Dead, to Begin With, page 18
“Let’s sit down and rest,” Rhodes said. “Do you know whose house this is?”
“I might be dumb enough to try to get away from you, but I’m not so dumb I can’t figure out this is your house.”
“I kind of liked that pecan tree.”
“I kind of liked my car.”
“Your insurance will take care of that. My pecan tree’s not insured.”
Latham didn’t respond.
Rhodes knew that while Texas drivers had to show proof of insurance to get their state inspections and license renewals, too many people would buy insurance on a monthly payment plan during the month that inspections and renewals were due, then not make any more payments until they needed proof of insurance again.
“You’re not one of those, are you?” Rhodes asked.
“One of what?” Latham asked.
“One of those people who don’t have insurance.”
Latham didn’t answer.
“I guess you are. Is that why you ran?”
Latham didn’t answer that one, either.
“Maybe it’s not just insurance,” Rhodes said. “Maybe there’s more to this than you’ve told me. I noticed a dash cam in your car. If it’s not damaged, and if it was on when you had your little trouble with Pert, it might tell us something.”
Latham must have been taking his right to remain silent seriously, as he just sat there, mouth shut.
Rhodes didn’t push him. He watched Speedo and Yancey tussle for the squeaky toy, which by either stealth or guile Yancey had managed to get hold of. Speedo rolled Yancey over in the grass twice, but Yancey wasn’t giving up the squeaky toy.
Finally Latham said, “Okay, Pert didn’t cut me off. I chased him down because he’s been sneaking around behind my back with my girlfriend. I found out about it this morning. He did say I looked like a snake, though. I couldn’t let him get by with that, not and sneak around with my girlfriend, too.”
Duke walked through the gate at that point. He looked at the dogs, then at Rhodes and Latham.
Duke hitched his pants up and said, “Which one’a you two am I supposed to take to the hoosegow?”
Rhodes had heard better imitations of John Wayne, but Duke’s was passable. Rhodes stood up, pulling Latham along with him.
“This one,” Rhodes said. “Book him for destruction of private property, evading arrest, speeding, simple assault, and endangerment to start with. No proof of insurance. We’ll probably think of some other things, too. Maybe there’s a law on the books about damaging pecan trees.”
“Well,” Duke said, “it is the state tree of Texas. Don’t mess with Texas.”
“You two kill me,” Latham said.
Duke walked over and took Latham’s arm. “Come along, Pilgrim. Let’s go.”
“Who’re you supposed to be, anyway?” Latham asked. “Clint Eastwood?”
Duke looked at Rhodes. “What’s our departmental policy on police brutality?”
“We’re against it,” Rhodes said. “Latham’s been in a car wreck, though, so he might’ve gotten marked up in the accident.”
“Now just a damn minute,” Latham said.
“Abusive language,” Duke said. “I’ll add that to the charges instead of roughing him up. That be okay, Sheriff?”
“Sure thing, Pilgrim,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 20
It took Rhodes a few minutes to get Yancey separated from the squeaky toy and back in the house. Once inside and released, Yancey didn’t linger in the kitchen. He went straight to the spare bedroom and his doggie bed.
“Tired out,” Rhodes said.
“You or Yancey?”
“Not me,” Rhodes said. “I’m a bundle of energy.” He looked at the cats, asleep by the refrigerator. “Just like those cats.”
“I didn’t have anything fixed for lunch,” Ivy said. “I wasn’t expecting you to drop in.”
Rhodes heard a noise out front. “The wrecker’s here.”
“Probably didn’t bring us lunch, though.”
“What were you going to have if I hadn’t shown up?”
“I made up some pimento cheese, so I was going to toast some wheat bread and have a sandwich.”
Rhodes was pretty sure the pimento cheese would be made with low-fat cheese and reduced-calorie mayonnaise. Real cheese and real mayo were about a hundred times better, but he could make the sacrifice since he planned to wash the sandwich down with one of the Dr Peppers with real sugar.
