Death of a Rainmaker

by Laurie Loewenstein

  Meanwhile, Temple rang the state crime lab, telling them to expect the bloodied shirt and possible weapon. Then Walter Darnell called.

  “Some paperwork has come up regarding the Fullers’ foreclosure. Got to postpone the auction until Thursday.”

  Temple frowned. “You know I’ve got a murder investigation going on. I set aside time for this. Time I don’t have.”

  “Nothing I can do about it. See you Thursday,” Darnell said, and clicked off.

  Something didn’t smell right. There had been word from other counties of protests at farm auctions. Farm folks banding together against the banks. Maybe Darnell had heard rumblings of something similar in Jackson County. Or maybe this was an irritant purposely planted by Doll to trip Temple up. Either way, it added up to a headache. The only bright spot was there would be plenty of time to give the rainmaker’s truck a good going over and secure the TNT.

  * * *

  Chester’s schedule, too, had been disrupted. At noontime, Lottie came up the stairs to his office and announced she was treating him to lunch at the Crystal even though it was a weekday. His protests, citing the inappropriateness of a lady paying, the state of his bank account, and the change in their usual routine, did not penetrate.

  At the Crystal, they were escorted to the small window table they preferred and Chester busied himself straightening the silver and china while Bessie, the waitress, informed Lottie of the day’s specials. Chester always ordered the same meal at the Crystal; he had no need to listen and so he didn’t.

  After Bessie thumped toward the swinging kitchen doors, Chester adjusted the place setting one last time, then propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “And now I need to know the nature of this favor. For certainly that is what this is all about.”

  Lottie spoke bluntly: “All right. From what I hear around town, Temple’s not going to survive the primary. Doll is pushing hard and a lot of the money people are backing him.”

  “Really?”

  “If Temple loses, Doll is going to collude with Darnell to go after even more foreclosures. You know Temple has talked Darnell out of foreclosing on farmers who are only a couple of months behind. That whole policy of granting a grace period will end. And then who do you think will be around to buy movie tickets or new hats or anything? Nobody, that’s who.”

  Chester grimaced. “I am more than aware that there aren’t the patrons there used to be. But I’m not all that convinced that Temple can do much about that either way. The drought and the Depression are crushing us.”

  Lottie bore down: “But he can help a few farmers hold on for another six months or a year, and by that time the drought could very well be over. And another thing—Doll is letting it be known that he’ll bring in a deputy who is paid on commission. Same as they’ve got in Dewey County. I’ve heard stories about those men.”

  Bessie arrived with heavy china plates of roast beef and chicken hash. Lottie leaned forward to whisper, “Meat at six o’clock, mashed at nine.”

  Chester took up his knife and fork. “Go on.”

  “I’ve heard those deputies are nothing more than grave robbers. They lurk around funerals, knowing there will be a lot of drinking, and hoping for fistfights so they can make arrests. That’s how they get paid: number of arrests. They do the same at revival meetings—expecting somebody to get riled up about what’s true religion and what’s false. And farm foreclosures where things might get ugly.”

  Chester chewed thoughtfully. “As if things aren’t bad enough. That’s not going to encourage law-abiding straight-and-narrows to stick around.”

  “Exactly. And those folks make up most of our business.” Lottie nibbled at a small forkful of hash, and then reached for the salt and pepper.

  “I see your point, but why am I being plied with this overcooked beef?”

  “You run daily ads in the Gazetteer. You and Hank Stowe pal around—”

  “I don’t pal around with anyone. The publisher and I are associates who enjoy one another’s company over an occasional glass of beer.”

  Lottie rolled her eyes, which she was sure Chester detected, and continued, “Anyway, I think you should ask him to publicly back Temple for sheriff. Endorse him on the editorial page.”

  From the kitchen came the sounds of breaking glass and then a metal bowl hitting the floor. Chester winced.

  “So, will you do it? Ask him?” Lottie pressed.

  “I’ll have to think about it. You know I loathe politics.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Chester held up his hand. “Please don’t push. I promise to give it due consideration.”

  Lottie opened her compact and began applying a fresh coat of lipstick. “Please don’t take too long,” she said between strokes, “the primary is in just over a week.”

