Murder Among the OWLS (23 page)

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Authors: Bill Crider

BOOK: Murder Among the OWLS
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WHEN RHODES GOT HOME THAT EVENING, THE CAT WAS STILL there in the same place in the kitchen near the refrigerator. As far as Rhodes could tell, it hadn't moved more than a couple of inches since the last time he'd seen it that morning.
“He gets up and walks around,” Ivy said, a little defensively, Rhodes thought, when he commented on it. “He doesn't just lie in one spot all day.”
What disappointed Rhodes was that Yancey, who had come bouncing to the door to meet him, seemed to have come to accept the cat as a permanent resident. Yancey's behavior had reverted to exactly the way it had been before the cat had arrived, with all the same nervous energy and barking.
That wasn't the only thing that disappointed Rhodes. The other was that the cat seemed perfectly at ease with Yancey's antics. When Yancey bounced over to him and barked right in his face, the cat didn't turn a hair.
“They're good friends now,” Ivy said.
Rhodes said he was glad to hear it.
“I can tell.” Ivy gave him a look that was heavy with suspicion. “Have you been trying to give Sam away again?”
Rhodes denied it, but Ivy didn't believe him.
“Well, maybe I mentioned to a couple of people that he was available, but nobody took me up on the offer.”
“It's just as well. Sam has a home here now.”
Ivy looked over and smiled at the cat, who was lying there purring while Yancey barked around her ankles.
Maybe having a cat wouldn't be so bad, Rhodes thought, and then he sneezed.
“Don't start that again. You're not allergic to Sam. You can't fool me.”
“I'm not trying to fool anybody,” Rhodes said, stifling another sneeze. He'd skimped on lunch, and he was feeling a little peckish. “What's for supper?”
“I thought it might be nice of you to take me out.”
“Mexican food?” Rhodes tried not to sound too hopeful.
“That sounds good.”
It sounded good to Rhodes, too.
 
Later that night, trying to sleep, Rhodes thought about the case against Lily Gadney. It wasn't a good one, and it left too many things unexplained. Thorpe was looking like a better suspect all the time.
Ruth Grady had gotten some soil samples from beneath Lily's Explorer, and she'd gone out to the Tumlinson place for samples near the house. She'd run some tests tomorrow, although the samples
didn't look at all similar to Rhodes. Everything from under the Explorer looked like black gumbo, while the clay from the Tumlinson place was almost white.
Even the lack of a match wouldn't have bothered Rhodes so much if he could figure out what had happened to the will. He couldn't, however. It hadn't turned up anywhere, and it didn't seem likely to.
With all that running through his head, Rhodes couldn't get to sleep for a long time, and when he started to drift off, he thought about the cat, which he was sure would jump up on the bed at any minute and glue itself to his back.
It didn't happen, however, so to keep himself from worrying about it, Rhodes got up and went to the kitchen for a drink of water.
The cat wasn't in its usual spot. Rhodes looked around the room and didn't see it anywhere, so he stepped out onto the small enclosed porch. He could see Yancey's basket, where the little dog was sound asleep.
In the basket with him was the cat, also asleep. As Rhodes stood there watching, it raised its head and opened its eyes, looking directly at Rhodes. It wasn't smiling, but Rhodes thought it would have been if it could have.
After a second Rhodes said, “You think you've won, don't you?”
The cat gave him another smug look, then lowered its head and closed its eyes. Yancey never moved.
Rhodes went back to bed and eventually fell into a fitful, unsatisfactory sleep.
 
The funeral was held at the “new” First Methodist Church, which had been around for something like forty-five years, as opposed to
the “old” First Methodist Church, which had been around for forty years or so longer.
The old church was in fact no longer a church. It had been sold to a nondenominational group when the new church was built, but that hadn't lasted long, and the building had been used since then for a number of purposes, none of them related to religion. It had even been a coffeehouse at some point in the early 1970s.
The new church was, of course, no longer new, except in comparison to the old one, but it had been well cared for and showed few signs of age.
