Courtin' Murder in West Wheeling

by Michael Allen Dymmoch

  I thought Firenzi turned a shade pale at that. He swallowed an’ said, “Then you must have talked to the Highwood police.”

  I nodded. “An’ if they show up to claim you, I’m gonna hafta let ’em haul you away.”

  “But you’re not—”

  “You ain’t broke no laws here I know of. An’ as long as you keep your nose clean, what you done in some other jurisdiction don’t concern me—if you get my drift.”

  “I believe I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Good. What was that other thing you wanted to ask me?”

  Firenzi looked surprised—like I’d just read his mind. But he got over it real quick an’ said, “I’m looking for bricks to replace some that are missing from the Baptist church façade. I thought you might be able to point me toward someone who’s tearing down a brick house or barn.”

  “I take it you already been to Home Depot.”

  “And the material yard. Neither has anything that won’t stand out like a sore thumb.”

  I didn’t have to think long to come up with somethin’. “You might could talk to Mary Lincoln—over on Route C. She’s got a lot of stuff she might be lookin’ to part with. Mebbe even some bricks.”

  Firenzi said, “Thanks, Sheriff.” He peeled the cat off the cab an’ stowed it inside, then drove off in the direction of County Road C.

  • • •

  Forty-five minutes later, as I was fixin’ to cross the street to say howdy to Nina at the P.O., Mary Lincoln stopped her old, orange Ford in front of me. When she got out an’ come around the back of the pickup, I noted she was wearin’ the usual overalls an’ boots, as well as man-sized leather work gloves. An’ she had a orange T-shirt under her Levis jacket.

  “I’ve got something for you, Sheriff,” she said. She lifted what looked like the remains of Harlan’s computer outta the truck bed an’ rested it on the edge of the tailgate. “Is this the computer you’re looking for?”

  The thing didn’t look much like the one I’d seen in Harlan’s office—more like somethin’ someone’d took a baseball bat to.

  “Unless it’s got Harlan’s name on it somewheres, I can’t say for sure.” She nodded. “How’d you know I was lookin’ for a computer?”

  “The man with the plaid truck told me. Mr. Ferrari or Fernando…”

  “Firenzi?”

  “That sounds right.”

  “He say how he knew I was huntin’ it?”

  “He said there was a notice in the post office this morning when he went in to pick up his mail.”

  “I see. Where’d you get it?”

  “At the dump.”

  “An’ you collected it because…?”

  “It should be recycled or rebuilt, or whatever they do with tech trash these days.”

  I wasn’t sure they did anything with tech trash in Boone County ’cept bury it—whoever they was—but I didn’t want to seem too clueless. So I just said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Miz Lincoln give me a accusin’ look, so I added, “Mary. I’m obliged you brought it in.”

  “You’re welcome, Homer.”

  “Did you handle it without your gloves at any point?”

  “No. I always wear gloves to pick things up. And I’m aware one shouldn’t get fingerprints on evidence.”

  I nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

  I put on a pair of the rubber gloves that law enforcement always carries these days and relieved Miz Lincoln of the computer.

  As I put it in the trunk of my cruiser, she said, “Homer, what can you tell me about Mr. Firenzi?”

  “Not much. But I hear he’s a pretty good bricklayer.”

  “I see. Well, thanks.”

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  She got in her truck an’ drove off. I shut the trunk on my evidence and headed to the post office to see what Nina’d got up to.

  • • •

  There was a line at the P.O.—seemed like half a West Wheelin’ was buyin’ stamps or mailin’ packages. I got on at the end an’ amused myself readin’ Nina’s doctored wanted posters while I waited my turn. One of the posters was changed from “armed and dangerous” to “can’t hit the broad side of a barn. Only dangerous if you’re a innocent by-stander.” An’ one of the posters had a note added: “If you find a computer, take it to the Sheriff.” That explained everything ’cept how Nina come to know what I was lookin’ for.

  Myra Boone was first in line with her new grandbaby on her hip. Nina ooo-ed an’ ahh-ed over the kid an’ got him smilin’ ’fore she forked over the stamps Myra’d come in for.