  * * *

  Ed pulled up at the Saunders’s bungalow where Maxine and another girl were perched on the porch swing with hands lightly folded and ankles crossed, looking suspiciously posed.

  “Afternoon, Maxine.” Something was different about her; Ed couldn’t put his finger on it. Could be a new hairdo. Girls her age were always fiddling with their hair. They giggled. This was who the sheriff’s office was relying on to identify a killer? She hadn’t seemed so giddy yesterday. “I need to talk to your mother before we drive out to camp.”

  “Around back hanging laundry.”

  More tittering followed as he turned the corner of the house. Mrs. Saunders was shoving a clothespin over the far end of a tablecloth flopped over a line. She was a flabby woman with large wheels of perspiration around the armholes of her housedress. The laundry cord sagged with sheets and pillowcases hanging in the hot air.

  Ed showed his badge. “I called earlier about Maxine helping with the investigation?”

  Mrs. Saunders stooped to retrieve another soggy piece of linen from the basket at her feet, straightened, and sniffed. “I’m not sure how much help she’ll be. She’s at that silly stage.”

  “We just need her to identify someone who might have been at the movies on Saturday. I’ve got younger brothers so I know how they can be. But this is as straightforward as it comes.” After a pause, he added, “Ma’am.”

  “Get her home by four o’clock.”

  “Yes . . . ma’am.” The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. For God’s sake, she’s treating me as if I’m a teenager picking up Maxine on a date.

  “And Cliff’s going along.”

  “What?”

  Mrs. Saunders lifted her chin from its pillow of fat. “He’s chaperoning or she’s not going.”

  Ed paused to gather himself. “I understand your concern but I can assure you—”

  “No go.”

  Minutes later Ed was in the driver’s seat and Maxine in the passenger’s while Cliff bounced on the leather upholstery in back, emitting the oscillating whistle of a police siren. Maxine’s friend Harriet stood on the porch to see them off.

  As Ed shoved the car into first gear, Maxine turned on Cliff and muttered, “If you don’t sit still and shut up I’m going to paste you one. And you know I will.”

  The kid paled and pinched his mouth shut.

  “Sorry,” she said to Ed.

  As they pulled away from the curb, Harriet waved frantically from the porch. Maxine waved back with a wide grin.

  Chapter thirteen

  Brick Davis leaped onto the sedan’s running board, tommy gun pressed tightly against his ribs. The car, packed with fellow G-men, veered away from the curb in pursuit of the getaway car. For a minute it seemed as if the notorious McKay gang had made a clean break. Then, up ahead, Brick spotted the crooks’ taillights. The sedan rocketed down the street as Brick rammed the gun’s stock into his shoulder, aimed, and drew back the trigger, shattering the mobsters’ rear window with a burst of fire. “Pow! Ka-powpowpow!” The gunmen returned fire. Brick aimed for the tires. “Pow! Ka—”

  “Didn’t I tell you to keep your trap buttoned?” Maxine shouted, leaning o
ver the backseat and shaking a fist in Cliff’s face.

  “Keep your mitts to yourself.” He slapped her hand away.

  Maxine’s eyes narrowed. “When we get home I’m telling Mom you interfered with the sheriff’s business,” she said, facing forward.

  “Tattletale.”

  Deputy McCance rolled his eyes as he turned onto the highway.

  Maxine smoothed her skirt. Under Harriet’s tutelage, she had practiced some feminine gestures designed to draw Ed’s attention. Smoothing her skirt was one. Idly zippering her locket back and forth on its chain was another.

  Harriet had said, It’ll highlight your neck. To which Maxine had replied, Why would I want to do that?

  Now she toyed with her necklace. Her stomach flip-flopped between attraction and fear. The deputy’s eyes remained on the road. She zippered louder. Cliff mumbled threats from the backseat.

  “Enough. Both of you. This is serious. Got it?” Deputy McCance said. “We’re almost there and I need quiet and cooperation.”

  Cliff twisted his mouth to one side. Twice he’d seen Jimmy Cagney play Brick Davis in G-Men at the Jewel and he knew all about being a government man. This guy thinks he’s a big shot but he ain’t. Not like Brick.

