An Unmarked Grave (25 page)

Her involvement made no sense at all.

I was still confused when we reached the motel. We threw
our gear into Jack's Cadillac and roared away.

An hour later, we approached the outskirts of Henrietta,
a pastoral community perched on a sweeping hill overlooking a long valley to the west, beyond which sprawled Wichita Falls.

There were only four Rawlings in the directory, so within
minutes I was speaking with Sara Ann. Since insurance ranks
right up there with Greek and Latin as confusing to most
people, I decided to be an insurance agent. I explained I had
learned her location from Mabel Hooker and that my company had contracted with Universal Life Insurance regarding an insurance policy on her ex-husband.

She lived in a neat little cottage on about a half acre of
grassy lawn dotted with giant oaks. The layout might have
been from one of those better-living magazines, except the
grass needed cutting and the flower beds weeding. On closer
observation, the fence needed a coat of paint, and holes
pocked the asphalt driveway.

She opened the door before the echoes of the bell faded away. A vivacious woman in her early seventies, she wore
a blue print dress that fell straight from her shoulders. Her
short hair was neatly styled. "Mr. Boudreaux? Please. Come
in" She bubbled warmth.

I introduced Jack, and we stepped into the neatly kept
house and followed her into the living room, where she gestured to a couch behind a coffee table on which sat a silver
serving set with steaming coffee and a pile of oatmeal cookies on a platter beside the coffee.

She poured our coffee. "You'll have to excuse Mr. Rawlings for not greeting you, but he's been ill for the last few
months"

I shook my head, remembering the unkempt grounds outside. "I'm sorry"

Smiling demurely, she poured her own cup and sat. "That's
mighty sweet of you. Now, how can I help you?"

Leaning forward, I smiled warmly. And then I lied. "Mabel
Hooker said to tell you hello and to come back for a visit"
She nodded, and I continued. "You might not have heard, but
sometime after you and Mr. Houston parted ways, he sold his
land to Marvin Lewis and just dropped out of sight"

Her eyes grew wide, and her cheeks colored. "Marvin?
J. B. sold his land to Marvin Lewis?" She studied me for
several moments. I tried but failed to read the meaning of
the puzzled amusement in her eyes.

I continued. "You seem surprised"

"I am" She nodded emphatically. "Most surprised that
J. B. sold it or anything to Marvin Lewis" She paused, drew
a deep breath, then continued. "You see, after I left, I never
went back. I never talked to anyone, so I had no idea what
was going on. And even if I did, I wouldn't have cared"

Then it hit me. While gossip had it that she had played
around with another man, no one knew his identity. Could
it have been Marvin Lewis? "Why does it surprise you? I
mean, that your husband sold Lewis the land?"

She glanced at Jack, then looked back a me, a defiant
gleam in her eyes and a faint smile on her lips. I had the feeling she was debating whether to tell me or not. "Ex-husband,
and if you've spoken to anyone in Elysian Hills, then you
know I left J. B. Whether I was right or wrong, I don't know.
I tried to figure it out for a long time, but Ralph-that's my
husband-told me to forget it. It was in the past, and there
was nothing I could do to make it right. So I did. I put it behind me. If what I did then was a sin, I'll answer to God
when the time comes. I'll have to live with that"

She hesitated. I leaned forward expectantly.

"I've never spoken to anyone about this except my husband" She hesitated, then continued. "Maybe it's time. You
see, sometimes our marriage was okay, but more often than
not, we were quarreling. J. B. liked women. He wasn't very
good at covering up, so naturally I learned about them.
After a long, long time, I figured if he could pluck a couple
grapes of forbidden fruit, I could do the same. And I did.
And when he learned of it, he exploded. That was over
twenty years ago" She paused and drew a deep breath.
"I've long since stopped slapping blame onto anyone, Mr.
Boudreaux. We both made mistakes. Anyway, I left Elysian
Hills, signed the divorce papers he sent a few months later,
asked for nothing, got the same, and with the exception of
Mabel Hooker, I haven't seen anyone from Elysian Hills in
all those years"

She paused, her light green eyes fixed on mine. "I know
what you're wondering" She continued. "Marvin Lewis.
He's the one I had an affair with."

Despite having guessed her lover's identity earlier, my
eyes still grew wide. "Marvin Lewis"

"When a woman is angry, Mr. Boudreaux, she isn't too
rational. Marvin's wife had been dead a few years, and he
was fun to be around. Sure, he was older, but he gave me
what J. B. couldn't companionship, understanding, sympathy. After I left, I was sure the whole story got around town.
That's why I was so surprised when you said J.B. sold him
the ranch. Either that ex-husband of mine was kicked in the
head by a horse, or he signed the papers in his sleep. J. B.
never forgave any slight."

"How did J. B. get along with others in town-Buck Ford,
Gus Perry, some of them?"

She shrugged. "Fine" She paused and added, "As long as
they didn't bother him. Him and Buck Ford got into a big argument one time. J. B. sued Buck and got a judgment. Buck
paid it off, but the hard feelings remainedboth ways"

I grinned to myself. I had motive. Ford killed Houston.
My little theory was right. He and Sheriff Perry were the
two men Harlan Barton had seen that night over twenty
years ago. They murdered Justin Chester so he could not
exhume the spaceman's grave and expose the remains of
J. B. Houston.

Sara's forehead knit into a frown. "You said J.B. just
dropped out of sight. Anyone ever see him again?"

