‘Oh, God no! That’s why it was a joke, see? Like, I would never, ever touch that woman! Ever,’ he said. Then ended with a sincerely spoken, ‘Never ever.’
‘Wasn’t your type?’ I said.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Hardly!’
‘So what were the two of you fighting about after the church social last week?’
That pulled him up short. He just stared at me. Then he said, ‘Church social? When was that?’
‘The Thursday before she was killed on Monday.’
‘Gosh, it must not have been important, Sheriff. I can’t even remember talking to her that–– Now wait!’ he said, and I gotta say, the guy was a lousy actor. ‘I believe we did speak for just a moment that evening. About the boys! My oldest nephew Ben and her son Jason. They’re both fourteen and they’ve been acting out. Mostly it’s Jason, Ben’s just following along, you know, and I wanted her to rein Jason in—’
‘Isn’t that something the mothers would handle?’ I asked, not buying this for a minute.
‘Carol Anne didn’t know about this incident. And I didn’t want her to know. That’s why I went to Mary about it and she got a bit defensive. You know,’ he said, in a conspiratorial aside to me, ‘all mother-hen stuff. It might have looked like we were fighting, but that’s all it was.’
‘Uh huh,’ I said. ‘What were the boys doing that you felt compelled to keep it from your sister and run to Mary about it?’
‘I don’t think I have the right to tell you, Sheriff. The boys have since owned up to it and taken their licks, and it’s not something anyone in the family would want to tell the authorities about.’
‘Well, tell you what. Nobody else in the family needs to know about this. Just you, me, and the boys. I’ll follow you back to your house, we’ll get the boys and go have a talk. How does that sound?’
‘The boys have after-school activities . . .’
‘Let me call Carol Anne and check,’ I said, getting out my cell phone.
Dennis sighed. ‘It wasn’t about the boys,’ he said.
‘Then what was it about?’ I asked.
‘Why don’t you arrest me, Sheriff? ’Cause I’m not telling you. It had nothing to do with her getting murdered. I had nothing to do with her getting murdered. I’ve never harmed anyone in my life! But what Mary and I said to each other was private. And that’s all I’m gonna say.’
I stared at the whiny little bastard. I could take him in, make him stew in a jail cell for a couple of days. Doubt if he could take it. But I thought about his mother and her worry that just me talking to him would get him fired. Hell, if he landed in jail for a couple of days they surely would fire him. Even though he was on disability, and living off Jerry Hudson.
‘So why you working at Jack-in-the-Box?’ I asked. ‘I thought if you were on disability, you weren’t supposed to have a job.’
‘It’s part-time. And they let me sit on a stool while I work. Social security says it’s OK if it’s part-time and I’m paid under a certain amount of money.’
But Jack-in-the-Box? You had to wonder. Well, that was judgmental, I thought. Who am I to decide how a person lives or how much they need to live on? Maybe he had to take lots of meds and it cost a lot. Or maybe he was paying off hospital bills for him and his mama. Hell, I didn’t know.
Did I think he killed Mary Hudson? No. I really didn’t. But damned if now I didn’t want to know what he and Mary were talking about – and I wanted to know real bad.
I sighed. ‘Look, Dennis, I don’t want to cause you problems with your job or your mama or your sister or anybody, OK? I just want to know what you and Mary were talking about.’
He shook his head, mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key. Real grown-up, this guy.
‘Just go home,’ I said, as I started the Jeep. He got out and I burned rubber getting out of there.
Nita Skitteridge – Wednesday
It was getting dark when I let the Boy Scouts go. They’d gotten there at three thirty that afternoon and I’d done a grid for the search, starting half of them at the street level by Rene Hudson’s house, the other half at street level by Carol Anne Hudson’s house. Since we had eighteen Scouts, that meant nine on each side, walking arm’s length from each other, from the fence at the back of each property to the sidewalk in front of each property.
The only excitement of the day was the yellow dog who was very excited about all the activity. I finally had to go to Mary Hudson’s house to get Carol Anne to come get the dog. She went inside for some dog biscuits and came out, squatting down and calling, ‘Come here, Butch! Good dog, here, Butch!’
‘His name’s Butch?’ I said, laughing.
