Red, White, and Blue Murder

by Bill Crider

  “Reese’s peanut butter cups.”

  “Excellent choice,” Rhodes said.

  He went to the candy counter and picked up two packages of Reese’s. Then he paid for them and went back to the table. He handed Ivy her candy and opened his own.

  “You realize that we’ve consumed about a three months’ quota of fat grams tonight, I guess,” Ivy said.

  Rhodes knew she was right. His hands and face were still greasy from the meal. But he didn’t care. He ate one of the Reese’s and smiled.

  Ivy said, “So you don’t think Vernell did it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rhodes said. “I wouldn’t rule her out, but so far I can’t come up with a motive for her. Even if she was dating Grat, like Yvonne said, there’s no reason for her to kill him.”

  Ivy licked chocolate off her fingers. She said, “Maybe Vernell wants to be president of both historical societies.”

  “I don’t think she’d kill somebody for that reason.”

  “She’d have to be crazy,” Ivy admitted. “What about Yvonne as the killer?”

  “She had a motive, all right,” Rhodes said. “But if she killed Grat, why go after Linda Fenton?”

  “To make herself look innocent. If you believed she blamed the Fenton woman, you wouldn’t blame her.”

  “You think Yvonne’s that devious?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Rhodes wasn’t sure. Yvonne had seemed genuinely grief-stricken when he’d first talked to her, but even at the time he hadn’t been sure how much of the grief was real and how much was show. The attack on Linda Fenton could have been just another act, if Ivy was right.

  “What about Linda Fenton?” Ivy said, breaking in on his thoughts. “Tell me a little more about that janesinjail.com.”

  “You know as much as I do,” Rhodes said. Then he had an idea.

  “Why don’t we go by the jail and have Hack check it out? It might be interesting.”

  “I’m sure it would,” Ivy said.

  Hack had already checked it out.

  “I thought we might be able to get Lawton a date,” he said. “One of those prison women might take him even if nobody else would. They’re bound to be desperate.”

  “Plenty of women around here’d go out with me if I asked ’em,” Lawton said. “And not just desperate ones, either. I just don’t think it’s seemly for old geezers like me and you to be chasin’ after women.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hack said.

  Lawton started to answer, but Rhodes didn’t give him the chance. He said, “It means that we came here to look at the computer, not listen to you two. Come on, Hack, let’s see what you can find.”

  Hack glared at Lawton, but he turned to the computer and typed in the URL. In a few seconds the screen for janesinjail was displayed.

  “See?” Hack said. “I think that razor-wire background is a nice touch.”

  Ivy leaned forward and peered at the screen.

  “Something for everyone,” she said. “You can pick your preferred age range and ethnic group. And look down there.” She tapped a fingernail on the screen. “There’s even a bisexual and lesbian category.”

  Hack blushed. “Me and Lawton didn’t look at any of the pictures. I didn’t go past this first page.”

  “Well,” Rhodes said, “let’s have a look at the pictures.”

  They’d decided on the age group when the radio crackled. It was Ruth Grady, and she’d found Linda Fenton. Or if not Linda Fenton, the truck from the fireworks stand. It was at Jay Beaman’s house.

  “You should’ve thought of lookin’ for it there, yourself,” Hack told Rhodes.

  “I know. Ask her what she’s done.”

  Ruth hadn’t done anything. She’d located the truck and then called in to let Rhodes know.

  “Tell her I’ll be right there,” Rhodes said. “Ivy, you want to go for a ride-along?”

  “Can we use the siren?”

  “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re coming.”

  “That’s too bad, but I’ll go anyway. I’ve always wanted to be in on a bust.”

  “I’m not going to bust anybody. I’m just going to do some talking.”

  “Sounds pretty dull. I thought your life was filled with adventure and excitement.”

  “Only when I’m mud-wrestling,” Rhodes said.

