Death of a Rainmaker

by Laurie Loewenstein

  “I’ve got everything he’s published,” she said proudly. “Short stories and novels. Have you read The Red Harvest?”

  When Etha shook her head, Miss Fisher chirped, “You must! It’s his best. Better than the Falcon, in my opinion.”

  As Etha turned to leave, with the novel in hand, the woman in the reading room lowered the newspaper to turn the page.

  It was Minnie Hinchie. Etha had not seen her friend since they had crept into Dr. Hinchie’s office for a peek at the murder weapon. Minnie spotted her at the same instant.

  “What brings you here?” Minnie asked, indicating the armchair beside hers. “More detective work?” she added in lower tones.

  “Sort of, but no luck. You?”

  “I’m hiding. Mrs. Fitzgerald is due at the office,” she glanced at her watch, “right about now with three kids, all under the age of four. Seems they are coughing their heads off. I took the phone call and could hear them in the background, hacking like coal miners. As soon as I gave Hinchie the message, I fled.”

  Etha laughed. “And I see you had success with your shoes.”

  Minnie stretched out one leg and twirled her ankle. “Of a sort. The cardboard slips some but if I walk very slowly it works.” She put the newspaper aside. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m worried about Temple’s chances in the election.”

  Etha frowned. “What?”

  “A lot of Hinchie’s patients and the ladies in my sewing guild told me they aren’t voting for him.”

  Etha straightened, her voice strident: “Why not?”

  “It seems that while everyone likes Temple, there is a strong feeling that he isn’t forceful. That he has a soft spot for the down-and-outers. A lot say he’s too easy on the moonshiners.”

  “That’s not true!” Etha shot back.

  “I know, but that is what they’re saying. There’s also talk that he should have stopped those low-ball bids at the Fullers’ farm auction. I’m guessing that Vince Doll is spreading rumors and some folks are swallowing them.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would anyone turn against Temple for looking the other way when a man is trying to feed his family? Goodness, everyone in the whole county is a down-and-outer.”

  Minnie leaned forward. “But they don’t see themselves that way. Most of these folks are from town. They forget that they’re stuffing cardboard in their shoes just like everyone else.”

  Etha studied the map of the Oklahoma Territory hanging on the opposite wall. “Even if this is so, even if most of Vermillion’s swells are supporting Doll, that still leaves all the farm folk. Surely they’re on Temple’s side. And they are in the majority.”

  Minnie shook her head. “Not anymore. At least half have decamped for California. Hinchie says he’s lost at least fifteen patients in the past six months.”

  Etha thought of her own shrinking cadre of piano students. Thunderclouds massed in her stomach, moved north into her ribs and throat. “But if Temple loses, what will happen to us? Where will we go?”

  Patting her friend’s hand, Minnie said, “The primary isn’t lost yet. But Temple needs to glad-hand. Make his case known.”

  “But he’s already overextended, what with the murder case plus the usual—”

  “I know, but it’s the hard truth. He needs to do some old-fashioned campaigning. When I hear this kind of talk about Temple not being the man for the office, I give folks a piece of my mind, but they want to hear it from him.” Minnie sat back. “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad tidings, but . . .”

  Etha smiled weakly. “No, I appreciate it. I’m just not sure if he’ll listen to me on this.” Or anything right now, she thought.

  “I can prod Hinchie into talking to Temple, if you think that would help.”

  “Thanks. Yes.” Etha stood. “I’ve got to scoot. Piano lessons.”

  On the way home, Etha felt as if every little bit of joy had been squeezed out of her. She wasn’t any closer to proving Carmine innocent, Temple was so furious he couldn’t even stand to be around her, and now this.

  She was passing the alley beside the Jewel where Coombs was killed when Minnie’s warning about the election really sank in. Etha had understood all along that Temple’s job was on the line and that meant their apartment was too. Vermillion had never truly been home, and just last week hadn’t she thought that a primary loss might be the best way to get Temple back to Illinois? But now everything was different. It wasn’t the job or the apartment, it was Carmine. If they moved away she would be separated from him. The young man who had brought back a bit of Jack. The young man who needed her. Even if he ended up in prison, she could travel to the state penitentiary for visits. But she was going to make sure that didn’t happen. And somehow make sure that Temple was reelected.