  The deputy turned onto the camp drive. Ahead was a cluster of small buildings. They looked like the motor court where Danny Leggett, Public Enemy No. 1, was holed up. Cliff silently tucked Brick’s machine gun into his shoulder.

  The deputy pulled into the gravel space to one side of a small building labeled Office. He yanked hard on the hand brake. “You two wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  Inside the car, Maxine cranked the window down to inspect a shabby chicken pecking around the front tires.

  “Rat-a-tat-tat! You’re dead.” Cliff aimed at her head.

  “Stop that or I’m—”

  “No you’re not, because if you tell on me, I’m telling the deputy that you aren’t wearing your glasses.”

  Maxine’s cheeks darkened. “So?”

  “You can’t see a thing without them.”

  “I can too and don’t you dare say a word.”

  “I’m going to tell him that you didn’t want anything to get in the way of making goo-goo eyes at him. So, bang, you’re dead.”

  Deputy McCance emerged from the office and slid behind the wheel.

  “All set.” He glanced at his watch. “The commander asked eight guys to stop by the office to update their records. He’ll be talking to them one at a time. All I need you to do is let me know if any of these fellows bought a ticket from you on Saturday. Just focus on their faces. Simple as that.”

  From the backseat came a snorting laugh.

  “And you, zip it,” McCance said to the boy. Cliff paled. “All right?” the deputy now asked Maxine. “Nothing to be scared of.”

  “Sure.” Her voice was uneven. “But what if I don’t recognize any of them?”

  McCance shrugged. “Then you don’t. That helps too.”

  He drew out his notepad. Maxine fidgeted, picked a scab off her ankle. Within minutes a group of young men were milling around the office door. One or two glanced disinterestedly at the county car. Maxine counted. They were all dressed alike in the CCC uniform of denim trousers and shirts. She squinted at the blurred patterns of eyes, noses, and mouths. A tall man with a clipboard appeared in the doorway and read off names.

  “Concentrate on each one as he goes in and again as he comes out. That way you’re sure to get a good look. One at a time,” McCance said. “If one is familiar, give me a nod.”

  Right away Maxine knew that she’d never seen the first three. They all had some quirk that she was sure she would have noticed and remembered: bushy hair, an enormous Adam’s apple, and a big old honker that even her nearsighted eyes picked up. The middle three she wasn’t so sure about. As they marched into the office and then out, there was nothing in their blurry faces that caught her attention. She tucked her lips under her front teeth.

  “Nothing so far?” Deputy McCance asked.

  “I’m not sure. Not the first three, but . . .” she shrugged, “the next ones. They all look sort of the same.”

  “Take your time. I can ask the commander to call them back in again if you need a second look.” He tapped his pencil on the notepad, same as Miss Jenkins did when she was waiting for an answer from one of the slow boys in the back row. Cliff was steadily kicking the back of her seat.

  “No. I don’t need a do-over. Let me just think.” Maxine pulled on her lower lip, then remembered how Harriet had lectured her on that habit. It gives you a fish mouth, her friend had said. Maxine quickly pulled her hand away. “I’m certain now. None of those middle ones were there on Saturday.”

  Two were left. The last fellow in line was the shortest. She made out dark hair parted on the side. When it was his turn he shambled forward, same as Leon Smith, the slowest of the slow boys, when he was called to the chalkboard.

  Tap tap tap went the pencil. Was it clicking faster? Yes, she thought it was. Like a telegraph key. “That’s him,” she said. “The last in line.”

  The pencil stopped. McCance straightened. “You sure?”

  She nodded. “Positive.”

  “It’s okay if it’s not any of them.”

  “I know. But it’s him.”

  “All right. I’ll let the commander know we’re all set and then I’ll get you two home.”

  Maxine wasn’t sure at all that the boy she’d identified had been at the Jewel. Ever. But it was too late now. Deputy McCance hopped back behind the wheel after a minute’s conversation with the commander and they were off. She decided she’d tell the deputy that she was just a teensy bit unsure. But then she’d have to explain why, and the whole scheme of leaving off her glasses would have to be explained. She’d rather die.

