A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge

by Terry Shames

  As I get up to go, I notice a box shoved off to one side of the living room. There are letters scattered around the floor next to the box. I go over to put them back in the box and see they are all torn halfway across.

  I pick up two of the halves and piece them together. It’s a short letter to Vera from Eddie, saying he’s fine and was glad to hear from her, that he is busy with work and he’ll write more next time. Curious, I pick up a few more. They are all from Eddie and have the same kind of impersonal tone. There are dozens of these letters in the box. The return address on them is Temple. Why would Eddie be writing letters to his mother when he could as easily have picked up the phone? Or driven to see her in a couple of hours?

  I dig down to find some of the oldest ones. Maybe they will tell me more about the family’s problems. At the bottom I find a partial answer. A letter written a dozen years ago says, “I’m going to keep writing to you. I don’t think it’s fair that you took Jenny’s side against me. You don’t know the whole story. If you knew, you’d understand.” Vera’s nurse told me that she thought Vera didn’t like Eddie very much. If that’s the case, I wonder why Vera kept the letters, and why Jenny tore them up—why not just pitch them out?

  When I get home it’s hard for me to get to sleep. To listen to Eddie, you’d think he was the wronged party. But Vera Sandstone was a sensible woman. Why would she keep such an uneasy distance from her son unless she had a good reason? She changed her mind and left him her house at the last minute, but if the nurse’s description is right, it sounds like he intimidated her in some way to make that happen.

  CHAPTER 26

  After two nights of too little sleep, the next morning I feel like I’m the one who was drunk last night. I feel sore all over and like my eyes aren’t working the way they ought to. Coffee. I usually wait until after I see to my cows before I brew up a pot, but this morning I need it first thing. It’s later than usual when I get down to the pasture, and I give the cows less attention than I usually do. Surely it’s my imagination that they glare after me resentfully when I head back up to the house.

  When Loretta comes by after church, she’s tactful and doesn’t tell me I look like something my cat dragged in. “Did you go by Jenny’s last night?”

  “I did. She’ll be okay.”

  “What can I do? Should I go by and see her? Should I tell people to stay away?”

  “I’d say maybe people should let her alone for a while. She’s got some things to work out.”

  “I still might take her something.”

  I consider how Jenny’s going to feel this morning and say, “Wait until tomorrow.”

  Loretta has no sooner left than I get a call from Ellen Forester. “I tried to locate you yesterday, but they said you were out and about and I didn’t want to bother you. Can you come by the studio this morning?”

  I tell her I will and realize I’m looking forward to seeing her. I hope she’s calling to tell me she’s decided to get that restraining order. But either way, I’m glad to see her. She’s the only person in town who really understands why I enjoy my art so much. We don’t have the same taste, but she at least knows how art can feed the spirit. With that in mind, while I finish up my coffee and a piece of buttered toast, I walk over to the mantel and rest my eyes on the painting that draws me this morning—a landscape with quiet colors that somehow captures the idea of early morning in a gray time of year, a little desolate but soothing nevertheless.

  Without my really thinking about it, I’ve decided that Monday I need to go to Temple to talk to Eddie Sandstone’s first wife. He won’t like it, but I’m doing it anyway. Maybe he told her what happened to bust up the family.

  Before I leave, I need to do clean-up detail from the prom. Sure enough, when I get to the station, there are half a dozen calls from people complaining that something happened over the weekend that they attribute to “those rowdy high school kids.” There are some I’m sure are legitimate—a missing lawn gnome; someone’s trees draped in toilet paper; a picket fence spray-painted in school colors; and an old, abandoned outhouse tipped over. I call Jim Krueger and tell him to hunt for culprits and get them to make amends. Sometimes kids do own up to their mischief—a fence gets miraculously repainted, a gnome reappears, and the t.p. gets taken down. However, I’d guess that the outhouse isn’t going to be put back upright.

  Other complaints I have to deal with one at a time. Bernice Lindauer is pretty sure somebody moved her car, and I call to find out if the car is okay (yes) and if she knows who moved it (no). Bernice is growing forgetful. I call her son, and he sighs and tells me that she knew he was taking it to be serviced—she forgot. Then there’s Ben Graham, who calls to tell me that someone sideswiped his car Friday night. I tell him I’ll look into it, although I have no intention of doing so. His car got sideswiped five years ago. He received the insurance money for it but never had it fixed and keeps trying to call it in as a new incident to get more insurance money.