  Etha quickened her pace. The election was just over a week away and time was suddenly speeding up.

  At the courthouse, the sheriff’s office was empty. She hustled upstairs. Opening the apartment door, the first thing she saw was that the bedding in the lockup was missing. Carmine’s pitifully small pile of belongings was gone, as was the young man himself. Her heart thudded. Had Temple transferred Carmine to the federal prison because of Etha’s foolishness? She pressed her fingers against her lips and the tears came.

  When Temple strode in she was slumped with her back against the sink, her face wet and blotched. His eyes were not unkind, but exasperation lingered around his mouth. After thirty years of marriage, she could read the smallest twinges in his face. Stubborn man.

  He handed her his clean handkerchief. “Your boy’s all right, if that’s what you’re going on about. I moved him back to the cellblock.”

  “I . . . Can I see him? I brought him a book from the library.” She blew her nose vigorously.

  “Give it to me. Ed’ll take care of it.” Temple drew his hand heavily across his jaw. “You still don’t get it, do you? DiNapoli is up for murder!”

  “You’re still angry with me.”

  “What do you think?”

  She pulled up her chin. “I think you’re a bull-headed fool. And Minnie says the primary is on the line.”

  Temple chuckled grimly. “You sure do know how to make a fellow feel good.”

  “I just wanted to lend him this to pass the time.”

  Temple raised his arms. “Uncle! Go on and do your good deed. I’ve got work to do.” He strode out abruptly.

  He might have been soaring over Alaska with Will Rogers, he seemed that far away. In the mirror above the bathroom sink, where Etha was shakily patting cold water on her face, she saw the stiffness around her mouth. She hated it when she and Temple fought. But this time she knew she was right, and although it shook her, she was not bending. Etha retrieved The Red Harvest from the kitchen counter and was almost out the door when she noticed a scrap of white under the lockup’s cot. It was the snapshot that had been tucked in The Maltese Falcon. It must have fallen out when Carmine was moved back to the cellblock. Etha picked it up, taking a moment to gaze again at the hollowed-out woman clutching the baby in frilly clothes, and then tucked it in her pocket.

  Carmine was slapping the harmonica in his palm when she entered. Seeing her, his face brightened. “Back to square one,” he joked sourly.

  “Not for long, I hope. In the meantime, I got you another Hammett.”

  She passed the book through the bars and Carmine immediately flipped through it. “Swell!”

  “And,” she said, drawing out the photograph, “this got left behind.”

  Carmine flushed and hurriedly slotted it into the book.

  “Your ma?” Etha asked quietly. “And you?”

  He nodded.

  “You are her spitting image. You know that?”

  After a moment of silence, Carmine’s words came out low and throaty: “She was a waitress.”

  “What about your pa?”

  “He had a bunch of jobs. None stuck for long.”

  “And then?”

&nb
sp; “And then Ma got an ulcer in her, ah . . .” He pointed to his chest.

  Etha covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  Etha groaned.

  “I remember getting back to the apartment after the funeral and thinking she would be there. What a dumbo.”

  “No! Not at all. I lost a son. He was the same age as you when your ma died. I thought the same thing. Still do, sometimes.” Etha gestured at the bars. “And don’t you worry, I’m going to make this right.”

  * * *

  When the afternoon’s piano lessons were over, Etha took a paring knife to the membrane of that evening’s liver. As she slipped the blade under the transparent tissue, she thought of her next move. The idea that Coombs’s killer was a previous client of the rainmaker, one who had discovered a flimflam, was still worth pursuing. If only she could find out if Coombs’s effects included a client list. Temple isn’t going to tell me, that’s for sure, she thought. But Ed . . . now that was a possibility. First thing in the morning she’d make a point to talk to the deputy. She’d have to get him alone for a minute, but that could be handled by asking for his help with the kitchen faucet or something. If Coombs did have a list of clients, she could be on the phone and maybe have a suspect or two by the end of the day. Something to give Temple pause. Think that maybe he needed to look beyond Carmine.

