by Bill Crider
Con pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Edwina put a cup of coffee in a saucer in front of him, then brought over one for herself and sat down. Neither of them put anything in the coffee.
“Tell me about the mischief,” Rhodes said.
“It’s the Falkners,” Edwina said. “Like I told you. First it was phone calls. Now it’s firecrackers.”
“Tell me about the calls.”
“They must’ve been made from throwaway phones. We didn’t know the numbers that showed on our phone screens. Bad language and threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
Edwina took a sip of her coffee. “Let Con tell you.”
Rhodes looked at Con, who said, “Things like ‘you’ll have to leave town before all this is over’ and ‘everybody in town hates you; time to get out.’ I’m not going anywhere, though.”
“Tell him about the garden,” Edwina said.
“I have a little garden out back,” Con said. “One day when we were gone somebody got into it and tore it up. I’d taken a lot of trouble with it, watered it, pampered it. Had green beans, potatoes, squash. After the Falkners got through with it, I didn’t have a thing.”
“You know for sure they did it?” Rhodes asked.
Hunley shrugged. “Who else could it be?”
“What about your security cameras?” Rhodes asked. “Didn’t you get any video of any of this?”
“Sure, but they always park out of range, and all I get are pictures of two people in hoodies. They tear up the garden or throw firecrackers, and they run back to their car. Has to be the Falkners.”
Rhodes could think of two more people it could be, but he didn’t say so. Instead he asked, “Is this stuff related to the schoolhouse?”
“Sure it is,” Con said. He sipped some coffee. “The Falkners want that building down, the sooner, the better. I have other ideas.”
“What other ideas?”
“It would take a lot of money to restore the building. I know that, but the money could be raised. The Falkners alone could pay for it, or the Reeses, who also want it razed, but even if they wouldn’t help, there are ways to get the money. Razed. I think I have a slogan: Raise the money. Don’t raze the building.”
Rhodes smiled as best he could. “How would you get the money?”
“Fund-raising sites on the internet. I know of several, and they’re all on the up-and-up. We could get contributions from ex-students but from all over the world, too. Plenty of people are interested in preserving historic buildings. We just need somebody to set the thing up.”
“Why not you?”
“I can tell you that,” Edwina said. “People would say Con’s using his service record to raise the money. They’d imply that somehow he was cheapening the medals he won and the things he did. It would be the same if Pete did it. They’re heroes, but they don’t want to use their reputations to raise the money.”
The kitchen door from the garage opened, and a man walked in. He said, “Did somebody just mention my name?”
Pete Hunley looked like a younger version of his father, and he was dressed like his parents in camo clothing, except that his was desert camo, all in different shades of brown. Different clothes for different wars, but the same effect. It was kind of overdoing things, he thought.
“I saw the sheriff’s car parked in the driveway,” Pete said to his parents, “so I thought I’d better come over to see if I could keep you two out of jail.”
Edwina stood up and said, “We’re not going to jail. You sit right down and I’ll get you some coffee.”
Pete pulled out the remaining chair and had a seat. “Glad you’re not going to arrest them, Sheriff. Are you here about the firecrackers?”
“Among other things,” Rhodes said. “We’ve been talking about the school building.”
Edwina came to the table with Pete’s coffee and set it on the mat. He apparently took nothing in it, either. He took a sip of it immediately and didn’t seem worried about burning his mouth. He swallowed, set down his cup, and looked at his father. “That old building means a lot to some people.”
“A lot less to others,” Con said.
“Is anybody upset enough about it to kill somebody?” Rhodes asked.
“You talking about the man they found dead in the schoolhouse?” Pete said.
“That’s right,” Rhodes said, and he went on to explain that Lawrence Gates had been partially responsible for Digging that Blacklin County Dirt and had been at the school to investigate the controversy.
“So you think somebody killed him because he was looking into that?” Edwina asked.
