Do Unto Others jp-1

by Jeff Abbott

  Best to take the blunderbuss approach. “Have you found where all that money came from?” “No, we haven’t,” he confessed. “You know anything about it?” “No,” I admitted. “Will wonders never cease? I’ll see you later, Jordy.” Junebug smiled at me, set his hat to his liking, and headed for his cruiser. I went back into the kitchen. Uncle Bid leaned against the open refrigerator, his bald head surveying the shelves up close. “Breakfast service is closed,” I quipped. “If you want the special thrill of having a relative cook for you, wait till Sister wakes up. I’m sure she’ll whip up your favorite. And get that smelly cigar out of the fridge. And out of the house. But there’s no need to spit it out. Just let your lips follow.” He slammed the door shut and rubbed an apple on his lapel. “You’d shame my brother, talking to me that way.” He could invoke a father’s ghost faster than Hamlet. “No, he’d be ashamed of how you’ve ignored Mama. You never call. You never come by unless it’s to offer less-than-constructive criticism. Your absence is a blessing to me, though, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

  “I’m concerned about you, Jordy, and I’m here to help. You need my representation. I’ve just had me a fascinating conversation with Billy Ray Bummel.” He bit into the apple and chomped noisily. That didn’t keep him from talking. “Let’s look at the facts, boy. Beta Harcher popped you one and threatened you in front of a library full of witnesses. You were in the library, by y’own admission, in the range of time the murder took place. If she was going to burn down the library, that was an immediate threat not only to you but to the only employment that you are remotely suited for in this town-aside from village idiot. And only your prints are on the murder weapon. Now do you still think you don’t need my help?” “I’ll get my own legal representation, thank you.” The phone rang. I scooped it up, willing to chitchat with an obscene caller rather than Bid. It was Candace.

  “Glad to see you’re home. I waited last night for your call.” Oops.

  I’d been so wrapped up in pulling my thoughts together and writing out my notes I’d forgotten my promise to phone Candace. “Sorry,” I said.

  “Look, this isn’t a good time. Can I call you back?” “As long as you’re not fixing breakfast for Ruth Wills.” It might’ve sounded mean if she hadn’t laughed. “I’m not. Talk to you in a minute.” I hung up and turned back to Bid. He munched the apple down to the core. I kept hoping there was a seed or two he might choke on. “I’m offering you free legal representation, just as soon as you’re arrested,” he said, wiping his mouth with a dainty, monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m not going to be arrested. If they had anything on me, they’d have arrested me by now.” I said it with more conviction than I felt. “And even if they do, I’ll get me a good attorney, someone over in Bavary who actually hasn’t been investigated by the state bar.” Bid shrugged away the history of his luminous career. “And how will you afford it, Jordy? With your stellar librarian’s salary?” He got up and thumbed his cigarillo stub into the trash. “You don’t have the money to spend on legal defense. And trust me, you don’t want a public defender.

  Bonaparte County’s recruiting from the very dregs of the dreggiest of law schools.” “I’ll take my chances, thank you. I’m sure any public defender would do a more conscientious job for me than you would.

  You’ve never given a crap about me or my family. You always acted superior because you had all the education and Daddy didn’t. Well, I’ve got an education now, Uncle Bid. But I didn’t need that to see that you’re just an uncaring, selfish bastard.” His bony, ugly face (thank God I didn’t favor the Poteet side) screwed up in anger. He turned red. “You listen to me, boy. I will represent you. You are kin and I will not have the Poteet name disgraced. I will not entrust your defense to some wet-eared kid straight out of school. There’s too much at stake-” “Too much what?” I crossed my arms and smiled. “You’ve never offered to do anything that you didn’t get a ton of benefit from.” He fished another cigarillo from his pocket and lit it in a fluid motion. He took his time, making the end of the nasty thing glow with each suck of whispered breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was sulky but reasonable. “Jordy. I know we’ve had our differences. I know I haven’t been”-his face screwed up as he breathed in smoke, making him look like a little dragon-“the best uncle to you and Arlene. I’ve been remiss in my duties to your poor mother. I’m asking for a chance to help you.” He laid his palms up in mock surrender.