  The liver was overdone by the time Temple made it home. Their meal was another silent affair, both resentfully chewing on the tough meat. After plunking down the pie and a cup of coffee, Etha retreated to the living room. The radio buzzed, there was a swirl of static, and then a strident dance tune surfaced. Still seated at the table, Temple pressed a finger above his right eye where the throb of a headache bloomed. His anger at Etha and his worries about the election pressed in from all sides. He jerked his chair back, called out, “Going for a drive,” and was out the door.

  * * *

  The night was oppressive. The sedan’s steering wheel was hot to the touch. Temple drove aimlessly for an hour. Many of the farms were deserted, with shreds of lace at the windows and voiceless dinner bells standing sentinel on poles. He drove by open stretches that, in the twilight, might pass for a field of sweet potatoes, but in reality were sowed with nothing but fine silt. Not a living thing was about except for the occasional jackrabbit whipping past. Temple’s mind emptied and then gradually filled.

  The primary. That was a big knot. Was it really on the line, as Etha had said? It seemed that most folks, except maybe Jess Fuller and other farmers he’d had to evict, were satisfied enough. Temple prided himself on fairness. Getting the job done but bending a bit when someone couldn’t pay their fines right away. He was known to issue warnings instead of warrants to first-time offenders. But he had to admit that he hadn’t done much campaigning. Wasn’t keeping the peace enough to get the vote? He drove by the Fuller house. Dark. Temple had heard that Jess was still living there even though Hazel and the kids had moved out. Jess was likely at the Idle Hour, he thought. That’s where I would be if Etha picked up and left. And Etha. Why in the hell was she championing that no-count kid? Snooping around town to dig up proof that didn’t exist. And letting him out of the lockup. DiNapoli could have run off, and how the hell would that have looked to voters? Or worse, he could have taken liberties with Etha.

  Canopies of dust draped the night sky. Temple traveled randomly, following whichever patch of asphalt presented itself in the headlamps’ brilliance. After a time, he pulled over and stepped out of the sedan, its motor clicking as it cooled. From not far off came the stink of burning cow chips. He glanced around and saw that he was at the same intersection he’d stopped at on the day of the Brown Blizzard. The wooden CCC sign and Doll’s election placards stood as they had a week ago. But now everything had changed.

  Temple scooped a handful of stones from the sandy soil and began pitching them, one by one, Dizzy Dean style. Phumpf. The rock hit hardpan. Etha had lied to him. Had there been other lies that he didn’t know about? The dry earth absorbed the stoning. The cartilage in his shoulder ground and still he threw fast and hard. She could not let the boy go. Refused to let their boy Jack go. It came down to that.

  Chapter nineteen

  Etha awoke to an empty bed the third morning in a row. Temple had slipped in and out without a word. She was a light sleeper. He must have taken extraordinary measures not to rouse me and fall into another quarrel, she thought glumly. She was, however, still determined to find Coombs’s real killer, even if it meant a week of the silent treatment. Wheedling information out of Ed was at the top of her list.

  After breakfast, she hovered at the kitchen window, eyeing the county car that Temple drove on midmorning patrols. Within ten minutes she spotted him walking across the parking lot, then heard the engine sputtering. She hustled downstairs.

  Ed stood at the overstuffed filing cabinet trying to jimmy a folder into a drawer. A wry smile crossed his face. “Either we need another file cabinet or less paperwork.”

  “Could be.” She crossed over, took the file from his hand, and neatly finessed it inside.

  Ed laughed. “Guess it’s my technique. Temple’s on morning rounds.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about . . .” Etha began, when Maxine hurried in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said to Ed. “I had to babysit the brat again.”

  “Understood,” Ed said. “Mrs. Jennings, is this something that could wait? I have some paperwork for Maxine to sign.”

  Maxine, Etha observed, was wearing a floral-print dress that suspiciously resembled her Sunday best, and white anklets with low-heeled sandals that might have belonged to her mother.

