Murder Among the OWLS (3 page)

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Authors: Bill Crider

BOOK: Murder Among the OWLS
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Rhodes told her that he would and asked if she had a membership list.
“No,” Ivy said, “but you can bet that Helen did. She was very particular about things like that.”
Rhodes said that he believed it. “Where would the list be?”
“Isn't there a little black desk in one of the spare bedrooms?”
Rhodes said that he'd seen it. There had been a desk calendar with daily Bible verses on it, but that was all. Helen kept the top of the desk as clean as everything else in the house.
“That's where the list would be,” Ivy said. “In one of the drawers, probably.”
Rhodes said he'd look there and hung up the phone. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. Maybe Mrs. Harris had simply had an accident and, being old and frail, had died as a result.
Rhodes sighed. It was easy enough to tell himself that, but he didn't believe it for a minute.
RHODES RETURNED TO THE BACKYARD, WHERE SPEEDO SAT WAITING. As soon as Speedo saw Rhodes, he charged to the other side of the yard, probably hoping that Rhodes would follow and play. Rhodes did follow, but only to check the gate in the rusty fence. It was between two of the gardenia bushes, and it was closed. It opened to the white-graveled alley that led away behind houses in both directions. Whoever had been in the house, if anyone had been, could have gone just about anywhere without much danger of being seen, since most of the yards backing up to the alley had either high wooden fences or trees or both hiding it from sight of the houses.
If Rhodes was right about someone having left by the back door, it meant that whoever had let the cat escape had walked to the house, but probably not through the alley. Most people used the sidewalk. Maybe someone had been outside and seen whoever
it was, so Rhodes would have to talk to everyone who was home along both sides of the street.
Speedo tried to nudge past Rhodes and see what was so interesting in the alley, but Rhodes didn't open the gate.
“Can't touch it,” he told the dog. “There might be fingerprints.”
Speedo sat back on his haunches and looked wise, as if he understood completely.
Rhodes wished that he understood things as well as Speedo seemed to. He was sure he didn't have any solid reasons for his suspicions, but they didn't go away. They just kept getting stronger.
Rhodes heard a car pull into the driveway. He told Speedo to behave himself and went to see who'd arrived.
It was Ruth Grady, who got out of the county car and asked what was going on.
“Mrs. Helen Harris is in the kitchen,” Rhodes told her. “She's dead. It looks like an accident.”
“You wouldn't have called me for an accident,” Ruth said.
She was short and stout and one of the best deputies Rhodes had ever worked with. She'd gotten a law enforcement degree at a community college in south Texas before coming to work in Blacklin County, and Rhodes trusted her to work a crime scene without making any mistakes.
“It might be an accident,” Rhodes said. “But it might not.” He told her about the cat. “So we're not going to take any chances.”
“This is your neighborhood, isn't it?” Ruth said.
“Yes, but we'd do the same anywhere.”
“I know that. I was just commenting. Did you know the victim?”
“She might not be a victim. But I knew her. Not well. Ivy knew
her better. Her husband taught me algebra when I was in high school.”
“I was pretty good in algebra,” Ruth said.
Rhodes didn't want to get into a discussion of his high school accomplishments, or lack thereof, especially one in which he'd come off badly, so he told Ruth what he wanted her to do as soon as the justice of the peace got through with his business.
“I'll be interviewing the people who live up and down the block,” Rhodes said, “in case they've noticed anything unusual.”
Ruth looked both ways along the street, then back at Rhodes.
“I don't see anybody.”
“If anybody's home, they know we're here. Not too many county cars pull into driveways in this part of town.”
“Except for yours.”
“That's right, but nobody even notices mine anymore. There's never been one in this driveway, though.”
Rhodes heard a siren in the distance. Speedo, in the backyard, heard it, too, and started howling in accompaniment.
“That'll really get people's attention,” Rhodes told Ruth. “You go on in and look things over.”