Rhodes and Ivy arrived a little late and sat in a pew near the back after signing the register. Rhodes wasn't sure why they'd bothered to sign. As far as he knew, Mrs. Harris's only relatives were her brother in Montana and Thorpe, who couldn't have cared less who attended the funeral, even if he'd been conscious, which he wasn't. Rhodes had called the hospital to check before he'd gone by to pick up Ivy at the insurance office.
The church was full, as Rhodes had expected it would be. He saw most of the OWLS sitting together on what some people called “widows' row,” even though not all the OWLS were widows. Quite a few of Mrs. Harris's former students were scattered around the church. Rhodes recognized them because they were younger than most of the others.
Because Mrs. Harris had no family members, Alton Brant was the only person sitting on the pew reserved for relatives. He was wearing a suit, not a military uniform.
Rhodes thought the funeral was acceptable, which meant a closed coffin, a short eulogy, a few scriptures, and no sermon at
all. He knew there'd be a few complaints about the closed coffin afterward. Some people always wanted to know if the dead person “looked natural,” but Clyde Ballinger always put the top down if there were no instructions to the contrary.
Rhodes was pleased that the songs played before the funeral were old gospel tunes that he recognized, and they were played at the proper upbeat tempo, not some lugubrious pace that made them sound depressingly mournful.
After the service, the casket was wheeled out and placed in the back of the black ambulance for transportation to the cemetery, and Clyde Ballinger ushered Alton Brant into the front seat of a black limo for the trip. Rhodes saw the OWLS standing together nearby, having gone over to offer some comfort to Brant.
These days not everyone wore black to funerals, but Thelma Rice did. Even fewer people wore hats, but Thelma had one on. It was black and small, nothing at all like the red one she'd had on the time Rhodes had seen her at the club meeting.
“It's nice to see you, Sheriff,” Thelma said when Rhodes walked over to the group. “You, too, Ivy, even if your husband has been arresting our club members.”
Ivy smiled, and Rhodes said he was sorry about the arrest but that was his job. Some of the other OWLS edged away from him, as if they thought he might arrest them, too. Francine Oates was among them, but Rhodes made it a point to speak to her.
Francine Oates wore a gray pantsuit. Rhodes could remember a time, not so long ago by his reckoning, when women wouldn't have considered wearing pants to a funeral, but times had changed. He could even remember when women would never have considered leaving the house for even a shopping trip without
panty hose, but now bare legs were the thing. Rhodes wouldn't have been surprised to see someone at the funeral wearing flip-flops, though certainly not among the OWLS.
Rhodes didn't know the rules about jewelry at funerals, if there were any rules. Francine wore gold earrings, plain circles that matched her wedding band. She didn't have much to say to Rhodes, and he didn't want to press her, not at the moment. Still, he wanted to talk to her again to see if she'd remembered anything more about the morning Mrs. Harris had died.
“I have a question for you, too,” she said when he mentioned having something more to say to her. “But this isn't the time for it.”
Rhodes said he'd drop by her house later in the afternoon, and she said that would be fine.
“Are we going to the cemetery?” Ivy said.
“All right,” Rhodes said.
 
The graveside service was short, if not sweet. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, and a light breeze ruffled the edges of the tent set up near the open grave. Rhodes could smell the damp earth that was piled by the side of the hole, covered with fake green turf that did nothing at all to disguise what was beneath it.
The minister read the twenty-third psalm and said a prayer. Alton Brant choked back tears as the coffin was lowered into the ground, and Rhodes heard some sobs from the others gathered under the tent. Not many, however. Helen Harris had been well enough liked, but she'd had few close friends other than Brant.
After the coffin was lowered and people had begun to leave, Rhodes said a few words to Alton Brant.
“Thorpe should be in that coffin, not Helen,” Brant said. “It's not right that you haven't done anything about him.”
“He's not what you'd call a free man,” Rhodes said. “He's still in a coma.”
“How much of a chance do the doctors give him?”
“They haven't been specific. It could go either way.”
“I want him to recover and stand trial.”
Rhodes decided not to mention his suspicions about Lily Gadney. Besides, he was beginning to think Brant might be right about Thorpe.