"Not to my knowledge. He was supposedly living in
Chicago, but we can't confirm that"

She pursed her lips. "You think he's dead?"

With a shrug, I lied. "I don't know. He has a twenty-fivethousand-dollar paid-up insurance policy we'd like to get
off the books" I hoped she didn't know anything about life
insurance. I was stretching credibility like a rubber band,
for no insurance company in the world would be eager to
pay out any amount just to "get it off the books"

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

I hated lying to her, but I had learned all I could. "No" I
shook my head. "We'll just keep digging. Oh, by the way,
did Jim Bob have a limp?"

A perplexed frown wrinkled her forehead. "Yes. His left
leg. Why?"

"Just for the record, that's all. Just for the record"

Back in the car, Jack grinned at me. "It is Houston in the
casket"

"Sure looks that way," I replied, closing the door and
buckling up.

During the drive back to Reuben, I pondered the information I had garnered. The fact that Marvin Lewis and
Sara Houston had had an affair was no reason for Lewis
to kill Houston. If anything, the opposite would be truea headstrong husband flies into a rage and kills his wife's
lover.

On the other hand, J. B. Houston and Buck Ford had had
a big falling out. Elysian Hills is so desolate. Ford could
have killed J. B. anywhere and, with Sheriff Perry's help,
buried him in the spaceman's grave. But then a thought that
had not occurred to me made me stop and think. What was
Perry's motive for helping Ford?

Since Barton had refused to tell the sheriff about Houston's being in the grave, I was convinced Perry was part of
the scheme, but exactly what part did he play?

And, I asked myself, how do I prove any of this?

I couldn't. Oh, I could prove Jim Bob was in the grave,
but that was it. There was no way I could incriminate Buck
Ford or Sheriff Perry. And the truth was, I didn't see any avenue available for me to pursue such a course without some
support from the law.

Back in the motel, I plopped down in front of my laptop
and all my notes, gathering courage to plunge back in at the
very beginning. I had two pieces of evidence. First, the pictures of the crooked femur could match that of Houston,
and, second, Houston had never lived in that particular
apartment in Chicago. But without Gus Perry's support, I
figured I was at a dead end.

Muttering a curse, I pushed myself out of my chair and
opened Jack's ice chest for a Budweiser. He said nothing.
His raised eyebrows spoke for him.

I held the beer out. "Any objections?"

He laughed. "Hey, I always welcome a partner in sin.
That's between you and AA"

I downed three or four icy gulps. Lowering the beer, I
grumbled. "Every time I turn around, I hit another dead end"

At that moment, a tiny bell sounded on my laptop, signaling I had mail.

Absently, I plopped down and clicked on the e-mail.

I caught my breath when I spotted a reply from Nora Talley in regard to my morning question.

I opened the mail, and my eyes bulged.

Jack saw the look on my face. "What?"

I read him the response as I stared at the image of Marvin
Lewis, some twenty years earlier. Her message said, "`I am
certain this is the man who called himself J. B. Houston,
and the one I rented the apartment to from March 1986
through December 1988.' Signed, Nora Talley."

So much for my theory about one of Lewis' cronies renting the Chicago apartment.

or a moment, I stared at the message, stunned at the obvious implication. Lewis was involved in Houston's death.
My brain shifted into high gear. If Lewis had rented the
apartment in Houston's name, then he was making an effort
to cover up Houston's murder. And the only explanation as
to why he would do so was because he was responsible for
it in some manner.

Maybe, I told myself, that's why I couldn't figure out
exactly what part Perry played in the scheme-because he
wasn't part of it. I discarded the idea of Perry's being involved and substituted Marvin Lewis for him. Buck Ford
and Marvin Lewis. Still, I couldn't help wondering why
Harlan Barton did not go to the sheriff about Houston's
grave. Unless Barton knew that Perry had purchased land
from Lewis. The two were friends. Maybe the old man figured there might be some unwanted repercussions if he told
Perry what he had seen. Maybe.

Then another question popped up. Why the charade? Why
try to fabricate two years of Houston's life? What could be
gained by that? All good questions, and all without even an
inkling of an answer on my part.

Quickly, I pulled out the documents I had copied at the
Montague County Courthouse. I had no idea what I was
looking for, but Sara Ann's remark about how unbelievable
it was that J. B. would sell Marvin Lewis his six sections
had stuck with me like bark on one of our green persimmon
trees back in Louisiana.

I didn't really know what I was looking for. The records
I was studying were twenty years old. I read the notary's
name. Pearl Ragsdale, P.O. Box 749, Elysian Hills, Texas,
76251-4963. She had notarized the document in November
of 1985. I paused and stared into space. If there were some
way I could gain access to her notary journal of 1985,
maybe I could-I caught myself. I could what? I could
nothing; I would find nothing! Notaries make certain their
logs are perfect.

I grimaced and glanced at my watch. Three o'clock. I
grabbed my jacket. "Come on, Jack. The truck's bound to be
ready."

True to his word, Newt had parked the Silverado in front
of his garage. Jack dropped me off and headed back to the
motel.

Inside the shop, I gave Newt a credit card. At the same
time, I asked, "You remember a woman around here years
back by the name of Pearl Ragsdale?"

He looked up at me and grinned, revealing half a dozen
missing teeth. "Mama Pearl. Hey, I hadn't thought about her in years. Fine, fine lady" He cocked his head toward
the cemetery. "She's buried right down yonder." Then he
frowned. "How'd you hear about her?"