R.P. Dahlke - Dead Red 03 - A Dead Red Oleander

by R. P. Dahlke

  “He was really pushy about it.”

  “And what did he have to say? Did he tell you this was the same Dewey Treat he knew in high school?”

  He moved around on the couch, as if trying for a more comfortable position for the guilt he was now wearing. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the marshal and Sheriff Stone; he was more interested in my military career than talking about his ol’ buddy from Montana. Before I knew it, we were back to the bar and he was out of my truck like he had a plane to catch. He never even said thanks for the trouble of taking him to your party.”

  Mad Dog was like a lot of guys, easily distracted by someone willing to listen to stories of his illustrious military career. “Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”

  “Police asked. I had other things on my mind.”

  That would be his later date with my cousin Pearlie. “My cousin is a grown woman, but unless you’ve suddenly developed tons more than your usual charm, her grandmother will be soon giving you your walking papers.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But if you don’t mind, I can handle her granny.” He reached up and scrubbed at his ginger curls. “As for that Jack guy, but it’s kinda creepy to think I might’ve had a contract killer in my truck.”

  I stopped breathing and sat up straighter. “Is that what the police said?”

  “That’s all they wanted to talk about. Like I should’ve somehow known the guy was a serial killer.” He looked up at me, worry creasing his brow. “It was a suspicious death, right?”

  “They’re not sure yet. But it would be ironic if Arthur had a heart attack brought on by his surprise visitor.” At least I was hoping it was a heart attack. If the autopsy report didn’t say he died because Nancy used an oleander branch for his hotdog. I would have to check on this and soon.

  Mad Dog got up off the couch and patted his slight paunch. “Still, not my fault,” and strolled off for the showers.

  <><><><>

  An hour later I was on my bed, trying for a nap. The ceiling fan circled in a monotonously slow revolution as I considered how Arthur could have died. It was looking like Nancy was right—someone had murdered her husband. Then how? Could it have been the oleander? I didn’t think so, but swung my legs off the bed and booted up my computer and did some research on oleander poisoning. Though goats seemed to instinctively avoid it, the whole damn thing is indeed poisonous to humans and animals. My Aunt Mae had to know that bit of trivia about the goats, and was simply enjoying the fun of teasing my dad. I read on: The toxin is a cardiac glycoside similar to digitalis, which if ingested or breathed as fumes can cause sweating, nausea, vomiting, respiratory depression, changes in heart rhythm, coma and death. It had to be ingested, or breathed into the body as fumes. It didn’t sound like a skewer would do it. Still, we’d have to wait for the toxicology report from the medical examiner.

  Witness Protection in the United States was a few lines about who gets in and some references to the more lurid cases, and with only half my questions answered, I padded down the stairs, wondering why the house was so quiet.

  A heavy saltshaker weighted down a couple of notes on ruled cards. The first one said: Went to the movies with Shirley. I’ll be home in time for supper. No signature, but since no one else in our family was presently dating anyone named Shirley, I knew it must be from my dad. Besides, who else would make sure that his place would be set and ready for another meal?

  I picked up the next note: Have taken Granny and Nancy into town. Will be back in time to make supper.

  I reached into the fridge, took out a pitcher of iced tea, and settled on one of the two mismatched wicker chairs on the front porch.

  I put my bare feet up on the railing and admired the fragrance of ripe peaches in the orchard next to us. Our neighbor had it listed for sale, but with no takers he was letting his fruit drop on the ground. Should I get up and go collect some for a pie? I took another sip of iced tea and decided against it. Too hot, maybe later. Then I wondered if Juanita was ever coming home again. Now, there was a woman who could make pies, those wonderful little Mexican pies, empañadas, a mouthful of flaky crust and fresh, sweet fruit. Maybe later.

  I dozed in the warmth of the afternoon sun, but awoke to the sound of a car slowing as it approached our house. I shaded my eyes against the sun-bleached horizon and watched a tan Ford sedan roll into our driveway. Modesto police detective Gayle Rodney pushed open the door and lumbered to his feet. I took another swallow of iced tea, and putting it on the table next to my chair, got up and waited.