One of the cats got up and stretched, putting its front legs straight out and raising its rear into the air. Then it lay down on the floor and went back to sleep.
“Would you mind making me a sandwich, too?” Rhodes asked. “I’m plumb tuckered out from chasing criminals.”
“Your John Wayne is worse than Duke’s, Pilgrim. He did sound a little like Clint Eastwood, you know.
“You were listening?”
“Of course I was. I don’t get a lot of entertainment around here. I’ll make you that sandwich now. You can get your own Dr Pepper if you want one. Too much sugar’s not good for you, though.”
Rhodes got the Dr Pepper, not feeling guilty in the least. He sat at the table and popped the tab. After taking a satisfying swallow he said, “I want to talk something over with you.”
Ivy put two slices of whole wheat bread in the toaster. “What would that be?”
“Jake Marley’s death. I could use a little help in sorting things out.”
“We could be just like Nick and Nora Charles.”
“Except that William Powell didn’t play a sheriff and that you’re better-looking than Myrna Loy.”
“You silver-tongued devil, you. You’re just hoping I spread the pimento cheese thick, the way you like it, and put butter on the toast.”
“That would be nice,” Rhodes said, and he took another swallow of Dr Pepper.
Ivy said, “‘No, Sheriff. No, I’m not going to do that. You see … that’s what I’d do if I were the kind of girl that you think I am.’”
She was doing Angie Dickinson’s character, Feathers, from Rio Bravo.
“Not bad,” Rhodes said. “How many times have we seen that movie?”
“Probably not enough.”
“You’re right,” Rhodes said. “You can’t see that one too often, even if you do have the dialogue memorized.”
The toast popped up. Ivy took it, put it on a plate, and spread on the pimento cheese. No butter. When she was finished, she cut the sandwich in two and put it on a plate that she set in front of Rhodes.
“You go ahead and start,” she said. “After I make mine, we can talk.”
Rhodes had practically finished his sandwich before Ivy sat down. It hadn’t been bad, considering its low-fat contents. He drank his Dr Pepper while Ivy ate, and when they were both finished, Ivy took the plates and utensils to the counter and set them there.
“We can wash up later,” she said when she returned to the table. “Now let’s have that discussion.”
Rhodes started with Gwen’s death in the automobile accident. He explained about the crime-scene photographs and how it was possible but very unlikely that Gwen would have been ejected from the passenger side of the car. To Rhodes’s way of thinking, that meant someone else was in the car with her, probably driving.
Ivy said, “So you think that Jake had either known all along who it was or that he was putting on that play to get the other person to confess.”
Rhodes thought it made sense, what with all the ghosts of the past and present and the way the character of Marley’s ghost fit the present Jake Marley. Marley’s emergence from his isolation could be attributed to his finally getting revenge on the one who caused his sister’s death.
“I think there was a cover-up after the accident,” he said. “Maybe Jake didn’t even know the whole story.” He told Ivy about the lack of an autopsy and toxicology report. “The Marleys had the power and the money to buy a cover-up. It might have taken only one of those things, but I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.”
“You’d never cover up anything like that,” Ivy said.
Rhodes grinned. “I appreciate your faith in me, but the truth is, I’ve never been tested. If someone offered me enough money or made the right threat, I might cave.”
Ivy shook her head. “I know you better than that.”
“I hope you’re right. Anyway, I think Jake finally realized that something was wrong about the night Gwen had the accident, and he was going to use the play somehow to find out what really happened.”
Ivy wasn’t so sure. “So you think one of the four people he wanted to be in the play had something to do with the accident. Why?”
“Because he asked for them specifically to be actors in his play. They all hung around together in high school. They all told the same story about the night Gwen died, and it all adds up to ‘I wasn’t with her, so she must’ve been alone.’ They all said alcohol couldn’t have been involved, though it seems as if it might’ve been. It would’ve been a good excuse at the very least. Something is off somewhere. Besides, I think they’ve been talking to each other about my little visits to them.”