  “Please, let me help you if the worst happens and you get charged with Beta’s murder.” I watched him. He acted sincere. Acted. I’d had enough experience with him to avoid embracing him and sobbing that all was forgiven. But maybe the old coot was genuine this time. “Please,” he said once more. I loved hearing him beg, but I wanted him gone more.

  “Tell you what, Uncle Bid. If I do get arrested, I’ll retain your free services. Until then, we won’t have any sort of formal agreement.

  Deal?” He didn’t look entirely pleased, but he’d honed his ways of hiding disappointment through his many failures in the courtroom. He came forward and shook my hand. His was sticky with apple juice.

  “Deal, then, Jordy.” He relinquished my hand and tried a new buddying-up tactic. “Although I remain staunchly convinced of your innocence, it wouldn’t surprise me that you could’ve killed that woman. Crazy old bitch. Waste of what was once fine womanhood.” “You knew Beta?” I asked, wishing I could wipe my palm. “I wasn’t on speaking terms with her,” Bid offered congenially, “but I knew her when she was younger. An eye-popper, that girl was. And knew how to have a good time.” Uncle Bid thoughtfully gyrated his pelvis so I wouldn’t miss his point. Beta? Bob Don had said she didn’t get religion until she was in her twenties. What kind of woman was she before then? Bob Don’s description of wild had been vague. “You and Beta?” I asked, incredulous. Imagining oddities from the Kama Sutra was easier than conjuring up an image of my uncle and Beta Harcher coupling. “Oh, Lord, no, Jordy. I never dated her. I wouldn’t have soiled my reputation by doing so. Funny how people turn out, though.

  Such a wild thing in her youth, then such a dried-up old church hag.”

  He shook his head. “Bob Don said she was pretty when she was younger.”

  Bid frowned. “You stay away from Bob Don Goertz. He’s nothing but a dirty liar.” God only knew what brought that on. I didn’t know Bid and Bob Don knew each other. “I’ll be going. Remember what I said, and you call me if you run into trouble. Give my best to Arlene, Mark, and your mother.” I nodded, not wanting to argue again. Beta Harcher, party girl turned keeper of morality. I wondered if Uncle Bid was trying to make his own metamorphosis. Candace had nothing new to report. I told her about Ruth witnessing the fight between Bob Don and Beta, didn’t mention Ruth’s offer of sexual solace, and concluded by telling her that apparently my prints were the only ones on the baseball bat. At the last tidbit, she gasped. “My God! Maybe they will arrest you.” “I don’t know. It seems odd that I would have the only prints on it. Say the killer wore gloves. If a kid left it in the field, it should also have his or her prints. Why doesn’t it?” “The killer wiped it clean,” Candace prompted. “And missed my prints? I don’t think so. I was the only person to handle that bat when it came into the library.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “I brought the bat into the library. I put it in my office. No one else went near it, until the killer used it to bash Beta.” “The only explanation,”

  Candace said slowly, “is that it was wiped before you handled it. A kid wouldn’t do that; there’s no reason to. Unless-” she stopped.

  “What?” “Oh, God. Unless the killer planted it there, already wiped clean of prints, and waited for you to pick it up.” “That’s crazy, Candace,” I coughed. “Doesn’t that seem like putting a lot up to chance? That I’m the first person to walk by the bat, that I notice it, that I pick it up, that I even take that path at any given time of the day?” “Jordy,” Candace’s tone was flat. “You’re far more a creature of habit than you re
alize. You always cut through the field on your way to the pharmacy.” “Yeah, but I don’t go to the pharmacy on a regular basis. Whenever Mama needs her medicine.” “Maybe the killer knew when that would be. When you’d be going next.” “My God!” I exclaimed. Pictures unraveled in my mind, like a grainy, old-time newsreel. “You’re onto something, Candace. Imagine you’re the killer.

