the store’s foundation.
“Want some French fries to go with your burger?” he asked Ivy.
“How about onion rings, too?” Ivy said.
“That’s pretty scary,” Rhodes said.
“What is?
”
“You can read my mind.”
“As if that were a tough trick,” Ivy said.
Rhodes ordered the burgers, fries, and onion rings. Then he got a couple of Dr Peppers out of the cooler. They were in twenty-ounce plastic bottles, but that was better than cans.
“You know what David Letterman said about Dr Pepper, don’t you,” Ivy said when Rhodes put the bottles on the table.
“No, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“You probably don’t. Let’s just say it wasn’t very nice. But what does he know?”
“Nothing about soft drinks,” Rhodes said, taking a big swallow.
“You’re right,” Ivy said. “Now while we’re waiting for our hamburgers, why don’t you tell me about what happened this afternoon.”
“You want the long version or the short version?”
“Whichever one is the best.”
“The long one has those seamy details I mentioned,” Rhodes said. “We’ll start with janesinjail.com and go on from there.”
“Janes in jail? That sounds like the name of a bad made-for-cable movie.”
“It gets worse.”
“Oh, good,” Ivy said. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. It sounds like a good story.”
“It is,” Rhodes said.
“So tell me.”
Rhodes did.
21
BY THE TIME RHODES FINISHED TELLING IVY ABOUT HIS DAY, THE hamburgers and fries were gone. There was one onion ring left, and Rhodes was eyeing it. He thought that Ivy had eaten more of the rings than he had, so he clearly deserved the last one.
Ivy read his mind again.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You can have it.”
Rhodes didn’t wait to hear more. He picked up the onion ring and bit off half of it.
While he was enjoying it, Ivy said, “I think Vernell did it.”
Rhodes ate the other half of the onion ring before he spoke. Then he said, “Why Vernell?”
“Because it seems like every time there’s a murder, she’s right in the middle of it.”
“That’s not her fault. More like a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe associating with the wrong people. Or even just plain bad luck. What do you want for dessert?”