  Suddenly, as if she’d just noticed Etha, Maxine said, “Gosh. Am I interrupting?”

  Etha smiled. “Nothing that can’t wait for a bit. Ed, just give me a buzz when you’re through here?” Moving toward the door, she turned and saw Ed gesturing to the chair beside his desk. Maxine sat, coyly arranging her skirt.

  “I need you to sign here and here,” he said, tapping a paper with his index finger.

  Etha noticed that Maxine was leaning eagerly toward the deputy. Was she wearing lipstick? She had certainly made an effort with the dress and shoes and a couple of bobby pins. Something else was different too, but Etha couldn’t puzzle out what it was. As she trudged up the three flights, her brain picked at the knot. It was not until her hand fell on the knob of the apartment door that it came to her. Glasses. Maxine wasn’t wearing her glasses. She froze for a moment, then clattered downstairs. When she reached the vestibule, Maxine was already walking through the courthouse’s tall oak doors.

  Etha called out her name, and when Maxine turned, her face was as naked as the day she was born. Inside her rib cage, Etha’s heart beat wildly. “Tell you mother I said hello,” she called, her voice choked with excitement.

  Back in the sheriff’s office, the deputy plucked at the typewriter keys.

  “I need to ask you something,” Etha said hurriedly.

  Ed laughed. “I was going to call you, honest. Just need to finish up.”

  He pounded out a couple more lines. Etha skittishly sat on Temple’s chair as if it were made of glass. At last Ed was pulling the paper from the carriage.

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  Etha inhaled. “I want you to think carefully before you answer. Promise?”

  “Do my best.”

  “When you drove Maxine out to the CCC camp the other day for the identification, was she wearing glasses?”

  “What? Sure! I mean I think—” He broke off.

  A shade slapped in a sudden gust of wind. Ed turned toward the window, gazing out abstractly. Shadows pooled under the awnings of the storefronts across the way. They appeared cool and inviting, but not everything was as it seemed. Ed pushed his thoughts back to the first time he had interviewed Maxine. He’d helped her with that jigsaw puzzle. She was nothing b
ut a kid. And she had been wearing specs. Definitely. He remembered her pushing them up on her nose as she bent over the pieces. But what about when he’d driven her to the lineup? He tried to conjure her face, but couldn’t remember. Walk yourself through, he thought. Pulled up at the house. Maxine was on the porch, whispering with a girlfriend. She’d seemed different, older somehow. Her mom was around back hanging laundry. He remembered the unsavory thought that this was being treated like a date. Then off they went, with Cliff bouncing in the backseat, squealing like a siren and Maxine shushing him. The CCC boys milled outside the commander’s cabin. Ed remembered cautioning her to take her time, to look carefully. And then her profile emerged in his mind’s eye. The sharp chin, the barrette angled above the ear, her eyes narrowed into a squint. But no glasses. No glasses!

  He turned to Etha with a stricken face. “She wasn’t wearing them. How could I have been so stupid?” He dropped his head into his hands.

  “Don’t be hard on yourself,” Etha said softly.

  Ed jerked up. “I’ve got to tell Temple right away. Maxine’s identification made the case. He’ll be mad as hell. Pardon me. I’ve made us look like fools!”

  “He’ll get past it,” Etha said. “No matter what, Temple wouldn’t want to have a hand in the conviction of an innocent young man. At least it didn’t go to trial . . .” Her voice petered out.

  “Yeah,” Ed said morosely.

  Etha stood and squeezed Ed’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

  “Maybe.”

  The phone rang and they both jumped.

  Ed took up his pad and pencil and lifted the receiver. In a flat tone he said, “Sheriff’s office.”

  Etha retreated, closing the office door carefully behind her. She couldn’t believe it. Could Carmine be freed as easily as that? The tight space beneath her breastbone expanded. She took a deep breath for the first time in days.

  As she passed the cellblock she hesitated. The urge to rush in and tell Carmine was strong but she thought better of it. It was not her place and might be premature at that. But she was bursting to talk. The second she walked in the door, she went straight to the phone. Minnie answered on the first ring.