‘No,’ she said, ‘her name is Butch. We had the kids vote on what name they wanted, and since there are more boys than girls, we ended up with Butch.’
The yellow dog – Butch – came lumbering up to Carol Anne and almost knocked her over in her excitement. She licked Carol Anne, grabbed a biscuit and then jumped on me, her paws on my shoulders, biscuit in mouth, as if offering it to me.
‘No, thanks, Butch,’ I said, ‘I’ll let you have it.’
‘Get down, Butch!’ Carol Anne scolded. To me she said, as she grabbed Butch’s collar, ‘I’ll put her in the garage until you’re through.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and headed back to the Scouts. For another hour of nothing.
After the troop leaders had taken the boys home, I again rang Carol Anne’s – or Mary’s – doorbell. Carol Anne came to the door.
‘We’re through,’ I said. ‘You can let Butch out.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling. ‘She’ll be thrilled.’
I waved goodbye and headed to my squad car.
My impression: whoever killed Mary Hudson with that foot-long meat tenderizer thing must have taken it home with them, or dumped it in the woods on the way. It was definitely not on the cul-de-sac. And, something I won’t admit to my husband who’s been trying to get me to agree to buy a Rottweiler for a year now, I found a dog I actually liked. A little.
Dalton Pettigrew – Wednesday
Dalton decided to talk the case over with Anthony Dobbins, another deputy. He didn’t want to talk about it with Emmett Hopkins, who was the sheriff’s best friend and second in command, or Jasmine, another deputy, because she was Emmett’s wife. And he didn’t want to talk to Nita Skitteridge about it, because she was brand new and he didn’t know her. But, even though Anthony was what was now called African-American, and Dalton had never had a friend who was African-American, or ever really talked to one, he liked Anthony OK, and figured he was a pretty good deputy. And, he had to face it, he needed to talk to someone.
So towards the end of shift on the second day of the case, Dalton walked up to Anthony’s desk and stood there. Anthony was on the phone and so he waited. Anthony kept stealing glances at the huge white guy looming over him, and cut short his conversation with his wife.
‘Hey, Dalton,’ Anthony said, standing up.
‘Hey, Anthony,’ Dalton said.
They stood there for almost a full minute before Dalton said, ‘Ah, can I talk with you after shift?’
Startled, Anthony said, ‘Ah, yeah, sure. You want to go get a drink or something?’
‘I could use some iced tea,’ Dalton said.
Anthony nodded. ‘Down on the square? Doris’s Diner?’
‘OK,’ Dalton said and grinned. ‘Thanks, Anthony.’
Anthony said, ‘You’re welcome,’ as Dalton walked away.
After shift ended at five o’clock that afternoon, and as both men headed in separate cars toward the square, neither man noticed how good the square was looking on this cool October evening. How mums had been set out in the flowerbeds and how wreaths were on the gas lights surrounding the courthouse. Nor did they notice the fall designs in the windows of the shops that surrounded Doris’s Diner. This may have been because they’d both lived in Longbranch their entire lives, but more than likely had more to do with t
he fact that they were both men.
Once at Doris’s, the two men took seats in a booth by the front window, getting many fewer looks than they would have only a few years before.
‘So what’s up?’ Anthony asked, ready to get this, whatever it was, over with.
‘You heard about that dead body they found over at Vern’s Auto Repair on Stillwater?’ Dalton asked.
‘Yeah. Sure did. You’re handling that, right?’ Anthony said.
Dalton sighed. ‘Yeah. I guess. I just don’t know what to do right now. The guy didn’t have any ID on him, and his fingerprints didn’t show up in any of the . . .’ he tried to remember the word and finally came up with ‘databases that Holly tried.’ His face turned red when he mentioned her name. This did not go unnoticed by Anthony. ‘And I wonder if this could be connected to the sheriff’s case, you know, that lady over at The Branches with all the kids?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Anthony said.
‘You think it’s connected?’ Dalton asked.
‘What does the sheriff say?’ Anthony countered.
‘Nothing. I mean, he didn’t mention a connection, so I didn’t bring it up. Not my place, huh?’
‘Well, if you think there is, then, yeah, it’s your place.’
‘But I don’t think it is,’ Dalton said.