“He hasn't even been accused yet,” Rhodes said.
“Well, he should be. You need to do your job and find the evidence against him.”
Rhodes didn't have a snappy answer for that one, so he just went to join Ivy, who was talking to Thelma Rice.
“That Alton Brant was acting snippy, wasn't he,” Thelma said. “You can't blame him. He and Helen were very close. He visited her just about every day.”
“What time of day?” Rhodes said.
“You're always working, aren't you. I don't know the time. I just know he visited her.”
Ivy took Rhodes's arm. “Sometimes I think you work too hard.”
“It's his job,” Thelma said. “That's what he told me.”
“You should have to live with him,” Ivy said, tugging Rhodes's arm and steering him toward the car. “Time for us to go.”
As they drove away, Rhodes looked back to see Alton Brant standing alone at the edge of the open grave. They'd wait until he left to start filling it in. The backhoe was parked at a discreet distance,
but it was impossible not to see it. The operator was standing in the shade beside it, smoking a cigarette.
He was a young man. Sooner or later, he'd be waiting to cover Rhodes's grave, he or someone like him. Rhodes hoped it would be a lot later, and he thought of Helen Harris, who'd been rushed into the grave by a person or persons unknown. It might have been Lily Gadney, but Rhodes was growing less sure of that all the time. He wished again that Thorpe was conscious and talking.
“Don't worry,” Ivy said. “You'll find out who did it.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I always know.”
“If that's true, I'd better be a lot more careful with my thoughts.”
“That,” Ivy said, “would be a really good idea.”
SOMETHING ABOUT THE FUNERAL WAS BOTHERING RHODES, BUT he couldn't figure out what it was. When he parked at the insurance office to let Ivy out of the car, he asked if she'd noticed anything odd about the service.
“No, I thought it was fine. Your friend Ballinger is going to get complaints about that closed casket, though. Maybe that's what you're thinking of.”
“No, that's not it. Anyway I'm sure there was a viewing at the funeral home. It was something else. Something was out of place.”
“Well, I didn't see it, and I have to go to work.”
She got out of the car, and Rhodes watched her walk into the office. He still couldn't figure out what was nagging at him, but maybe it would come to him later.
It was a little soon to go by and talk to Francine Oates, so he
stopped at the jail. Nothing was going on, but Ruth had left the results of the soil comparison test on his desk.
“Not a match,” Hack said, saving Rhodes the trouble of reading it. “You'll have to find yourself another suspect.”
“Maybe not,” Lawton said. “How many cars you think Truck has on that lot of his? I'd guess about half of 'em run. She could've taken any of 'em. If this was the
CSI,
you can bet they'd check out ever' car there, and they'd find the one that matched, too.”
Rhodes didn't see the point of checking all the cars. Hack was right. He'd have to find another suspect, not that he didn't have a couple of them already. For all he knew, Thorpe had killed Mrs. Harris for the inheritance. Brant thought so. Brant himself might have done it, and it might be time to talk to Billy Joe Byron again.
“How was the funeral?” Hack asked.
“It was all right, as funerals go.”
“I don't like 'em, myself. Too sad, specially when you get to be my age and start thinkin' it might be you next week lyin' up there in the front of the church.”
“Church might not let you in,” Lawton said. “They don't take heatherns. You'd have to be buried out of the funeral home. That'd be all right. It'd be plenty big since nobody'd come anyway. Me and the sheriff'd be there, though. You could count on us. Unless we happened to be needed here at the jail or out on the street to do some crime bustin'. Otherwise, though, we'd be there. Right, Sheriff?”
“Right,” Rhodes said. “You don't have to worry about that, Hack. I'm pretty sure Ruth would come, too, and maybe Buddy, if I didn't have to send them off on an investigation.”
“You two are reg'lar Jerry Lewises,” Hack said.
“Who's that?” Lawton said. “Must've been before my time.”
“Or after,” Hack said. “Maybe I should've said you were a reg'lar Eddie Cantor.”
“Never heard of him.”
“How 'bout Lillie Langtry? She'd be more from your era, I guess.”