“It’s one possibility,” Rhodes said. “Maybe somebody just killed him to steal his car, or maybe there was something else involved. I’m just getting started on the investigation.”
“Well, we didn’t kill him,” Edwina said, looking first at Con and then at Pete. “We’d like to see the building saved, but not enough to kill anybody.”
“We had enough killing in our wars,” Pete said. “All that’s over now.”
“I’m sure all of you can account for your whereabouts the night before last,” Rhodes said.
“That’s kind of insulting, Sheriff,” Pete said.
“I have to ask.”
“Maybe so, but I’m a man who fought and bled for his country. I’ve looked that old scoundrel death in the eye to protect our freedoms. My word should be good for something.”
“It’s okay,” Con said, breaking in. “Edwina and I were right here all evening. Pete was at home with his wife, Linda. We didn’t kill anybody.”
“I’ll have to ask Linda that question, too,” Rhodes said. “The one about whether you were there with her.”
Pete bristled. “I don’t see why. Dad just told you I was with her.”
“He wasn’t there to see,” Rhodes said.
He already knew what Linda would tell him. Everybody was alibiing everybody else, which wasn’t unusual. Often everybody was telling the truth, but it was nevertheless an awkward situation.
“Ask her, then,” Pete said. “I don’t care, but I’m telling you we didn’t do it.”
“What about the Falkners?” Rhodes asked. “Con says they’re causing you trouble. How violent do you think they’d get?”
“Plenty,” Edwina said. “That Faye’s crazy.”
“Don’t say that,” Con said. “You’re not a psychiatrist.”
“I don’t need to be. Crazy’s not a technical term, and I know crazy when I see it. That woman has a temper like a rattlesnake. I’ve had a run-in or two with her. You’re going to talk to them, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
“Them and the Reeses,” Rhodes said. “I understand they want the school demolished, too.”
“I don’t care much for the Reeses,” Con said, “but they’re better than the Falkners by a good stretch.”
Rhodes stood up and said to Pete, “I’ll stop by your house before I leave. You want to go with me and introduce me to your wife? I’ve never met her.”
Pete stood. “Sure. Thanks for the coffee, Mom.”
“Thanks for the orange juice,” Rhodes said.
“You’re welcome,” Edwina said. “You’ll see what I mean about Faye Falkner, Sheriff. She’ll probably try to claw your eyes out.”
“I’ll take that risk,” Rhodes said. “You ready, Pete?”
“Let’s go,” Pete said, and he led the way out the door.
* * *
Pete and Linda’s kitchen was a bit more up-to-date than that of the elder Hunleys. It was mostly white, from the appliances to the cabinets to the countertops. It had an island that was used as a table with stools, and the breakfast nook was empty. Rhodes assumed that the table Hunley had refinished would go there, although it wasn’t white.
Linda Hunley was the only member of the family not dressed in a camouflage outfit. She wore jeans, a blue shirt, and running shoes. She was small, with a round face, blond hair, and blue eyes. Her voice was light and high.
She and Rhodes sat at the kitchen island. They weren’t drinking anything. Rhodes had had enough orange juice for one day.
“Nobody’s really bothered us,” Linda told Rhodes, who’d asked Pete to let him talk to Linda alone. “We did get a few of the phone calls, but Pete and I aren’t involved in the schoolhouse argument. We don’t really care one way or the other what happens to it. We naturally side with Con and Edwina, but that’s only because they’re Pete’s parents.”
“The incident with the firecrackers seemed to bother Con a good bit,” Rhodes said. “He said it bothered Pete even more.”
“That’s because of the war. Pete is a hero, you know. His daddy’s so proud of him. He won a lot of medals, and he’s proud to have served his country.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Rhodes said. There had been a good many articles in the local paper about Pete’s service in the first Gulf War and all his exploits and medals. Con was always at his side, and the articles didn’t dwell on Con’s own heroics nearly as much as they did Pete’s.