Anthony sighed. ‘Then no reason to mention it to the sheriff, I guess.’
‘So now what?’ Dalton asked Anthony, and sat back, waiting for Anthony to tell him what to do.
‘You check for missing persons?’ Anthony asked.
Dalton shook his head.
‘Well, I guess that’s the next thing,’ Anthony said, trying not to stress how obvious that should be. ‘And then follow up on anything that looks promising. And if you don’t find anything in the county or state, I guess you’d have to do a wider search, maybe the country.’
‘Golly,’ Dalton said. ‘That would take some time.’
‘Holly can help you with that,’ Anthony said. ‘There are lots more databases for different things, and they have one where you can put in your parameters––’
Seeing the pained look on Dalton’s face, Anthony explained, ‘Like the guy’s approximate age, height, weight, hair color, all that sort of thing. Then the computer will just look for missing men fitting that description. It’ll still be a lot, then there’s a service we can pay money to use if we have to that’ll do facial recognition.’ Again, he got the pained look from Dalton. ‘What does that sound like, Dalton? Facial recognition?’
Dalton thought about it and Anthony could see on his fellow deputy’s face when the light dawned. ‘Oh! Something that recognizes faces!’
Anthony smiled and leaned across the table to punch Dalton in the shoulder. ‘You got it!’ he said, wondering how in the world this big, goofy guy ever got to be a deputy. How did he pass the academy? Then he mentally shook his head and told himself it was none of his business.
He also knew that what he was about to ask was none of his business either, but he decided to risk it. ‘So,’ he said, after their iced teas had arrived. ‘What’s up with you and Holly?’
Anthony watched as Dalton’s big, usually pale face turned bright red. ‘Nothing,’ Dalton said.
‘You like her, right?’ Anthony insisted.
Dalton shrugged.
‘Well,’ Anthony said, ‘I’m pretty sure she likes you.’
Dalton stirred four packets of sugar into his iced tea. ‘She seems really happy at work,’ he said.
‘You must have gotten to know her pretty well, when y’all were lost in the woods that time with your nephew,’ Anthony said.
Yes, Dalton thought, he’d gotten to know Holly pretty well out in those woods last summer. In those few hours, OK, bunch of hours, that they were lost with his young nephew, he’d discovered how strong, caring, and giving she was. And he knew that some day she was gonna make a good mom. The thought made him blush anew. Truth be known, he thought about that time a lot, and probably thought way too much about Holly.
Dalton shrugged again and Anthony decided enough was enough. He needed to get home. He downed the rest of his tea and stood up, throwing a couple of ones on the table. ‘It was good talking with you, Dalton, but my wife needs me to stop by the store on the way home, so I’d better get my ass in gear.’ He grinned when he said it and, after several seconds, Dalton reluctantly grinned back.
Dalton stood and held out his hand. Shaking Anthony’s hand, Dalton said, ‘Thanks for your help, Anthony. That was real nice of you.’
‘Hey, no problem, man. Any time.’ He patted Dalton on the shoulder. ‘You take care now, hear?’
Dalton nodded as Anthony left the diner.
Milt Kovak – Thursday
The next morning on the way to work, me and Jean dropped by the house of Thomas Whitman and his wife Sarie, another plural family from the New Saints Tabernacle. Their house was a two-story farmhouse on the outskirts of town, on our side of downtown. When we pulled into the long driveway we saw a man at the barn, wearing coveralls and a wide-brimmed hat. He was standing by a tractor, half its hood opened, and he was wiping his hands on a red work cloth.
I turned off the Jeep’s engine and rolled down the window. Didn’t get out, though. I called through the window, ‘Mr Whitman?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, still standing by the tractor.
‘Sheriff Kovak, sir. May I get out?’
He nodded his head and Jean and I both got out of the Jeep. Whitman met us halfway and held out his wiped-clean hand. We shook and he said, ‘Can I help you, Sheriff?’
Up close he was a lot older than I’d figured, wearing one of those beards that doesn’t have a mustache with it – just goes from sideburns down to the chin. The beard was white and the hair I could see under the wide-brimmed hat was salt-and-pepper. His eyes were a washed-out blue and his face was ruddy from the sun and just being a farmer.