Rhodes had had enough of the witty repartee, so he told them he was going to see Francine Oates.
“She gonna tell you who the killer is?” Hack said.
“Somebody better,” Lawton said. “I can tell he's gettin' frustrated over this.”
“How?” Hack said. “He's not gettin' touchy yet.”
“Just by the way he looks. He'll be gettin' touchy by tomorrow.”
Rhodes grinned. “You two know me too well.”
“We spend too much time together,” Lawton said. “Me and Hack need to get out more.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hack said. “I get out plenty.”
“I'm going out right now,” Rhodes said before they could get started again. “I'll be at Mrs. Oates's house if anybody needs me.”
“We'll be sure and get in touch,” Hack said.
 
Rhodes drove by his own house first to check on Speedo, Yancey, and the cat. They were all fine, especially the cat, which was still in the kitchen. It was grooming itself when Rhodes came in, and it didn't bother to acknowledge his presence or that of Yancey, who acted as happy to see Rhodes as if he'd been gone for years instead of just a few hours.
“You should play with the cat,” Rhodes told Yancey. “Maybe he'd enjoy getting a little exercise. Chase him a little. Bark at him.”
The cat kept right on grooming, and Yancey didn't seem interested in getting involved with him, so Rhodes left them there and went outside to play ball with Speedo for a few minutes. The collie enjoyed running after the ball and bringing it back for Rhodes to throw again. Sometimes the dog liked to hold on to the ball and make Rhodes take it away from him, but today wasn't one of those days.
Rhodes didn't have to concentrate on the ball, so he tried to clarify his thoughts about Helen Harris's death. After ten minutes he hadn't come to any conclusions, but Speedo had gotten tired of playing and gone to lie in the shade of a pecan tree with his ball between his paws.
“We'll play again,” Rhodes said, and Speedo thumped the ground with his tail to show his pleasure. Rhodes wished that humans were so easy to read.
 
Francine Oates answered the door still dressed as she'd been at the funeral, and with his first look at her Rhodes knew what had been bothering him after the service. Everything that had been twisting around in his mind sorted itself out and rearranged itself into an understandable pattern. He didn't have all the answers yet, but he hoped that Francine would provide them for him.
“Would you like a Dr Pepper, Sheriff?”
Rhodes declined, and Francine suggested that they sit in the living room. It was a little formal for Rhodes's taste, and he doubted that it was used more than once or twice a year. It was almost as neat as if Helen Harris had straightened it. The chair that Rhodes sat in had a rounded back and a slick seat cover. He hoped he wouldn't slide off.
“You said you had a question for me,” Rhodes said when he was sure he was stable. “Why don't you go ahead and ask it.”
“I hope you won't consider it unseemly. In view of the circumstances.”
Rhodes said he wouldn't pass judgment. By now he even thought he knew what the question would be.
“You see, I've been wondering about Helen's will,” Francine said.
“So have I. It's missing.”
“I know. We know there was one, however. Alton Brant and I witnessed it. We even know what it said.”
Rhodes knew where she was going, so he just waited.
“I was wondering, if two witnesses testified to the will's contents, would it be valid?”
Rhodes told her that he had no idea. “It's not something that's ever come up. You'd have to ask a lawyer about that. Otherwise Mrs. Harris's brother up in Montana will inherit.”
“They didn't get along. It doesn't seem fair that he'd get her land and those wells. He hasn't visited her in years. Leo Thorpe lives right here in town, and he and Helen saw each other all the time.”
“That wouldn't matter. The brother's next of kin, and if there's no will, he'd inherit.”
“I just don't think that's right.”
“You could check with a lawyer about the witnesses testifying to what was in the will. It would be a lot easier if the will happened to turn up. But it won't, will it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you took it.”
“I … what did you say?”
“You took the will. I don't know why, but I'm sure you did.” Rhodes looked at her ring finger. “You took it when you got the wedding band.”
Francine's hands fluttered. She clasped them together and stuck them between her legs, hiding the ring. “I … I don't know what you're talking about.”
