by Alice Duncan
“For good reason.”
I nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” Because I was curious, I asked, “Have you discovered anything? Anything you can tell me about, I mean.”
“Not really.” Sheriff Greene looked glum. “But that’s why I’m here.”
My heart scrunched painfully, even though I knew I hadn’t killed anyone and there was no reason for it to be acting oddly. “Oh?”
“Yeah. We know all about the weapon that killed Miss Fish, but we haven’t traced the poison that killed Kenny Sawyer. Do you recollect anybody buying rat poison recently?”
I blinked a couple of times. “Rat poison?” The notion of anybody feeding anybody else rat poison made my insides curl up in revulsion. “You think it was rat poison that killed Kenny?”
The sheriff removed his hat, scratched his head, and sighed. “Seems most likely. According to Doc Bassett, the kind of poison in Kenny’s stomach was the kind that’s most often found in rat poison.”
Ew. That was totally disgusting. However, I did want to help; therefore, I tried to recall whether I’d sold any rat poison recently. “Well . . . people are always buying rat poison, you know.” Especially out here, where farmers and ranchers lived, rat poison was nearly a staple when it came to keeping vermin out of barns and so forth. Shoot, we Blues even used rat poison behind the shelves. We didn’t want to sprinkle it out in the open, just in case a kid or a dog or cat might stumble on it.
He heaved a bigger sigh. “Yeah, I know.” He sounded tired and discouraged, poor guy.
Wanting to help out if I could, I thought hard. “Let me see. Miss Libby bought some a couple of months ago.” Aunt Minnie and Miss Libby lived more in the middle of nowhere than most of us, in a house way out on the desert that used to be the hub of my uncle Joe’s ranching operation. Since Joe died, Millie didn’t ranch anymore, but there were still acres of land near her house that were home to any number of voles, field mice, ground squirrels, and other pests.
I thought some more. “Phil bought some for his brother’s hardware store. He said there were mice in the storeroom. And Miss Whitesmith got some to keep in the break room at the library. I guess somebody saw mouse droppings.” I felt my brow wrinkle as I tried to remember anybody else who’d bought rat poison. I didn’t think the list I’d offered so far tendered much scope for the sheriff in finding Kenny’s murderer, since I couldn’t feature any of the folks I’d mentioned having anything to do with so ghastly a crime. Except. . . .
“I suppose anybody might have gone into the Gundersons’ barn and found the rat poison they keep there and used it. After all, the whole town was at the Gundersons’ for the rodeo.”
“Yeah.” Another huge sigh issued from the sheriff. “You’re right. Well, it was a thought. Let me know if you remember anybody else buying the stuff.”
“I sure will. Oh, and Sheriff, last night at the meeting, Hazel told me she’d discovered something that would surprise everyone in Rosedale. Her exact words were that her knowledge, whatever it was, would ‘knock the socks off’ the whole town.”
“Oh?” He perked up slightly. “Did she tell you what this momentous discovery was?”
“Sorry. No, she didn’t. She was kind of annoying about it, actually.”
His perk popped, and his shoulders drooped. “Yeah. That is real annoying.” He plopped his hat back onto his head. “Well, thanks, Miss Annabelle.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff. And I’ll be sure to let you know if I remember anything useful.”
“Or even anything you don’t think is useful. You never know about these things.”
I imagine he was right about that. “Will do.”
The sheriff left, and Jack came out from hiding.
The first customer to show up at the store after that was Myrtle, and she wasn’t really a customer any more than the sheriff was. I think she’d just dropped by to chat during her afternoon break from her job at Joyce Pruitt’s drugstore next door to Blue’s, where she mainly stood behind the cosmetics counter and sold face powder to the old ladies in town. She looked as if she’d been crying.
I didn’t feel so hot myself, but I was glad to see her. I smiled when I saw her heading toward the counter and shoved my library copy of The Case of Jennie Brice aside. “Hey, Myrtle.”
“Oh, Annabelle, did you hear the terrible news? Hazel is dead!”