  You want to frame me for this murder. You want to get my prints on the murder weapon. You want to put me at the scene of the crime near the time of the murder, or you want to kill Beta Harcher at a place where only I-and possibly a few others, including you-have access. You can’t use a conventional weapon like a gun or a knife, because how could you explain getting me to touch it? ‘Please leave your prints on that registered weapon, Jordy, and I’ll be on my way.’ So you decide to use as your weapon something I might handle. But there’s nothing in the library that’s lethal enough. I don’t have a heavy paperweight on my desk. I don’t have an antique sword hanging over the card catalog. But there is a softball field right by the library. So you decide to use a baseball bat. You know-or learn-that I cut through the softball field when I head toward the pharmacy or downtown in general. So you find out when I’m planning on going to the pharmacy, watch me leave, then leave the bat there on the path for me to find when I return. If I pick it up, you’re set. If I don’t, maybe you have an alternate plan.”

  Candace sighed on the other end of the line. “A lot of ifs there.” I clutched the phone in excitement. “But say it’s true. That could narrow the field down even further. Who would know that Mama needed her prescription refilled and that I would go down the path that day?”

  “Maybe that’s not the key,” Candace suggested. “Maybe they just were in the library when you left to go to the pharmacy and then put the bat out for you to find when you got back. Maybe your mother’s medicine had nothing to do with it.” Leave it to Candace to make simplifying conclusions. Simple seemed better. “Okay, let’s take that tack. So who was around that morning?” Candace hummed slightly on the other line. “Let’s see. You. Me. Old Man Renfro, of course-he’s always there. Eula Mae and her lot were just starting to arrive when you left.” She harrumphed. “Ruth Wills was there, looking up something.

  Probably home cures for venereal disease.” She paused. “Tamma Hufnagel-no, she came in after you got back, right when the fight started with you and Beta.” “Maybe she was outside the library and saw me go.” “Maybe so. And maybe anyone else could’ve been too,” Candace agreed. “Bob Don came in to return a book that his wife’d checked out.

  There was a whiskey spill on one page and he offered to buy the book.

  That was about ten minutes before you left. I took care of it.” “Bob Don again,” I said. “His name pops up more than a jack-in-the-box.”

  “There were a few others at the library. Older folks. That nerdy Gaston Leach. I can’t imagine any of them as Beta’s killer.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ve got to go, Candace. I’ve got some folks to see. I’m afraid that Junebug knows that we know about Beta’s deposit. It kind of slipped out this morning.” She sighed, disappointed in me. “Oh, well. Mother will just have to forgive me. After all, it’s for a worthy cause. Saving your butt.” As soon as Sister was awake, I told her about Junebug’s visit, Uncle Bid’s offer, and my theory about the murder weapon. “Uncle Bid? Being nice?” She wiped sleep from her eyes as I sat on the corner of her bed. “I’m fast asleep, right?” “Nope.

  And I’m not working today. The library’s still closed.” She blinked green eyes at me, rimmed with dark. Those eyes said she’d been working too much. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not going to volunteer to stay home with Mama?” “There’s some people I’ve got to see.” “Look, Jordy. You’re trying to clear yourself before they’ve even arrested you-” “How would I clear my name from a jail cell? I wouldn’t count on Uncle Bid to hire a decent private investigator. I’ve got to do this now, prove I’m innocent.” I leaned back on the bed. “I called Dorcas Witherspoon. She said she’d stay with Mama if you needed to run errands.” “Okay.” Sister knotted the sheets around her. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt that said RICE UNIVERSITY. God, I’d given that to her my senior year in college and she still slept in it.

  “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re a killer.” “I have you on my side, though. And Candace.” Sister squeezed my hand. It was the first legitimate sign of affection she’d shown me in weeks. I think we were both just too tired to bother most of the time, too caught up in feeling sorry for ourselves, too worn down from dealing with Mama, too frustrated at our own powerlessness in the face of her disease. We’d been close once. I wanted to be close to her again. I offered to bring her some coffee in bed and she giggled. “You?” she asked. I drew myself up to my full height “I too can be sensitive and caring. We just got a book about it at the library.” I brought her milky coffee, the way she liked it. She sipped it as daintily as an English lady being gently roused in the morning by a roomful of servants. I told her about my dinner with Ruth and what I’d found out yesterday. She listened for once, and did not interrupt me. A rarity for my big sister. When I was done, Sister finished her coffee before she spoke. “Well, I can fill in one gap.