“What makes you think that?” Ivy asked.
“This morning I asked Glenda Tallent if she knew Jake had wanted her to be in the play. She said she’d heard about that. There’s no way she could’ve known unless Ron Gleason or Ed Hopkins told her. I haven’t told anyone but those two.”
“I knew,” Ivy said. “I didn’t tell, but I can think of two other people who knew, too. Bradley West would be one of them.”
“And the other one?”
“Jake Marley.”
Rhodes thought about it. Glenda had said she didn’t use her feminine wiles on Marley, which might well have been true. It might also have been false. A little flirtation with an old friend, or the brother of an old friend, and Jake might’ve become talkative. It was something Rhodes hadn’t considered. If Marley had told Glenda about the play, and if she knew much about the story, she might very well have figured out what his motive was in presenting it. He moved her up on the list of suspects.
“What do you think about Elaine Tunstall?” Rhodes asked.
“She’s all right when she’s on her meds,” Ivy said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Rhodes explained that Jake and Elaine had dated in high school and that Elaine hadn’t arrived at the Beauty Shack as soon as she should have if she’d left home when Harvey said she had.
“She might’ve been at the theater,” Rhodes said. “She could’ve been the one who killed Jake.”
Ivy looked skeptical. “What would’ve been her motive? She’s been married to Harvey almost forever, and she gave up Jake for him. It wasn’t as if Jake ran out on her or anything.”
“Elaine and Harvey have had a hard life,” Rhodes said. “All during that time, Jake’s been sitting in his big house with plenty of money. He never stepped in to help out any of his old friends.”
“I don’t think either of them did it,” Ivy said, “but I guess it could’ve happened that way.”
Rhodes thought about Ed Hopkins and his real estate business that wasn’t doing well. Jake hadn’t helped him any, hadn’t even asked him to look into the theater ownership. Jake hadn’t helped Al Graham, either, a man who worked seven days a week to keep his auto repair business going. He’d helped Glenda Tallent, though. Rhodes moved her down a notch on the list of suspects.
“Part of the problem,” Rhodes said, “is that nobody saw anybody else in the theater. Downtown Clearview’s not what it once was, I know, but surely somebody who parked at the theater would’ve been noticed. Somebody would’ve driven by or been in one of the other buildings.”
“Nobody would see if someone went in the back door,” Ivy said.
“It was locked. Some of the people working on the play or on the building have a key to the front, but not to the back.”
“Jake could’ve let someone in.”
She was right. Jake had known his killer, because they’d been up on the grid together. No way would Jake have been up there with a stranger.
“I should’ve thought of that,” Rhodes said. “Maybe you should be the sheriff.”
“No thanks,” Ivy said. “I don’t want to wind up hanging by a board up above a stage. I’m not sure I could save myself like you and Sage Barton.”
“Let’s leave Sage Barton out of this. We need to figure out who killed Jake.”
“Maybe the ghosts got him.”
Rhodes didn’t laugh. “You know better than that.”
“Something nearly got you,” Ivy said.
“Rotten boards, that’s what nearly got me. No ghosts were involved.”
“Maybe.”
“For sure.”
“Have it your way,” Ivy said. “I’m more on Seepy’s side of things.”
Rhodes grimaced. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing. What I need is information, not talk about ghosts.”
“I’m going to the beauty shop tomorrow,” Ivy said. “Maybe I can pick up some information there.”
“That might help. I’m not sure what I should do, though. I’m still sorting through everything, but I don’t have a solid suspect. Just four people who might’ve done it.”
“You might try talking to some people who were around at the time,” Ivy said. “They might remember things that weren’t in the paper. They might even know some gossip from around then. You never know where that might lead you.”
“Good idea. I happen to know somebody who was around, and he loves to gossip. If he’ll give me a straight answer, it could be a big help. I’ll talk to Aubrey Hamilton again, too. Maybe she’s remembered something that will give me a tip. I could use one about now.”
Ivy stood up. “We can do the dishes before you leave. That will help clear your head.”