“I heard,” said I. “Heck, I was out searching for her along with some other people last night. This morning, I mean. Mrs. Fish telephoned our house a little after midnight, asking if I’d seen Hazel.”
“You were there?” Myrtle yanked a hankie from her skirt pocket and blew her nose, which was shiny and red and might profit from discreet use of some of the cosmetics Myrtle sold at Pruitt’s.
I nodded. “Mrs. Fish called to ask if we’d seen Hazel because she hadn’t come home after the revival meeting. Pa and I went out with the sheriff and Chief Vickers to look for her.” Remembering that telephone conversation and the results thereof, I sighed. “I thought maybe she’d fallen and hurt herself or something. Sprained her ankle, maybe. Or been bitten by a rattler. I had no idea. . . .” For some reason, I was reluctant to bring Jack’s baseball bat into the conversation.
It turned out I needn’t have had any qualms about sullying my rotten brother’s reputation, since word had spread already. “Annabelle, I feel so sorry for your poor parents! To think that your brother’s baseball bat was the weapon that was used to . . . to kill her.”
“So that information is out, is it?” Oh, joy. Oh, rapture. Oh, how I wished I could thump Jack on his stupid head! Right where Pa had thumped him. When I glanced around to see if he was there and had heard, I saw him straightening bolts of fabric, head down, shoulders hunched. I reckon he’d heard, all right. Served him right.
Myrtle nodded and stuffed her hankie away. “I just can’t believe it. First Kenny and now Hazel. What’s the world coming to?”
“What’s Rosedale coming to, is more like it,” I said, thinking Hazel’s demise probably couldn’t be laid at the feet of Esther Strickland. Whoever heard of a woman bashing somebody over the head with a baseball bat? Poison, I could believe. This bat thing, I couldn’t. A woman bashing another woman was never to be found in any of the mystery novels I read.
“Do you think the same person killed both of them?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine two brutal murderers in a town this size.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine one of them.”
I heaved a sigh. I’d been doing that a lot lately. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“Pa said he’s going to put a lock on the front door. Can you imagine it? Locked doors in Rosedale.” She shook her head and sighed, too, the notion that her family might not be safe in the tiny town of Rosedale, New Mexico, where nothing ever happened, being almost too much for her to comprehend, I reckon.
Not that I blamed her. The only reason we Blues locked the doors to our house was because of the store, and the fact that our house was an extension thereof. There are people everywhere who steal—especially when they’re poor and hungry. I’m sorry to say that there are poor people everywhere, too, including Rosedale. At least the hardware store owned by Phil’s brother would probably be getting a boost in business since he stocked locks. “It’s really creepy, isn’t it, knowing there’s a murderer loose in town. Or maybe even more than one murderer.”
“It certainly is.” Myrtle glanced around the store, acting kind of surreptitious about it. Leaning over the counter, she whispered, “You don’t think that Jack. . . .” Her words trailed off, but I knew what she was thinking. I’d wondered the same thing.
After heaving yet another big sigh and thinking I’d better brace myself for more questions of a like nature, I said softly, “I doubt it. Jack’s a pain in the neck and a brat, but I think that’s only because he’s twelve. I don’t think he’d do anything like . . . like that.”
Myrtle nodded. “You’re probably right. My cousin Dennis wa
s absolutely awful when he was that age, but he got over it.”
“I’m beginning to think Jack never will, although he seems to have taken Hazel’s murder with his own bat pretty hard. Especially after the talking-to he got from Pa last night. This morning. Whenever it was.” Even though I’d slept late, I was still tired and had to keep smothering yawns.
“Serves him right, if you ask me,” said Myrtle. Have I mentioned that she’s the best and truest friend a person could have? Even in spite of her new religious streak.
“My sentiments exactly.”
More people began trickling into the store. Mae Shenkel came in with Ruby Bond, who had, as I’ve already mentioned, been a very good friend of Hazel’s. Ruby seemed kind of shaky, and I felt sorry for her. I hadn’t cared a lot for Hazel, but she’d been a good friend to Ruby, who was shy and plain and could use all the friends she could get. I smiled at the two of them even though I didn’t much like Mae, either. Boy, I really needed to drink of the milk of human kindness and work some on my Christian charity, didn’t I?