  He didn’t bother with pleasantries and rolled his big head around on his beefy shoulders as if the bell had rung on round one.

  He got as far as the steps to our porch and halted. Removing the toothpick he wore on his lower lip, he said, “Nancy Einstein. I need to speak with her.”

  No please or thanks, or even a hello, nothing that might mediate his surly demand.

  Oh, hell, why not? I uncrossed my arms and sent him a big old smile of welcome. “Got a warrant, do you?”

  “Not your bidness, Ms. Bains. Not this time.”

  “Still, why come all the way out here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  “A telephone call wouldn’t work, huh?”

  “Not this time.”

  And because it would be a whole year since the last time I messed with him, I said, “Hot out there. Why don’t you come up on the porch, and I’ll go get Nancy and bring you out a nice cold glass of iced tea. Oh, come on, I won’t bite,” I said, backing up from the front step.

  He dropped heavily into the wicker chair while I went to fetch the missing Nancy and the iced tea.

  Inside, I called Caleb. “Did you and Marshal Balthrop attend the autopsy today?”

  “Yes, but cause of death is still inconclusive. The drug panels won’t be back for a few more days.”

  “Then it wasn’t a heart attack?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Would you be surprised to know that Detective Rodney is here?”

  That stopped the conversation. “What’s he want?”

  “Nancy. But she’s not here. When do you think the medical examiner will know for sure?” I listened to his repeated answer of a minute ago, and then with a promise to tell him if the detective said anything he should know, hung up.

  I called Nancy’s cell and left her the message not to call or come back before five. I was betting Detective Rodney wouldn’t be willing to sit on my porch that long.

  Then I loaded a tray with one glass and a pitcher of cold tea, and went back to the porch. I set it on the table between the two wicker chairs, then poured him a glass. “It appears Nancy went to town with my relatives. Aunt Mae and Cousin Pearlie are here for the wedding, you know.”

  He took the proffered glass. “And you couldn’t remember that before I sat down?”

  I poured myself another glass. “You were in the neighborhood, making a friendly call. And if it was really important, you would’ve called first, make sure you weren’t wasting your time, right?”

  His tossed back the tea, capturing an innocent ice cube between his molars. I was picturing bones of small creatures gasping their last breath. “You trying to tell me how to do my job, Ms. Bains?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Now that wasn’t true and we both knew it. I nodded at the rolled-up paper bag next to his chair. “What’s in the bag, Detective?”

  “Might as well see this,” he said, leaning over and giving me a huge whiff of body odor. Did this guy ever bathe?

  He pulled out a black cloth and unfolded it. It was an apron, with the words Don’t make me poison your dinner! printed on the top.

  I dropped the grin I was wearing. He was serious. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s part of the evidence we found in her home. I’m here to ask her about it.”

  “It’s a joke, Detective. Surely even you can see that.”

  His lips
tightened. “Nothing is a joke in a police investigation, Ms. Bains.”

  “In other words, you’ve got nothing for evidence but an apron? My dad gave me one a few years back that said, Dinner will be ready when the smoke alarm goes off, but as you well know, it wasn’t because I tried to burn down our house.”

  Someone else tried that, and almost succeeded. Besides, I was now sure the detective’s visit was nothing more than a fishing trip.

  “I still want to ask her some questions.”

  “Might be a long wait,” I said, eyeing the long pattern of shadows leaning over our house. “Is it important enough for you to be here after hours, Detective?”

  He stood, placing the empty glass on the table. “Can I trust you to bring her to my office tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ve already offered to post her bail, Detective. I don’t imagine anything going wrong between now and say, ten tomorrow, do you?”

  He left as I knew he would. I should’ve been satisfied to have won that round with the creep, but along with the secrets that I was keeping from Caleb, doubt was settling in with the lengthening shadows, making me wonder what else could possibly go wrong before tomorrow.

  Chapter Eight:

  Pearlie, Aunt Mae, and Nancy trooped into the kitchen with groceries but insisted on hearing about the detective’s visit.