  Next three patrons was West Wheelin’ citizens purchasin’ stamps or money orders; a feller I didn’t recognize was collectin’ his mail addressed to “general delivery.” Nina made him show his ID an’ noted the particulars ’fore she handed it over. Roy Peterman was droppin’ off a box of postcards advertisin’ his plan fer changin’ the zonin’ on his farm, an’ Councilman Cramer’s secretary was mailin’ a certified letter.

  When it come to be my turn, Nina said, “Mornin’, Sheriff,” just like she hardly knew me.

  I looked around. Mrs. Nichols was stickin’ stamps on her letters at the side counter an’—most likely—waitin’ fer me to tell Nina my business.

  “Mornin’, Miss Ross,” I said. “Pretty day, ain’t it?”

  Nina come back with, “It shore is.” She stole a look at Mrs. Nichols ’fore she added, “How can I be of service?”

  “You got any more of them American flag stamps?”

  Even though she knows exactly what stamps she’s got and precisely how many, Nina said, “Lemme check.” She made a big enough show of huntin’ ’em, that Mrs. Nichols gave up an’ handed over her letters an’ flounced out.

  Nina said, “I thought she’d never leave,” ’fore she grabbed my shirt front an’ pulled me across the counter fer a kiss.

  Which lasted a long time.

  When we finally come up fer air, Nina asked me, “What do you need, Sheriff,” an’ the way she said it didn’t leave no room fer doubt—I’m a lucky man! “I know you don’t need no more stamps.”

  “What I need, you ain’t allowed to hand out in here.”

  “Well, how ’bout at my place? Tonight.”

  “You’re on. An’ meanwhile you can tell me how you come to know I was lookin’ fer a computer.”

  “Confidential informant.”

  “Ah hunh. Well you tell Festus next time he talks about police business to a civilian, he’s gonna get time off without pay.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “You wanna put money on it?”

  “Festus was just tryna be helpful. An’ anyway, I ain’t a civilian. You deputized me, ’member?”

  I nodded. “You can take that notice down.” I turned to go.

  She called after me, “That all you come in here for—just to harass me?”

  “Naw. Came in for the kiss.”

  targetin’ truckers

  After I left the P.O., I dropped the computer Mary Lincoln’d give me off at Best Buy. I asked Merlin Willis to check if he could see was the trashed computer Harlan’s an’ what might be on it. At a guess, whoever damaged it was either a frustrated first-time computer user who’d lost it an’ kicked it to death, or a thief who didn’t know enough about computers to destroy ’lectronic evidence ’lectronically.

  On the way to Best Buy, I had to pass Cheap-Ass Likkers, which made me think about my previous encounter with the manager there. I was still thinkin’ ’bout it when I come outta Best Buy, so I pulled into the Cheap-Ass parkin’ lot an’ thought about it some more. The lot was half-full—somewhat surprisin’ for the middle of a work day. I watched customers come an’ go for a while. Mostly they was local folks, same ones shopped at Walmart an’ Costco an’ Sam’s—people who love bargains or can’t afford not to hunt ’em. It occurred to me I hadn’t seen Cheap-Ass Likkers on Sargeant Underhill’s list of hijacked shipments or heard of even one liquor store hold-up at a Cheap-Ass establishmen
t since the chain infested our county. Curious. An’ bein’ inclined to satisfy my curiosity, I parked the cruiser an’ went inside.

  The store manager was behind the register, conferrin’ with a check-out woman who looked older than Nina’s granddad. When he spotted me the manager put his hands up an’ spread his fingers wide.

  “All my employees are legal, Sheriff. I checked their licenses with the state police.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  He put his hands down—slowly—an’ stepped out from behind the counter. The lady started ringin’ up the next customer, a farmer in bib overalls an’ a dirty white tee shirt.

  “What do you want?” the manager asked me.

  “We been havin’ a whole lotta hijackin’s ’round here lately. I just wondered if you-all ever been hit.”

  He knocked wood on the countertop an’ said, “No, thank God.”