  Bob Don did used to be friends with Mama and Daddy.” “When?” “Oh, when I was real little. Before you were born. He came over quite a bit. I remember he loved to toss me up in the air and catch me. I’d squeal everybody deaf. And he and Mama and Daddy played cards some evenings, I remember that. But he and Mama and Daddy had some big falling out. I think it was over him marrying that nasty Gretchen. I don’t think Mama and Daddy liked being around her. She’s a real bitch.” “Candace says that Bob Don returned a library book that’d had booze spilled on it.”

  Sister huffed. “Then she’s also a real drunk bitch. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Have you ever seen that woman, Jordy? Course she doesn’t get out like she used to. But I know a drunk when I see one. She must just be getting worse and worse. Poor Bob Don. Maybe he really does want to help, make up for the rift between him and Daddy and Mama.” “Maybe so,” I said thoughtfully. I offered to make Sister some breakfast, but she said she’d get her own. (She wasn’t willing to take a chance on my cooking.) So I got on with my work. There were people to see and stories to be checked out. I decided to strike close to home first.

  The Bavary/Mirabeau phone book listed three families named Hart. I got lucky the second time around. The lady who answered had a daughter named Chelsea. “May I ask why you want to speak with her?” the woman asked. Her voice was nasal but polite. I fidgeted. “Actually, she’s dating my cousin, Hally Schneider. I thought she might assist me in planning a surprise party for him.” I couldn’t think of anything else and hoped that I wouldn’t actually have to plan a social function for a teenager to cover my tracks. The woman warmed. “Oh, yes, Hally and Chelsea did go out the other night. Such a handsome young man.” Her voice faltered. “I-I didn’t know that he was really interested in Chelsea.” “Oh, talks about her constantly,” I chirped. Well, he’d mentioned her once. That counted for something. Mrs. Hart directed me to LuAnne’s Backerei, a little German bakery in downtown Mirabeau. I thanked her and hung up. I could stop off and chat with Chelsea on my way to see Reverend Hufnagel, Bob Don Goertz, and Eula Mae. And when I got back, down-the-street neighbor Janice Schneider and I were going to have a little heart-to-heart as well.

  9

  The warm aroma of freshly baked kolaches enveloped me as I stepped into LuAnne’s Backerei. Kolaches are a Czech pastry, a warm, square roll with a fruit or sausage middle and topping. Every small town in east-central Texas boasts a kolache bakery, even some left over from the earliest Czech immigrants. Kolache and coffee together are the ultimate in comfort foods; the smell alone brought back memories of my grandmother Schneider’s kitchen, a tray of hot kolaches being set before Sister and me-with a gentle warning to let them cool so we wouldn’t burn our mouths. Today�
��s batch smelled of apple, peach, and heaven. I didn’t know LuAnne or any of the staff; there was one stout, matronly woman in the back on the phone and a trio of young girls brewing coffee, pulling fresh kolaches out of glass-fronted ovens, and ringing the cash register. If LuAnne’s had a morning rush I’d missed it. Two plump ladies in stretch polyester pantsuits sat by the door, laughing merrily over steaming cups of coffee. A circle of older men slumped by a table, watching the women chat. One man, a Dallas Cowboys cap perched on his head, held court, talking and smoking his cigarette. The other men munched on their kolaches, and it was hard to tell if they paid the slightest attention to him. They had probably heard whatever story he was telling a hundred times already. I approached the counter, bought two apple kolaches and a coffee, laced with milk and sugar. The girl who rang up my purchase smiled prettily.

  I thought she was just Hally’s type. “Excuse me. Are you Chelsea Hart?” “No, she is.” The girl jerked her head toward the ovens. A girl I never would have pictured with Hally Schneider extracted a tray of steaming peach kolaches from the oven. She wasn’t pretty and I’m not being unkind. She just wasn’t Her face was bony to an extreme, gaunt and sallow. Her nose and chin were small, but sharply pointed, like a cartoon witch’s. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail of dirty-blonde hair, with a front tuft moussed to defy gravity. A short-sleeved blouse showed arms like rails. I moved down the counter and spoke to her, aware of the cashier’s eyes on me. “Excuse me?