“You haven't already done that?”
“Yes, but I didn't touch a thing. Treat it like a crime scene. Get pictures of everything before they move the body.”
The ambulance parked at the curb, and its siren wound down. Speedo's howling did, too.
“That dog you hear is Speedo,” Rhodes told Ruth. “You might want to say ‘hey' to him when you go in.”
“I like Speedo,” Ruth said.
“Everybody does. He won't bother you.”
“I know. He likes me, too.”
Rhodes grinned and went to talk to the EMTs while Ruth was looking things over. After a few more minutes the JP arrived, and Rhodes left them there to begin walking the block.
 
He went to three houses before he found anybody who knew anything. In the first house, no one was home. In the second, a man named Grover Middleton was plenty willing to talk, but not about anything related to Helen Harris. He mainly wanted to quiz Rhodes about the ambulance and the patrol car being at Mrs. Harris's house. After finding out that Middleton had nothing to contribute, Rhodes told him as little as possible and left.
In the third house, Francine Oates had a lot to say, as if the idea of her neighbor's death had made her nervous. Francine was about Helen's age, and the two had known each other for many years, ever since the Harrises had moved to Clearview. Like Mrs. Harris, Francine had taught elementary school.
Francine was a tough, wiry woman whose hair was dyed a reddish brown. She'd been married at one time. Rhodes didn't remember her husband, who had been dead for years. Francine seemed to have given up wearing her wedding band, or any other rings, for that matter.
“I always did worry about Helen,” Francine said after Rhodes had explained the reason for his visit. “She was entirely too active if you ask me, even when we were teaching together, and especially now. Women our age shouldn't be out mowing the yard and pruning trees.”
Rhodes said what Francine wanted to hear.
“You don't look as old as Helen.”
Francine smiled, revealing a set of good teeth.
“That's because I take care of myself, not like Helen, out sweating in the yard. It's hardly ladylike, if you know what I mean.”
Francine dated back to the time when the word
ladylike
had been acceptable. More than that, it had meant something good, at least to people like Francine. Ladies wore hats and gloves when they went to church, which they did twice on Sunday and often on Wednesday. They didn't smoke, swear, or sweat, and they always let men hold the door for them. On the other hand, she was currently dressed in a pair of new-looking blue jeans and a man's long-sleeved shirt, which didn't look ladylike to Rhodes, though he refrained from saying so.
“You mentioned that it was an accident,” Francine said. “You're probably right. Helen wasn't always as careful as she should be. Always climbing around.”
“Was she careful about other things?” Rhodes said. “Like locking her doors?”
Francine hesitated for a couple of seconds. “I guess she was. A lady has to be careful these days.” Francine had small eyes set too close together, and Rhodes detected a hint of nervous anxiety in her tone. “If it was an accident, then why are you here? I didn't think the sheriff investigated accidents.”
“We have to make sure,” Rhodes said. “Sometimes things aren't the way they seem.”
“I'm sure they are in this case. Helen was always careless.”
“Did you happen to see a car parked at Mrs. Harris's house this morning?”
“No, but that doesn't mean anything. I've been busy and haven't been outside. Anybody could have parked there, and I wouldn't have known. Would you like some coffee?”
Rhodes didn't drink coffee, so he declined politely.
“I have some Dublin Dr Pepper if you'd like a soft drink.”
Rhodes couldn't resist an offer like that. The bottling company in Dublin still made Dr Pepper with real sugar, and it tasted the way it had when Rhodes had been growing up.
“I ordered it off the Internet,” Francine said. “I don't think Helen even had a computer.”
Rhodes hadn't seen one, but there could have been a laptop in a drawer. Or it could have been taken from the house.
“Come on in the kitchen,” Francine said. “We can talk there. I'd be glad to help if I can.”
Rhodes followed her to the back of the house, which was as old as the Harris home but with more up-to-date furnishings. The kitchen had a dishwasher, and the floor was tiled.