  I nodded, but as I walked out I wondered was he lyin’. ’Cause the countertop was made outta Formica.

  • • •

  Skip was leanin’ against the back of a flat bed farm truck parked on the road shoulder by the West Wheelin’ Grammar School drive. When he spotted my cruiser, he grabbed his backpack an’ stepped to the rear passenger side door. He opened it an’ threw the pack on the rear seat, then slammed the back door an’ jerked open the front one.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Day after I’m elected Pope.”

  Skip got in an’ shut his door. “Father Ernie know you’re dissin’ his church like that?”

  I didn’t get to answer ’cause just then we was rudely interrupted by the crack of a huntin’ rifle comin’ from the direction of the interstate.

  “Yikes!” Skip reached over to switch on the pull-over lights.

  “Put your seat belt on,” I said. Soon’s he did, I put the pedal to the floor.

  The police radio was unusually quiet as we headed for the highway. Which is pro’bly why Skip reached for the mike. I beat him to it, but I didn’t use it. “No use makin’ a federal case of it ’fore we know it ain’t just someone huntin’ varmints.”

  When we come in sight of the highway, I could see a familiar pick-up parked on a hill above the right-a-way. It was parallel to the road an’ half hid by a stand of fence-pole trees. I let up on the accelerator an’ shut off the lights.

  “What’re you doin’?” Skip demanded.

  “Hard to sneak up on a feller all lit up like a disaster response.”

  “Who we sneakin’ up on?”

  • • •

  Willy Donner was just puttin’ his rifle back in the truck when we stopped behind it on the dirt road that skirted the trees.

  “Hold it, Willy.” I put the cruiser in park an’ told Skip to stay put. I put my hat on as I got outta the car, an’ put my keys in my pocket.

  Willy waited with the gun restin’ in the crook of his arm, pointin’ down. He looked uncomfortable as a man caught with his pants down around his ankles. He didn’t look at me as he said, “What’s up, Sheriff?”

  I put my hand on the butt of my sidearm an’ nodded at his rifle. “I’m gonna have to take that in for evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  I give him the look my Ma used on me when she caught me up to no good. “You know what.”

  Willy thought for a second or two, then shrugged.

  I kept my eyes on his, didn’t say nothin’. Eventually, he shifted the rifle an’ handed it to me, stock first.

  “Much obliged.” I removed the shells an’ put ’em in my pocket ’fore I locked the gun in my trunk. Willy followed me to the cruiser an’ watched. After I closed the trunk, he kept starin’ at it, like a dog does when you close the fridge on a treat.

  I kept quiet an’ waited. Out the corner of my eye, I could see Skip squirmin’ inside the cruiser. Willy looked at Skip—no help there. Willy looked to either side of me and at my boots. He looked over at the highway, then down at his feet. He kicked the dirt of the roadbed. Finally, he glanced up at me an’ said, “What?”

  “Why’d you do it?” I wasn’t sure what he’d done, but he didn’t know that.

  “I couldn’t help it.” I waited. “What’d they expect, puttin’ them big red targets on the sides?”

  What he was talkin’ about hit me like a highway head-on. “I expect you to remember that there’s people drivin’ those trucks. An’ people drivin’ all around ’em. An’ unless the trucks are full of bricks, your slugs could tear through the trucks and kill someone.”

  “Aw… I didn’t think—”

  “Yeah. Well I’m keepin’ your gun ’til you learn to think.”

  “You ain’t gonna arrest me?”

  “Not unless someone signs a complaint.”

  He looked relieved, then annoyed. “What’m I gonna use to run varmints off?”

  “I suggest you get a dog.”

  He sighed an’ nodded.

  “Oh. An’ Willy, if anybody turns up shot in Boone County, you’re gonna be at the top of my suspect list.”

  • • •

  “Why’d you take his gun?” Skip asked me when I got back in the cruiser.

  “Some people are too dumb to own a gun.”

  Skip ain’t dumb hisself, so he knowed I wasn’t gonna tell ’im what Willy done. But he wasn’t gonna let it go without givin’ me some grief. “How’m I gonna grow up to be a sheriff like you if you won’t teach me about the job?”