“He has flashbacks sometimes,” Linda said. “He was in a lot of fighting, and those firecrackers brought it all back. He thought for a second he was back in the war and jumped out of bed to get his rifle. He keeps it close by. That’s how a hero is. He didn’t fire his rifle, but he did run out in the yard. The Falkners were gone when he got there, lucky for them.”
Everybody was sure it was the Falkners except Rhodes. “What time was that?” he asked.
“It was a little before three. I looked at the clock.”
“Why are you so sure it was the Falkners?”
“That’s what Pete told me. I always believe him.”
Pete must have been a convincing kind of guy, or maybe Linda was just loyal. Rhodes asked the important question. “Was Pete here all night?”
“Yes. Why?”
“There was a murder last night. Maybe you heard about it.”
“I saw it on the internet. A terrible thing, but Pete would never kill anybody. He says he did enough of that in Iraq. Anyway, he was here with me all the time.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. We watched TV and then we went to bed.”
“A solid alibi,” Rhodes said. “I hope you understand that I had to ask.”
“I was here, too, you know. So I didn’t do it, either.”
“Good to know,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 14
The Falkners didn’t live far from the Hunleys, so Rhodes visited them next. Their house was considerably more elaborate than the two the Hunleys lived in, and a good bit newer. It had four redbrick sections, one behind the other, and each was a bit offset from the one in front of it. The front section had a peaked roof, while the other roofs were flat. A semicircular drive was in front of the house, and there was only one flagpole. It flew two flags, with the U.S. flag on top and the Texas flag beneath it. The back section of the house stuck out quite a distance, and Rhodes figured it was a garage. About fifty yards in back of the house was a big red barn. The doors were closed, so Rhodes couldn’t see inside, although he would have liked to.
Rhodes went to the front door of the house and pushed the doorbell. He heard a gong inside and then footsteps. There was a pause, and Rhodes thought someone was looking at him through the peephole in the door. After a couple of seconds he heard the rattle of a chain and the click and slide of a deadbolt.
The door opened, and Leslie Falkner stood there. “Good morning, Sheriff. What brings you down this way?”
Rhodes had met Falkner at a few countywide events, but he didn’t know the man well at all. He was tall and thin, with a head that seemed too big for his skinny neck.
“A murder, for one,” Rhodes said. “A little mischief for another. Can I come in and talk to you?”
“Sure thing.” Leslie stepped aside and pulled the door all the way open. “Faye’s around somewhere if you want to talk to her, too.”
“I do,” Rhodes said, and Leslie led the way down the hall to the den, which Rhodes appreciated. He was tired of kitchens.
The den had two couches in front of low coffee tables, and a giant flat-screen TV set, bigger than any Rhodes had seen, hung on one wall. There were a couple of recliners and some bookshelves on another wall, and a small upright piano sat against another.
“Have a seat on the couch there,” Leslie said, pointing. “It’s the most comfortable. You want something to drink? We have coffee.”
“No thanks,” Rhodes said. “I just want to ask a few questions.”
Leslie sat on the couch beside Rhodes. “Ask away. Faye should be here in a minute.”
“What do you know about the murder here last night?” Rhodes asked.
“Not much. Just that old meddler Wanda Wilkins found someone dead in the schoolhouse. He’d been shot, I believe.”
“That’s right,” Rhodes said. “His name was Lawrence Gates, and he was here to talk to someone about the problems the town’s having about the schoolhouse and whether to tear it down or not. Did he ever call you about that?”
“Never heard of him,” Leslie said. “I got a call from somebody who said he was a journalist. Can’t remember the name he gave me, but it wasn’t Gates. I gave him my opinion and hung up on him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I don’t see any problems, myself,” Leslie said. “Tear that sucker down and build something that’s not leaking and falling apart. Time to move on from the past and start living in the twenty-first century.”
“Some people think the history of the town should be preserved.”