‘We’re interviewing the members of the New Saints Tabernacle concerning the death of Sister Mary Hudson—’
‘If you’re here because I’m a polygamist, you can just go on home now, Sheriff. My wife Marie died last year and now it’s just me and Sarie and the kids. Not breaking any of your laws.’
‘No, sir, I’m not concerned right now with the number of your wives. This is about the murder of Mrs Hudson. I just need to interview you and Mrs Whitman, see what y’all know about Mrs Hudson.’
‘I didn’t know the woman at all. Not my place to. Sarie mighta knowed her,’ he said.
I pointed at the farmhouse. ‘May I?’
He shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and said, ‘Well, come on then,’ and led the way to the house.
The house was freshly painted white with no trim color or anything – just all white. But it had a big front porch with white rocking chairs sitting on it. He opened the screen door and hollered, ‘Sarie? Got company!’
A young woman came in from the back of the house, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She had gleaming chestnut-brown hair falling below her bottom, a pleasingly plump little body, a pretty face with dimpled cheeks, and wore a gray dress and house slippers.
‘Sarie,’ Whitman said, ‘this is the sheriff. He’s got some questions ’bout Mary Hudson. You need to answer him right, you hear?’
‘Yes, Thomas,’ she said.
‘Where’s Jane Marie?’ he asked.
‘Right here, Daddy,’ said a voice coming from the room we were in. I swung around to see a woman sitting in a chair by the fireplace. I hadn’t seen her on coming in; by their responses, neither had Thomas Whitman or my wife. She stood up and walked toward us. She was seriously tall, tall as me anyway, ’bout five foot ten or so, skinny as a rail, and ugly as a catfish. She wore the same kinda dress as Sarie, but laced up boots covering feet bigger than mine.
‘You heard?’ Whitman asked.
‘Yes, Daddy,’ Jane Marie answered.
Looking at me, Whitman said, ‘Then I’ll leave you to it, Sheriff.’ With that he walked
back out the front door, heading, presumably, back to his tractor.
‘Please, Sheriff, ma’am,’ Sarie said, looking at Jean with a sweet smile, ‘have a seat. Jane Marie, could you go get us all some lemonade?’
‘You’re playing hostess, Sarie, why don’t you do that your own self?’ Jane Marie said, sitting down on the couch.
‘Because I asked you to do it,’ Sarie said, still standing.
‘I’m already sittin’ down,’ Jane Marie said.
‘We’re fine,’ I interjected. ‘No need for refreshments. Ma’am,’ I said, talking directly to Sarie, ‘please have a seat. We just have a few questions.’ Once Sarie had finally sat down, I added, ‘This is Dr McDonnell. She’s a consultant with the sheriff’s department.’
‘Nice to meet you both,’ Sarie said, smiling and nodding at both of us. Jane Marie said nothing.
‘We’re here about the murder of Sister Mary Hudson,’ I said. ‘Any information y’all can give me concerning her or her family, the whole bunch of ’em, I’d really appreciate.’
Sarie and Jane Marie looked at each other then quickly looked away. Finally, Sarie said, ‘We hardly knew the Hudson family. They’re fairly new to the community.’
‘That’s right,’ Jane Marie said, her words almost stumbling over the last of Sarie’s statement. Made it all sound a little fishy.
‘They’ve been here two years, I understand,’ I said.
Again, the women exchanged looks. ‘That’s true,’ Jane Marie said. ‘But we don’t have a lot in common.’
‘How so?’ I pushed.
Sarie sighed and said, ‘Mama Marie, Thomas’s first wife, was barren after Jane Marie, and Thomas didn’t marry me until seven years ago. I have two little girls.’ She said all that and stopped talking.
Jane Marie added, ‘And they’re both retards—’
‘They are not!’ Sarie said, starring daggers at her . . . um, stepdaughter? Who knows.
‘Well, they ain’t normal!’ Jane Marie shot back. ‘That’s why Daddy won’t let her take ’em to church!’
‘That’s not it at all, Jane Marie, and you better watch your mouth—’
‘Or what?’ Jane Marie shot back. A smile played at her lips. ‘I think I already proved who Daddy stands by, and it ain’t you and your retards!’
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