“Hey, Mae. Hey, Ruby.”
“Hey, Annabelle,” said Mae. Ruby only gave me a crooked smile. I got the feeling she was trying not to cry.
Because I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I said, “I’m awfully sorry about Hazel, Ruby. I know you two were close.”
Ruby yanked a handkerchief out of her pocket and burst into tears, thereby ruining her best effort to hold her emotions in check. “Oh, Annabelle!”
As you can imagine, I felt like two cents. Maybe less. Ducking under the counter, I hurried over to her. Mae was hugging her on one side, so I took the other side. Myrtle stood in the background making comforting noises. “I’m so sorry, Ruby,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel worse than you already did.”
“No, no,” she said, her words thick with tears. “You didn’t make me feel bad. You were being kind.”
Well, that was a first. “Would you like some water, Ruby? A cup of tea?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this.”
“Here,” I said, hauling up one of the chairs that we keep near the stove, so that people can thaw out on cold days. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”
Ruby sat, and I rushed in back to the house and fetched a glass of water. Ma was there, sweating over a huge kettle filled with canning jars into which she was going to stuff squash, I reckon, and she looked at me oddly. I didn’t stick around to explain myself, but filled a glass with water and dashed back to the store. Ruby looked as if she were about done crying, thank God, and was mopping her face.
“Here, Ruby.” I thrust the glass at her.
She looked up, gave me a watery smile and said, “Thanks, Annabelle. I don’t know why I broke down like that.”
Both Mae and Myrtle were kneeling beside her, offering her solace, and I wondered how I’d feel if anything happened to Myrtle. At least as bad as Ruby, I’m sure. That being the case, I said, “It’s really hard to lose someone you love, Ruby. Please don’t apologize.”
Then Mae said, “I hear it was your brother who did it, Annabelle. I’m surprised you opened the store today,” and I almost collapsed myself. “Your poor parents must be beside themselves.”
“What?” I shrieked.
I think the noise shocked Ruby right out of any tendency that might have remained in her to cry. She, Myrtle, and Mae all jumped.
“For heaven’s sake, Annabelle—” Mae started, but she didn’t get any further because I interrupted.
“Jack did not kill Hazel Fish, Mae Shenkel, and I’d really appreciate it if you don’t start spreading that rumor around town!” I almost said something about Mae taking over rumor-mongering duties from Hazel, but, for Ruby’s sake, I stopped myself. “My idiot brother left his baseball bat out in the field next to the revival tent, which was stupid of him—especially since he was supposed to be at the revival meeting and not playing baseball—but it was somebody else who used the bat to kill Hazel.”
Mae looked doubtful, although Ruby nodded. “I was sure he didn’t do it, Mae,” she said, bless her. “Nobody from Annabelle’s family could do anything so horrid.”
“Well—”
Again I interrupted Mae. I’d always kind of resented her big blue eyes and pretty blonde curls, and I knew she was about as bright as your average boulder, in spite of being the high-school principal’s daughter, but I’d never known her to be gossipy before. “My brother is a brat and about as loathsome as a boy can be, but our parents didn’t rear any murderers, Mae.”
A big crash from the west side of the store made us all jump again. We turned to see Jack, his face flaming, scrambling around, picking up tins of Clabber Girl Double-Acting Baking Powder.
Mae grimaced. “Oh, dear, I didn’t see him there.”
“Would it have made a difference?” I asked.
She looked at me blankly. “Well, of course, it would. I’d never have said that if I knew he could hear.”
“Ah,” I said—and my voice was like ice. “You only talk about people behind their backs? Is that it?”
Mae hung her head, reminding me of Jack. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I’m sure that you’re right and that Jack didn’t do it.”
“If he’d done it, don’t you think the sheriff would have locked him up?”
I know, I know. I’d suspected the little monster myself. But it’s one thing to have doubts about your own detestable brother. It’s quite another thing when people outside the family start shoveling dirt about him at you.