“By some people you mean the Hunleys? They just think so because they think Con’s a big hero and maybe they can get some kind of historical marker on the place if it’s still standing. All they can think about are what big heroes Con and Pete were. They don’t care about the community, just their own reputations. It’s all they can talk about. Bronze star this, silver star that. Their military careers and their medals are all that matter to them. Anyway, they can put up a plaque at the new building if they want to. I don’t think anybody would object to that.”
“That might work,” Rhodes said, although he didn’t think the Hunleys would be satisfied with that solution. “Seems as if the Hunleys been having some problems with vandalism lately, too.”
Leslie shrugged. “I’ve heard about it. Mainly from them. You’ve talked to them, I suppose.”
“Just this morning,” Rhodes said. “They think you and Faye are responsible.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” Faye Falkner said, walking into the den. She was almost as tall as her husband, but a bit heftier. “They blame everything on us. If there was a tornado, they’d blame us. They don’t like us because we don’t agree with them about the school, and they don’t like us because we have more money than they do. They make me sick,” Faye continued, raising her voice. “I wish they’d move away from here. It would improve the town a lot. They don’t contribute anything. They just brag on themselves.”
“Now, Faye,” Leslie said. “Calm down.”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down,” Faye yelled. “I’m perfectly calm.”
“I know you are,” Leslie said. “Sit down here on the couch and let the sheriff ask his questions.”
Faye crossed her arms. “Maybe I don’t want to sit down.”
“Of course you do. It’s much more comfortable than standing.”
Faye laughed. “Who cares? I’m going to stand up. I like standing up.”
“That’s fine if it suits you,” Leslie said. “Now you go ahead, Sheriff. Ask those questions.”
“Aside from the vandalism, there’s that murder,” Rhodes said. “I don’t know who the victim was planning to meet with, but since he was investigating the school controversy, it would be natural for him to meet with someone involved. So I’d like to know where the two of you were last night.”
“I just bet you would,” Faye said. “Well, it’s none of your business.�
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“I’m the sheriff,” Rhodes said. “That makes it my business.”
“I can answer for both of us, Sheriff,” Leslie said. “We were right here at home all night, and we had nothing to do with any murder or any firecrackers or anything else.”
“That’s right,” Faye said, still not using her indoor voice. “Right here all night, and you better believe it.”
Everybody was giving everybody else an alibi, which didn’t surprise Rhodes. It didn’t help him any, though.
“If anybody killed anybody,” Faye went on, “it was those Hunleys. They all have guns. Rifles, pistols, you name it. Con and Pete were in wars. They’ve killed before. Once you start killing, what’s one more? You ask ’em that, why don’t you.”
“Don’t tell the sheriff how to do his job,” Leslie said.
“You going to try to stop me?” Faye said.
Rhodes stood up. “I think I’ve gotten the answers I need for today. I’ll come back if I have any more questions.”
“You just do that, Sheriff,” Faye said. “You just do that. See if we care.”
Leslie took Rhodes’s elbow and guided him away from the couch, past Faye, and into the hall. When they got to the door, he went outside with Rhodes.
“Faye’s not usually like that,” he said. “All this about the schoolhouse has her upset.”
“I can see that,” Rhodes said, but he thought that there was a lot more to it than that. Faye had a lot of problems.
“You come back any time, Sheriff,” Leslie said. “We’re always happy to cooperate with the law.”
“I’m glad that someone is,” Rhodes said, and he went to the Charger and got in.
* * *
Rhodes was tired of families, but he had to visit the Reeses. They lived on the other side of Thurston, and to get there Rhodes had to drive back through what was left of the little town. Long ago, like Clearview, it had been a thriving place, with a drugstore, a hardware store, several grocery stores, a variety store, a couple of cotton gins, and a café or two. Hardly anything was left now. Even most of the buildings were gone. A branch of Clyde Ballinger’s funeral home was the most prosperous place in the town.