  “What did he want?” asked Aunt Mae

  “Is he coming back tonight?” asked Cousin Pearlie, rearranging her hair and smoothing her figure-hugging T-shirt.

  “No, he’s not coming back tonight, thank God. And Pearlie, you wouldn’t want to meet him anyway. He’s not rich, or even cute, and he’s married.” Not that married had stopped Gayle Rodney from dating whenever and whomever he chose, but I was hoping to avoid any encounters between him and my cousin.

  “I’m not asking if he’s single, silly,” she said. “I just don’t want the family to look like a bunch of hillbillies. Bad enough y’all living out here in this broke-down old farmhouse. Why didn’t your dad just tear the dang thing down after that fire?”

  I wanted to tell her that it was because he’d designed and built it for my mother, and because my dead brother and I had been raised here. Instead, I said, “Gee, I don’t know the answer to that, Pearlie. Why don’t you ask Noah when he comes in?”

  “Ask me what?” my dad said. He stuck his head inside, and as if soliciting advice from the oracle living in our refrigerator, he asked, “What’s for supper?”

  Pearlie recited tonight’s menu. “Fresh trout, asparagus, baked potatoes, and ice cream.”

  Satisfied, he withdrew his head. “Well, then, call me when supper’s ready. I’ll be in the TV room.”

  My dad’s behavior got a smile out of Nancy, then it faded. “I should go home.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Aunt Mae. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

  I poured iced tea all around. “Of course you are, Nancy. Do you need something from your house?”

  “Not really. But I feel like I’m causing problems. That detective showing up. I can’t avoid him forever. He’ll only come out here again, won’t he?”

  “I promised him I’d bring you to his office tomorrow morning by ten. But I was hoping we could dodge him until after Caleb gets the toxicology report. I hate to say this, but the detective is trying to make a case for the oleander skewer.”

  At the horrified expression on her face, I hurriedly added, “I looked it up on the Internet today. The plant has to be ingested, and there has to be a lot of it ingested to kill a grown man. That didn’t happen, did it? He only used the branch to cook his hotdogs.” I didn’t tell her about the apron the detective was holding as evidence. Anything printed on an apron wasn’t something a judge was going to take seriously.

  “Look, Caleb said that report will be in tomorrow. We’ll know something one way or another. Then Arthur’s body will be released for burial and you can go home. It won’t be long, you’ll see. In the meantime, we’ll keep you busy. We were going to play cards after dinner, remember? That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

  Pearlie, who had been conspicuously quiet, brightened. “Poker?”

  “I was thinking more like gin rummy,” I said.

  If Pearlie was planning on a real game, I’d have to squash that idea. My budget was already tapped for wedding expenses. “We’ll use corn chips instead of money. Whad’ya say, Nancy?”

  Nancy’s eyes teared. “Honestly, Lalla, I don’t know what I’d have done without you and your aunt and cousin. You ladies have really made me feel welcome.”

  With Pearlie as the only hold-out, Aunt Mae and I gave her a group hug. Pearlie, I knew, was worried. Even if Nancy wasn’t actively vying for Mad Dog’s attentions, he still might get a whiff of that perfume every young woman wore, the stuff that couldn’t be bottled or bought. For every day Nancy remained in our house, Pearlie’s chances would go down a notch.

  Caleb arrived, and when I told him Nancy was feeling bad about staying, he nodded. “I’m not so sure this is the right decision for you, either. We still haven’t been able to confirm the identity of Mad Dog’s friend, Jack Lee Carton. Mad Dog’s truck and the inside door and outside handle were wiped clean of all but Mad Dog’s prints.”

  “Mad Dog loves that truck like a girl. He would’ve washed it the next day.”

  “He didn’t. We asked. We also had Mad Dog looking through digital photos of known hired guns, but he said he couldn’t ID anyone.”

  Caleb seemed restless, maybe from too much worry that I’d taken on defending a young woman who might be guilty after all.

  In the dining room, we ate and told family stories to entertain and distract Nancy. I told her about how Caleb and I had been in and out of each other’s homes since we were kids and how we’d been orphaned of one parent each at eleven and best friends ever since and now happy to marry.