  Beaman lived in Thurston, in a two-storied house that had been built in the early part of the century and looked it. The place needed paint, and the yard looked even worse than Rhodes’s. A few scraggly weeds poked through the dirt, but grass was almost nonexistent. The house was dark except for the first floor, where there was a light shining through the curtains in one of the rooms.

  Ruth Grady was parked about a block away. The county car was pulled into an old service station. The gas pumps had been removed because the place had been closed for years. In fact, most of the businesses in Thurston had been closed for a good while. Rhodes was afraid that before too many more years had passed, Thurston would go the way of Milsby.

  He stopped the county car next to Ruth’s and got out.

  “Seen anything?” he asked.

  “Not much. I didn’t get here until Beaman was already home. The pickup’s parked around back. It was already here, too. I haven’t seen anybody moving around in there, but that’s because the curtains are closed.”

  “And nobody’s left?”

  “I’m not sure. I had to decide whether to watch the front or the back, so here I am. Nobody’s left through the front door, but that’s all I know. What do we do now?”

  “I’m going to pay a visit,” Rhodes said. “You and Ivy can wait here.” He started to get back in the car, then thought better of it. “Maybe you’d better not wait here. Ivy can stay in my car. You pull around the block and watch the back in case anyone tries to leave that way.”

  Ruth nodded, started the car, and drove away. Rhodes got back into his own car.

  “What’s the plan?” Ivy asked when Rhodes returned.

  “I’m going to knock on the door and see who answers it,” Rhodes said.

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  “My plans always sound simple,” Rhodes said. “But for some reason they don’t always work out.”

  “Robert Burns had something to say about that.”

  “I had to memorize that poem in high school. I wonder if kids still memorize stuff.”

  “Rap music,” Ivy said.

  “I think I prefer Burns.”

  “Which just shows how old you are.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Rhodes said.

  Beaman had changed into jeans, a cotton shirt, and walking shoes. He was, however, still wearing the baseball cap. He had a can of beer in one hand.

  “Sheriff,” he said when he opened the door. “Two visits in one day. I must be doing something right. Or wrong. Which is it?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out,” Rhodes told him. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, sure. Want a beer?”

  “No thanks. Do you have company?”

  “Company?”

  “Is there anyone else here?”

  “No, nobody at all. My wife died five years ago, and I’ve lived by myself ever since. Come on in. You’ll have to excuse the mess, though. I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

  Rhodes went inside. Beaman hadn’t been exaggerating about the mess. A dirty shirt hung on the back of a chair, and an empty beer can sat on the coffee table, along with a half-empty glass of water. Or maybe the glass was half full. Rhodes was never sure about that. There was also a heavy glass ashtray, but there were no ashes in it. Beaman didn’t smoke, so maybe the ashtray was left over from his marriage. The hardwood floor was a little gritty underfoot, and Rhodes guessed it hadn’t been swept or mopped since George Bush (the younger) had assumed the presidency.

  There was some dried mud on the couch. Rhodes reached over and picked up a piece of it.

  “Told you I wasn�
�t much of a housekeeper,” Beaman said.

  Rhodes wished he’d brought an evidence bag in with him, but he hadn’t thought about it. He dropped the mud in his shirt pocket and said, “I think there’s someone else here.”

  “Nope,” Beaman said. “Just me, myself, and I.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Sure as I can be.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I look around?”

  “Help yourself,” Beaman said, gesturing with his arm. “I have nothing to hide.”

  Rhodes was about to take him up on the offer when he heard a horn honking outside. He and Beaman went to the door and looked out. Ivy was standing beside the county car, motioning for Rhodes to come out and join her.

  He excused himself to Beaman and went to the car.

  “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

  “Ruth called me on the radio,” Ivy said. “She said to tell you that the pickup’s not parked in the back anymore.”

  No wonder Beaman was feeling so expansive, Rhodes thought. He went back to the house and told Beaman that he’d be leaving.

  “Got to rush off to catch some crooks?” Beaman said.

  “No,” Rhodes told him. “I’m going to look for a stolen truck.”

  “I hope you find it,” Beaman said.