  But no, she couldn’t stand thinking about that poor fellow getting arrested because of her. She’d tell Deputy McCance when they passed the courthouse. But when the big sandstone building came into view, her voice stuck in her throat as if she’d swallowed a wad of gum. So then she decided she’d speak up when they crossed the tracks. That would be the landmark. But the tracks came and went and she still couldn’t get her tongue unstuck. The longer she waited, the harder it got. When they pulled up to her house she sat frozen while Cliff bounded out with a “See ya” and a wave. She thought maybe once her brother was out of the car she’d find her voice. But she didn’t.

  Finally, after the deputy had thanked her twice more, she tugged up the handle and got out. Cliff raced past her screaming, “Bang bang, you’re dead,” as she stood on the sidewalk in the bright heavy air. She hung her head. There was blood on her best anklets where she had picked off the scab. Mother would be furious.

  * * *

  While Ed was up at the CCC camp with Maxine, Temple made the rounds chatting with folks who had taken in Coombs’s pyrotechnic display. While he was banking on Maxine identifying DiNapoli, he also wanted to make sure other possible suspects weren’t overlooked. From what he’d gleaned about Coombs, it was not improbable that the glib rainmaker had riled up someone else in town.

  Temple found Pastor Coxey in the church basement, boxing up extra hymnals no longer needed for his shrinking congregation. The green cloth covers gave off a musty odor. Yes, Coxey had been at the demonstration, had even offered up a prayer before the blasts. No, he hadn’t seen any confrontations; he had seen nothing on the gathered faces but grim determination.

  Temple ambled over to Quality Grocery where Toot Morris, wearing a stained grocer’s apron, was doodling on a scrap of butcher’s paper. The pleasant aroma of sawdust and refrigerated meat hung in the air. Why of course Toot had been at the big blast. Wouldn’t have missed it. Most excitement the town had seen since the Fourth of July parade. Everybody was pleased as punch. What? No! No feathers ruffled. Coombs was the man of the hour. Everyone agreed on that.

  At the edge of town, Lou Harriman occupied a kitchen
chair outside his service station, a pile of whittlings accumulating between his ankles. He hadn’t taken note of anyone who seemed to have a grievance with the rainmaker. But Lou himself was angry as hell. He’d chucked in what he could toward Coombs’s fee and not a drop of rain to show for it. And did Temple know when the Commercial Club would get back the cash it had handed over to the fellow? It was all around town that $217 in small bills had been found in the deceased’s pocket. Lou said that he sure hoped that money would be distributed right quick. With the primary coming up and all. And did Temple know that Doll was spreading rumors that the sheriff office’s gasoline usage was out of line? “I sure would hate to have to vote for that no-count,” Lou added as Temple climbed back into his car.

  After three casts and no nibbles, Temple decided it would be a waste of time to pursue further inquiries—at least until learning how things went with Maxine. He swung by Coombs’s truck and later, back at the courthouse, checked in with Viviane who was still awaiting a response from the telegram to St. Joe.

  Five minutes later Ed appeared.

  “Well?” Temple asked.

  Ed leaned against the doorframe.

  “It’s him,” he said, his voice flat.

  “She’s positive?”

  “Yep.”

  “You told her that it might not be any of the men she was looking at?”

  Ed nodded. “I was very clear about that. She is 100 percent. Now what?”

  “Now I get a warrant from Judge Laycomb and make the arrest.”

  “Think we have enough?”

  Temple studied the dusty street beyond the window. “I do.” He tapped his fingers one by one. “Opportunity, access to weapon, blood on his clothes, motive.”

  Ed rapped a knuckle hard on the doorframe. “I got to be there.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m asking as a favor.”

  Temple said, “Last one.”

  On the drive out, Temple filled Ed in on Coombs’s truck. Inspecting it, he said, took all of five minutes since the cab had nothing in it but a couple of maps and a few greasy rags. Temple had arranged with the foreman at Public Oil to haul it away and secure the TNT for the time being. It was after five p.m. when Temple and Ed pulled up the drive at Camp Briscoe.