  “Wasn’t easy getting her to say yes, either,” said Caleb, taking another bite of the tender trout.

  I looked at him. “Ah, yes, man of my dreams right in front of me and I couldn’t see him. But then, my luck with men had been on a long losing streak.”

  When I heard a car drive up, I started to push back my chair, thinking that the detective had changed his mind and was coming back tonight to interview Nancy.

  Pearlie waggled her fingertips at me. “That’ll be for me, Cuz. Mad Dog’s taking me to a country western joint where they have a good local band.”

  She got up, kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Don’t wait up, Granny, I’ll probably be late.”

  I heard voices, then footsteps coming back, and my cousin’s breathy laughter.

  In a thinly veiled attempt to make it look like this was her idea, Cousin Pearlie preceded Mad Dog into the dining room. “Granny, I’d like for you to meet Noah’s pilot, Robert Schwartz.”

  “Evening, folks,” he said, filling the doorway and ruining the pleasant smells of dinner with his aftershave. “Don’t get up, fellas. I’m not staying, just wanted to say howdy to y’all.”

  The fork in Nancy’s hand clattered on to her plate.

  I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and whispered, “Trust me, Nancy, Mad Dog wouldn’t have done anything to intentionally harm Arthur.”

  She nodded, then lifted her face to Mad Dog. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Nancy.”

  Pearlie’s expression drooped. Any hope that she could circumvent an introduction to Nancy just went out the window.

  “Yes, ma’am, glad to meet you, too,” he said, grasping her small hand between his. “Sorry about Dewey—er—Arthur.”

  Pearlie crowded in front of Mad Dog to move the salad bowl closer to Nancy. “Have some more, sugah, you’re looking awfully thin lately.”

  “Well, I just want you to know,” Nancy said, ignoring the salad, “Arthur thought the world of you. He was glad to have you as his friend.”

  Friend? Mad Dog was trying to get Arthur fired.

  Mad Dog beamed. “Well, thank you, ma’am,
I was glad I could be there for him. Same goes for you, too, Nancy. You need anything, anything at all, you just ask, hear?”

  Nancy pushed back her chair and stood. “As a matter of fact, I would like to ask you how you came to bring that man who claimed to be Arthur’s friend to the party.”

  Mad Dog gulped and stammered, “It—it wasn’t my idea, ma’am. He—he cozied up to me at a bar and when I mentioned I knew your husband, he fairly jumped into my pickup, excited to see his ol’ buddy Dewey Treat. I—I didn’t see anything wrong with it.”

  Nancy put up a hand to her forehead and sank back into her chair. “No, Mad Dog, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Pearlie reached out and captured Mad Dog’s arm, pulling him out the door. “We have to be going, but y’all have a nice night.”

  They left, and the silence was broken when Aunt Mae said, “We got ice cream for dessert, don’t we?”

  I motioned for Caleb to help. In the kitchen we lined up bowls and spoons. I kept my head down and ladled out the portions.

  Caleb chuckled. “Mad Dog is dating your cousin?”

  “It appears they are. Though Aunt Mae will probably have something to say about the fact that Mad Dog is still officially married, even if they are separated. You sure you want to marry into my crazy family?”

  He kissed my forehead and picked up two bowls of ice cream. “Of course.”

  I picked up the remaining bowls. “He said you and the marshal grilled him yesterday at your office.”

  “There’s nothing to prove he was in collusion with Jack Lee Carton, and he’s sticking to his story that the guy ambushed him for a ride to your party.”

  “Did he tell you if Jack confirmed Dewey Treat as the same guy he knew from his home town?”

  “I think his words were that the guy wouldn’t answer his questions.”

  “Figures.” Mad Dog would have his stories straight.

  After ice cream, my dad got up, patted his stomach as thanks, and said, “Think I’ll go watch TV at Shirley’s house.”

  I followed him into the hallway. “Did you ever talk to Burdell Smith about Arthur aka Dewey Treat?”

  “Sure did. He was shocked to hear that the guy died at our place. And he knew nothing about any witness protection. I believe him. Not the sort of thing old men like us would have anything to do with now, is it?”