  “Me too,” Rhodes told him.

  “Who does it belong to, anyway?”

  “You,” Rhodes said.

  22

  RUTH WAS UPSET, BUT RHODES TOLD HER NOT TO WORRY ABOUT IT. It wasn’t her fault that Linda Fenton had hit the road.

  “They must have seen me,” Ruth said. “I tried to find a better place to park, but there’s not one.”

  She was right about that, Rhodes thought. In Thurston the streets were virtually deserted twenty-four hours a day, except for a few cars in front of Hod Barrett’s grocery. But that was only during the daylight hours.

  “I should have parked around back,” Ruth said. “That way, she couldn’t have slipped by me.”

  “She might just have come out the front,” Rhodes said. “We’ll find her tomorrow. Or maybe tonight.”

  He called Hack on the radio and told him to get out an APB on the pickup.

  “Did that already,” Hack said. “Just in case. Not that I ever get any credit for thinkin’ on the job.”

  “Is it just me?” Rhodes asked Ivy when he’d signed off, “or is Hack getting more crotchety these days?”

  “It’s just you,” Ivy said.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “What are you going to do now that your suspect has flown the coop?”

  “Go home and go to bed.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. You have a tough day coming up tomorrow. It’s the Fourth of July, and you have an ongoing murder case. You need your rest.”

  As usual, things didn’t work out exactly as Rhodes had planned. When he got home, the telephone was ringing. He answered, and Jennifer Loam said, “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “Come on over,” Rhodes said. “Do you know where I live?”

  Jennifer said she didn’t know, and Rhodes gave her directions.

  “Is that a dog I hear?” Jennifer said.

  “By some definitions, I guess,” Rhodes said. “Are you afraid of dogs?”

  “No. I like dogs. Is yours friendly?”

  Rhodes looked down at Yancey, who was bouncing up and down in excitement.

  “You might say that.”

  “Good. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Rhodes hung up and told Ivy what the call had been about and said that Jennifer Loam wold be coming over.

  “I wonder if she drinks coffee,” Ivy said.

  “I think all reporters drink coffee. It’s one of the job requirements.”

  “It’s a job requirement for cops, too, and you don’t drink it.”

  “That’s because I’m odd.”

  Ivy smiled. “You can say that again.”

  Jennifer Loam sat across from Rhodes at his kitchen table while Yancey sniffed around her feet, pausing to yap furiously now and then. Ivy poured coffee for herself and Jennifer, then gave Rhodes a glass of water.

  “Here’s the problem,” Jennifer told Rhodes. “I can’t prove anything for my story. I told you the other afternoon that I was still investigating, but so far I haven’t found a thing that really shows Jay Beaman took a bribe from Ralph Oliver. He got a big contribution, but so did some of the other commissioners.”

  “So all that information you were developing turns out to be more or less worthless.”

  Jennifer gently shoved Yancey away from her feet, but Yancey came right back. He was nothing if not persistent.

  “I guess you could put it that way,” Jennifer said. “Since I found out that what I was told about you was a lie, I’m wondering if any of what Mr. Bilson said was true. Except for the part about the ex-convict Beaman was dating. That was her at the fireworks stand, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Rhodes said, “and it was quick thinking on your part to get the license number of the truck she was driving. It belongs to Jay Beaman, by the way.”

  Rhodes didn’t mind letting Jennifer know about the truck, but he wasn’t going to tell her about Beaman’s being the owner of the fireworks stand, not just yet. She’d have to develop that information on her own, or wait until Rhodes was ready to reveal it.

  “Did you find the truck?” Jennifer asked.

  “It was at Jay’s house, but it’s gone now. I don’t know where.”

  “This hasn’t worked out at all,” Jennifer said. “I thought I had a big story, and all I wind up with is nothing. Unless you can add something to what I’ve found out.”