  “Time you’re growed up enough to be sheriff, it won’t be legal to be like me. ’Sides, they got schools for sheriffin’.”

  He slouched down in his seat and stared out the window for the rest of the trip. When we got home, he grabbed his pack outta the back seat and told me, “You’ll have to take care of the jackass, Pappy. I got homework.”

  • • •

  Merlin Willis called me ’fore I had a chance to change into my street clothes. He’d got the information off the computer. So I headed over to Best Buy.

  The machine he brought outta the back didn’t look any different than the wreck I’d brought in.

  I hadda ask. “Ain’t that the same one?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t say to fix it. An’ last time I hadda testify about computer evidence, the lawyers chewed my ass fer tamperin’ with evidence. So I didn’t turn it on. Just took out the hard drive an’ copied it.” He handed me a thumb drive. “You can just plug that into your office computer an’ read the data off it.”

  “Much obliged, Merlin. What do I owe you?”

  He thought on it for a minute. “A favor.”

  “I ain’t fixin’ any tickets.”

  He put up his hands like ‘I surrender.’ “Nothin’ like that.”

  “Like what, then.”

  “You know any girls?”

  “Most every girl in Boone County.”

  He blushed. “I mean—you know a girl I could fix my brother up with?”

  “Which brother?” Merlin’s got a half dozen. “An’ don’t you get hit on by every girl comes in here?”

  “Bello. An’ he ain’t old enough to mess with any of them. ’Sides, he’s shy. Girl comes around, he disappears like cash at a gun show.”

  I laughed out loud. Kid wasn’t scared to climb aboard a buckin’ bronco. Or punch a mule in the head, but he was…. “Normal,” I said. “How old is Bello?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Sixteen rang a bell. Where had I heard sixteen lately?

  From someone else I owed a favor.

  “Lemme get back to you on that.”

  • • •

  I swung by the high school on my way back home. The principal was still there an’ wasn’t surprised to see me—way things are with kids these days, I spend a lotta time at the school.

  “What is it this time, Sheriff?”

  “Could I have a quick look at the last three yearbooks?”

  “Is this in regard to a criminal matter?”

  “Not unless curiosity’s a crime.”

  She looked like she
didn’t believe me, but she took the books off her shelf an’ handed ’em over. “You can sit here at my desk, Sheriff. Take as long as you like. Lock the doors on your way out.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Happens it didn’t take long to find the student I was huntin’. Owen Rhuddlan’s niece was quite a good-lookin’ girl.

  • • •

  Saturday mornin’, I let Skip sleep in while swung by the state cop shop.

  Trooper Yates was at the front desk. When he spotted me he called out, “Heads up. Here comes trouble.”

  “That’s Sheriff Trouble to you, Yates.”

  “What do you need, Sheriff?”

  “You had any complaints about vehicles bein’ shot at on the highway?”

  He shook his head. “Not recently. You know something we oughta know?”

  “I know I ain’t lookin’ to stir up trouble. You had any more hijackin’s?”

  Yates shook his head, then knocked wood on the Formica counter.

  I pointed to where he’d knocked. “Lemme know if that works.”

  deputy Willis makes a bust

  Sunday mornin’, Bello Willis showed up at one minute after seven. Skip was still in bed, an’ I was up but half asleep when I opened the door.

  I nodded at Bello an’ glanced at the jackass—tied to the back bumper of my cruiser, eatin’ the front-yard grass. When he spotted me, he let out a hee-haw loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood.

  “Can you train him not to do that?” I asked Bello.

  He laughed. “We’re trainin’ you today.”

  Which is what we did for the next hour. Gettin’ a jackass to cooperate ain’t much different from collarin’ belligerent drunks—mostly you have to get ’em thinkin’ that what you want ’em to do is their own idea. Sometimes that involves whackin’ ’em with a two-by-four—or a police baton—to get their attention.

  By the time Skip crawled outta the sack and stumbled out on the porch, I had the critter followin’ like a pet dog, stoppin’ on whoa an’ startin’ on gee.