“Have a seat,” Francine said, and Rhodes sat in a captain's chair at the square wooden table while she got the Dr Pepper out of the refrigerator. It was in a can, but Rhodes didn't mind, not if it was a real Dublin Dr Pepper.
“Aren't you going to have one?” Rhodes said, after she'd wrapped the can in a napkin and set it in front of him.
“I drink one a day, in the afternoon. I have to watch my weight.”
Rhodes again said the expected, and it was true enough that Francine looked thin and fit.
“You don't seem to have a weight problem.”
“That's because I work at it.” Francine got a glass from a cabinet and put it on a coaster beside the Dr Pepper can. “Go ahead and drink. I'll talk while you do.”
Rhodes popped the can open and poured about half the Dr Pepper into the glass. He took a swallow and smiled. It was the Real Thing for sure.
Francine smiled and laced her fingers together. “Helen and I were in the OWLS together, you know.”
Rhodes hadn't known that Francine was in the OWLS. And he hadn't looked for the membership list in the Harris house. He'd have to do that if Ruth Grady didn't come across it.
“We were two of the founding members,” Francine went on, “and we try …
tried
to keep the group on track. Lately some of them have suggested outlandish books for discussion.”
She paused, and Rhodes was about to ask what books she meant, but she went on without prodding.
“Helen and I prefer Texas writers. Like Vernell Lindsey.”
Vernell was a local success story. She'd had several romance novels published and had even sponsored a writing workshop at the old college campus in Obert. The workshop hadn't turned out so well, and the college's old main building now housed a church. There had been a murder there only two weeks earlier, and Rhodes sometimes wondered if Obert was jinxed.
“But some of the ladies wanted to read racier books,” Francine said. “Like something by Joe Lansdale. Have you ever heard of him?”
Rhodes said that he hadn't.
“His books are just
filthy.
” Francine giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “But they're very funny.” Her face assumed a pious blandness. “He does have serious themes, you know.”
Rhodes said that he didn't know.
“They're about the real Texas, not like some things we've read,” Francine said. “They're about murders and things. Do you think Helen was murdered?”
Rhodes, who wasn't sure that murders and things were the real Texas, said that he didn't know anything for sure.
“If she died under suspicious circumstances,” Francine said, “I think you should talk to Alton Brant.”
Rhodes knew the name. Brant was a veteran of the Korean War and the person the
Clearview Herald
always interviewed on patriotic holidays. He'd once been quite a good-looking man, and he still made a good appearance in a photo on the
Herald
's front page, even though he'd gained weight and become a bit stooped.
“He and Helen have been courting, you know,” Francine said.
Rhodes said that he hadn't known.
“Oh, my, yes. They've been going at it hot and heavy.”
Rhodes didn't think
hot and heavy
was a ladylike expression, but he didn't mention that to Francine. He said, “Does Alton stop by Helen's house often?”
“Certainly. They're not being discreet about anything. He visits several times a week. I wouldn't be surprised if they, well, it wouldn't be nice to say.”
Rhodes didn't want to get into that kind of speculation. He said, “Do you know if she had a will?”
Francine paused and looked away. “Yes, she did. I witnessed it, in fact.”
Rhodes took another drink of the Dr Pepper. It hit the spot. He should order a case for himself, he thought. Maybe two cases. He'd ordered it before, and while it was expensive, it was well worth the money.
“I didn't think Helen had a lot of money,” Francine said when he set the glass back on the coaster. “Or anything else. Of course, that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before the big gas boom.”
Rhodes nodded. In the last couple of years, the price of natural
gas had risen to highs that would have been unbelievable not so very long ago. There had always been gas under the ground in parts of Blacklin County, but it had been deep, so it hadn't been economically feasible to drill for it. Now it was, and quite a few landowners had become much better off as a result. Instead of griping about the lack of rain in the summer and the cold weather in the winter, they complained about their taxes. It was always something.

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