“I think you do. You weren't wearing a wedding band when I talked to you the other day, but now you are. Putting it on was a mistake, but maybe you thought no one would notice. You took it off the bookshelf in Mrs. Harris's house. You made another mistake, too.”
“I … another mistake?”
“The first time I talked to you, you told me that you witnessed the will but didn't look at it. Now you say you remember it well enough to testify to what it said, and you implied that Leo Thorpe's the heir.”
“I … just remembered.”
“You've been wearing a lot of long-sleeved outfits lately, even though it's warm. I'd like to have a look at your arms.”
Francine recoiled. “Well, I never!”
“The cat scratched you. You don't like cats, and he doesn't like you. You're the one who let him out. You tried to grab him to keep him inside, but he scratched you and got away. He must have done a pretty good job on you, since you're still covered up.”
“You can't … I didn't.”
“You're the woman Thorpe dumped Lily Gadney for all those years ago.” It was all becoming clear to Rhodes now. “You worked at the elementary school, and Thorpe seems to have cut a swath there. It embarrassed Mrs. Harris then, and it must have embarrassed her even more now for Thorpe to be making a fool of you.
And her. My guess is that you and Thorpe met a time or two at the Tumlinson place recently, and you lost the wedding ring there. No wonder Mrs. Harris was so delighted to find it, and no wonder she wouldn't tell anybody what she'd found. She must have suspected that you and Thorpe were fooling around, and now she had the proof.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“She put it out in plain sight to torment you,” Rhodes said, “but you got it back when you killed her.”
He expected Francine to deny the last statement, and she didn't disappoint him.
“You're completely wrong about that. Helen had an accident. You told me so.”
“That's what I was supposed to believe. Did you set it up, or was she changing the bulb when you came in?”
“You don't know I was there.”
Rhodes leaned back in the chair. It wasn't conducive to that, so he straightened and slid a little forward on the seat.
“Do you ever watch
CSI
?”
“I … what does that have to do with anything?”
“If you watch, you know all about modern police methods. You know that the cat will still have traces of your blood on his claws and in his fur. We'll get a sample and prove it.”
Actually Rhodes had no idea if that was possible. What with the cat's habit of grooming itself, all traces of blood might well be gone by this time, but it sounded convincing. Besides, it was nice to think the cat might be good for something.
“We'll check your car for soil samples, too, and prove you went to the Tumlinson place. It
was
you who took Thorpe his clothes and pistol, wasn't it? Thorpe's neighbor saw you at the trailer, and
he'll be able to identify your car.” That wasn't true at all, but Rhodes didn't mind exaggerating a little more if it would persuade Francine to tell him the truth. “Your fingerprints are on the stool legs, too. You can't get out of it.”
Francine looked at him. Her face was crumpling. It was sad to see, but Rhodes had to go on.
“You must have been pretty upset with Helen. She had your ring, and she was taunting you with it. I don't blame you for getting upset with her, but you shouldn't have hit her. And you shouldn't have hit her so hard. Assault is bad enough. Murder's a lot worse.”
“She wasn't taunting me,” Francine said. “Not with words. She just put the ring on that shelf and called my attention to it. ‘Look what I found, Francine. I wonder who'd be silly enough to lose a wedding ring out in the country at some sleazy rendezvous.'” Francine removed her hands from between her legs. She looked at the ring and then at Rhodes. “What Leo and I had wasn't sleazy at all. You can see that I had to do something, can't you?”
“Sure. She went too far, and the stool was right there. You didn't know what you were doing.” He paused. “I need to tell you a few things before you go on.” He gave her the standard Miranda warning. “Now you can tell me how it happened.”
“It was the will.”
Rhodes had wondered when they'd get around to that. It was the one thing he hadn't figured out. He wanted to know about the will.
“You took it.”
“Yes, I took it.”
That's what he couldn't figure out, since Thorpe was the heir. He asked her why.
“Because she'd changed it.”
That explained a lot, Rhodes thought, and he asked her what the change was.
“Helen made an entirely new will naming Alton Brant the heir. She called me to ask me to witness the change, just rubbing it in. That was so typical of her. She had no idea of manners.”

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