  Rhodes realized that the reason for Jennifer’s visit was not just to tell him that she’d come up with no solid data for her story but to pump him for information. He had some, of course, but he wasn’t going to give it out just yet. He didn’t want Beaman to find out that anyone knew about the fireworks stands.

  “There’s been a murder,” Rhodes said. “You could report that.”

  Jennifer drank some of her coffee and said, “That’s very good. Is it flavored?”

  “Hazelnut,” Ivy said.

  “I thought so.” She took another sip. “Anyway, I did report the murder, Sheriff. Didn’t you read today’s paper?”

  “Haven’t had the chance,” Rhodes said.

  “I did,” Ivy said. “It was a very good story.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And I can give you a follow-up,” Rhodes told Jennifer. “The body’s been positively identified. It was Grat Bilson, all right.”

  “I know that. I called the jail late this afternoon, and Mr. Wilson told me. I’ve already done a story for tomorrow’s paper. It would be a better story, though, if you’d solved the murder.”

  “I’m working on that,” Rhodes said.

  “Do you think Mr. Beaman did it?”

  Rhodes thought that Jennifer sounded unduly hopeful. If Beaman was the killer, maybe he’d confess to taking bribes while in office.

  “I hope Beaman didn’t kill anybody,” Rhodes said. “It wouldn’t look good if one of our commissioners was a killer.”

  “He could’ve done it to cover up his bribe-taking.”

  “Campaign contributions,” Rhodes said.

  “Whatever. I’m sure Mr. Bilson would’ve gotten me some solid information if he’d only lived long enough.”

  “Pretty inconsiderate of him to go and get murdered,” Rhodes said.

  Jennifer’s coffee cup clinked as she set it in the saucer.

  “I sounded selfish, didn’t I?” she said. “Here I am worrying about my story, and poor Mr. Bilson’s dead.”

  “He’s not worried about anything,” Rhodes said, “not even who killed him.”

  “It was his wife, I suppose,” Jennifer said. “She acted pretty crazy this afternoon.”

  “I wouldn’t make up my mind about who’s guilty just yet,” Rhodes told her.
“It might turn out to be Beaman after all.”

  Jennifer didn’t say she hoped so, but Rhodes could tell she was thinking it.

  “Will you be at the Fourth of July celebration tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “What about the commissioners?”

  “They’ll be there, too. Some of them, anyway.”

  “Good. I think I’ll try talking to Mr. Beaman again.”

  “He usually enters the rib-eating contest,” Rhodes said.

  “What about you?”

  “I thought about it,” Rhodes said. “But I’m more the fun-run type.”

  Ivy was still laughing about that when they went to bed.

  23

  IT WAS SO HOT WHEN RHODES WALKED OUT OF THE HOUSE THE NEXT morning that he was sure the Fourth of July would be the hottest day of the year so far. That meant the temperature would be over a hundred degrees. It wouldn’t have to go far to get there. Rhodes doubted that it had gotten below ninety all night, and there was a slight breeze that felt as if it might be blowing out of an overheated oven. Rhodes hoped the fun runners didn’t all get heat stroke.

  He fed and watered Speedo, who didn’t appear eager to do any romping around the yard. Rhodes thought that showed the dog’s intelligence.

  Ivy came to the door just before Rhodes got in the county car and told him that she’d see him later at the park.

  “I don’t want to stay the whole day,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll dry up and blow away.”

  “You’re going to miss the fun run,” Rhodes said.

  Ivy laughed. “Right. So are you. And here I thought you were going to compete this year.”

  “Maybe next year,” Rhodes said. “I’ll see you at the park.”

  The park wasn’t as crowded as Rhodes had thought it might be. He was able to find a shady parking spot under an elm tree, which meant he might actually be able to get back into his car without suffering second-degree burns from contact with the seat covers.

  The first runners were crossing the finish line for the fun run when Rhodes walked up. Sweat was streaming off them, and they all looked ready for a cold shower. And all they’d have to show for it was a T-shirt, though the top finishers in each age group would get a cheap plastic trophy. Rhodes shook his head in wonder.