“You’re right.” Mae brightened. “Of course, he would! Oh, Annabelle, I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”
“It’s all right, Mae. And it’s true that his bat was the weapon used and that he’s been behaving like a beast lately, but Jack didn’t do it.”
“Of course not.”
“And I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t say such things to anyone else.”
“Oh, no, I won’t,” Mae assured me.
As I returned to my position behind the counter, I got the impression that she wasn’t entirely convinced of Jack’s innocence, but that I’d made inroads. I believed her when she said she wouldn’t spread any further rumors. It wasn’t so much because I could acquit her of malicious behavior, but because she was thick as a plank and would probably forget all about Jack as soon as she and Ruby left the store. At least I hoped so.
Anyhow, at that moment, the entire Gunderson family—Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson, Phil, and Davy (Phil’s three older brothers had married and moved away from the family ranch already)—came into the store, effectively shutting off the gossip tap. And thank God for it, I might add. Mae and Ruby drifted out of the store. Myrtle said, “I’d better go back to work,” and after greeting the Gundersons, she left, too.
“Hey, Annabelle,” said Phil. He was looking very sober that morning. Well, heck, everybody I’d seen so far that day was looking sober. A couple of murders in town will do that to a community.
“Hey, Phil. Good morning, Mrs. Gunderson, Mr. Gunderson. Davy.”
“Hey, Annabelle,” said Davy. He, too, looked as if he’d had a bucket of cold water poured over his head. “Is Jack here?”
I pointed to the corner, where Jack had managed to get the baking powder situation under control once more. Davy rushed over to him. “Jack! You all right? I heard about the bat. Can you come to the ranch with me when we go back home today?”
Looking sheepish, Jack swept the store with his gaze. He spoke to Davy under his breath, but I heard him when he said, “I’ve got to ask my mother and father, Davy. Um . . . and finish my chores first.”
“I can help you,” Davy offered. I’d often noticed before that people who don’t have to do things are more eager to do them than the people to whom such tasks are a duty. I guess it’s the Tom-Sawyer syndrome or something. Davy turned to his father. “Is that okay, Pa?”
“Sure, go ahead and help Jack.” He winked at me, as if he too were amused that h
is son was so happy to do somebody else’s chores. I’ll bet Davy’s eagerness never occurred at home.
“Is it all right if Jack goes back with you?” I asked Mrs. Gunderson. “I think he’d like to get out of town for a while today.” I gave her a significant look, which she seemed to understand.
“I’m sure that’s so,” said Mrs. Gunderson with a knowing glance at her son and Jack, who had begun talking in very earnest undertones as they straightened shelves.
“Although,” I said, after thinking it over for a minute, “maybe it would be good for him to stay here and face the music. So to speak.”
Mr. Gunderson chuckled. “You may be right, but we’ll see what your folks have to say. According to Davy, school was quite a trial for Jack today.”
“Oh, dear.” I hadn’t even thought about Jack at school. Kids could be really cruel to each other, though, and I suspect his fellow students had teased Jack unmercifully. I wish I could have been there to see it. “Were the kids mean to him?”
“According to Davy, they were,” said Phil, who didn’t sound awfully cut up about it.
Mr. Gunderson’s smile vanished. “We’re not going on with the rodeo. After talking it over and consulting with the sheriff and Chief Vickers, we decided it wouldn’t be respectful to continue with what is supposed to be a celebration. Two deaths, and murders, at that . . . well, a celebration simply doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I sure do understand. It’s a terrible shame that these dreadful things had happened this year, when you folks were hosting the rodeo.”
Mrs. Gunderson said, “Well, you know how it is on the last day of the rodeo. We were going to have some demonstration events this afternoon—calf roping and that sort of thing—and have one last potluck supper, and end it all with a big friendly fire and some songs. But after what happened . . . well, we just think it will be better to cut the rodeo short this year.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It’s such a shame.”
Phil said, “The only good thing to come of it is that Pete’s business is booming.” “He called this afternoon to see if I could come to town and help him out.” And Phil shook his head. “Seems everybody’s buying locks and needing wood for bolts to put on their doors.”