Rhodes didn’t think so, but since there weren’t many dishes to do, he didn’t mind helping. He would have, too, if his cell phone hadn’t rung.
The caller was Hack, who said, “Duke tells me you’re lollygaggin’ around at your house, havin’ a nice lunch while crime runs wild.”
“I had a pimento cheese sandwich,” Rhodes said. “What crime are you calling about?”
“Did I say I was callin’ about a crime?”
“I thought you implied it.”
“Don’t get fancy with me. I didn’t call about any crime, but I did call about some trouble.”
“Fine. I just inferred that you’d called about a crime.”
“Did I say not to get fancy with me?”
“I think I remember that. What kind of trouble?”
“Mayor trouble,” Hack said.
“Uh-oh,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Since Clearview didn’t have its own police force, the sheriff’s department provided law enforcement under a contract with the city. Rhodes therefore answered to the county commissioners, not to the mayor of Clearview, but that didn’t stop Clifford Clement from having his say and trying to boss Rhodes around. Rhodes had to pay attention to him, but he didn’t have to follow his orders if he gave any. Mostly he just wanted to let Rhodes know that the mayorship was an important job even if nobody other than Clement thought so and that Rhodes was at least in a small way an employee of the city. Clement also liked to let the voters know how hard he was working for them, and this required him to appear to be pushing the sheriff to do his job the way Clement wanted him to do it. If Rhodes found Jake’s killer, Clement would find a way to get some of the credit.
Rhodes didn’t mind, as long as Clement didn’t get carried away, and he couldn’t really avoid the man without offending him and causing political problems between the city and the county. Problems like that could affect funding and salaries and even hamper Rhodes and his deputies when they were doing their jobs, so Rhodes always met with Clement when the mayor asked.
Today, Clement was having lunch at the Jolly Tamale, and he wanted Rhodes to meet him there. Rhodes regretted having eaten the pimento cheese sandwich. If he hadn’t, he might’ve treated himself to a chile relleno. He wouldn’t be doing that now, however.
When Rhodes arrived at the restaurant, there were only a couple of cars in the parking lot. Most of the diners had already finished their lunches and gone home to watch football or take a nap. Rhodes followed football, but he hadn’t seen a game in a long time. He hadn’t had a nap in an even longer time.
He parked the Tahoe and went inside the restaurant. The mariachi music coming from the speakers was muted, which meant it would be possible to have a conversation, and there were only two tables with people sitting at them. Clement was in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and when a server came up to Rhodes to ask where he wanted to sit, he told her that he wouldn’t be ordering and that he’d join the mayor.
Clement didn’t look happy to see Rhodes. His fringe of gray hair and his gray, well-trimmed beard gave him a distinguished look, and he capitalized on that with the voters. The way he was frowning now, however, wouldn’t have won him any fans.
“Have a seat, Sheriff,” Clement said, without rising or offering to shake hands. “We need to talk.”
Rhodes was tempted to say, “What do you mean we?” He resisted and sat down.
The chips and dip were still on the table. Rhodes resisted partaking of those, too. He was proud of his resistance so far, but he didn’t know how long it would last. Clement’s plate had been cleared away, so Rhodes didn’t know what the mayor had eaten, but he supposed it was tasty.
“Have a good meal?” he asked.
“It was fine,” Clement said, “but I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about food.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“Of course not. What we need to talk about is Jake Marley.”
“What about him?” Rhodes asked, trying to assume a look of innocent concern.
“He’s dead, to begin with.”
Rhodes didn’t say anything.
“Look,” Clement said, “here’s how it is. I’ve been out of town for a couple of days. My wife’s father is sick, and we spent a few days helping out. She’s still there, and I’m not happy about the situation. So I have enough aggravation as it is. Then I get back last night and go to church this morning. The first thing I hear when I get there is that Jake Marley is dead, that he fell off something in the theater, and that it probably wasn’t an accident. Why wasn’t I informed about this?”