  The only one I take seriously is a call from Brenda Sears. She says somebody broke in and stole her cell phone and money out of her wallet. I go over to take a report. She finally breaks down and says she’s scared that her grown son stole the things—that she thinks he’s got a drug problem and stole the money to buy drugs. “He knew I’d taken money out of the bank to pay for some work I had done on the house. When I found out the money was gone, I confronted him and he got mad and said he was going down to Galveston to get a job.” She’s crying a little bit. “He said he didn’t want to be around if I was going to accuse him of stealing.”

  “You call me the minute he comes back and I’ll come over and have a talk with him.” I have no doubt he’ll be back as soon as he uses up the $300 he stole.

  It’s almost noon by the time I get to Ellen’s art gallery, and her morning class is ending. Her students are packing up to leave. They’ve been working on watercolors, and some of the pieces are nice to look at. Ellen is a good teacher. The students are a mix of men and women, all seniors, and all seeming to be in a good mood. I wasn’t sure when Ellen opened the gallery and workshop that she could make a go of it. I’m surprised at the number of people who want to try their hand at art.

  I hang back until everyone leaves. It’s not until I see Ellen close up that I notice a bruise on her cheekbone below her right eye. “How’d you get that?”

  She waves me away. “I know it’s a cliché to say I walked into a door, but I promise I really did.”

  “You’d tell me if your ex-husband hit you, wouldn’t you?”

  “He didn’t. But listen, that’s not why I asked you to stop by. I want to show you something.”

  She beckons me to follow her to the work area where people leave their work to sit until the next class. She picks up a watercolor done on a nine-by-twelve paper and holds it up for me to see. “One of my students in a beginning class did this,” she says.

  “Doesn’t look like any beginner I ever saw.” It’s a simple composition of a pitcher and a couple of lemons. I glance at the other works done from the same still life and see that most of them, although reasonably accurate, are stilted and tense. The one she’s holding up has a free, relaxed feel to it. Instead of sticking exactly to the subject and painting it in the middle of the paper, small and painstakingly accurate, like a beginner, this painter has filled the whole page with it and added a bit of drapery at the back, suggesting a table.

  “Looks like somebody has talent. Maybe they’ve had some other classes.”

  “She swears she hasn’t.”

  I don’t understand why she’s showing me this. “It’s nice,” I say.

  “Your friend Loretta did this.”

  “Loretta?” I’m dumbfounded. “When?”

  “She got back from her trip to Washington and she called and said she thought she’d like to try a class. This beginner class had already started, but I told her to come ahead. I was as surprised as you are when I saw what she came up with. I know you’re a friend of hers and
I wanted to share this with you. I love to discover when somebody has talent they didn’t know they had.”

  I laugh.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Loretta never has had the least interest in my art. I wouldn’t have thought she’d have it in her to even attempt a painting, much less do such nice work.”

  Ellen beams. “She said she wanted to try it out. She said she’s too busy to do much with it, but she thought it would be fun. I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts forgetting about making her rounds with those sinful treats and starts putting time in painting.”

  “Sinful treats? You don’t look like you’re tempted.”

  Color rises to her cheeks quickly. “Well, I am.”

  It’s a couple of days before I get to Temple, determined to talk to Eddie’s first wife, even if I have to wait for her to get off work. But she’s home, and she’s a surprise. She’s several years older than Eddie and fifty pounds overweight. Her shorts and skimpy tank top are meant for someone a good bit smaller. Rolls of belly fat pooch out the tank top, and the shorts have her tree-trunk legs in a death grip. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, tumbles to her shoulders as if she has a fantasy of still being a fetching young woman. She’s holding a cigarette down by her side.

  I introduce myself and tell her I’d like to ask her some questions about Eddie.

  She takes a drag on the cigarette. “Why don’t you ask Eddie?”

  “I’ve had a conversation with him. I wanted to get your take on a couple of things.”

  “Joyce told me you were here last week and that Eddie wasn’t too happy that she talked to you.” She chews on the side of her lip.

  “You’re not married anymore, so what difference does it make if he’s happy about it?”

  She shrugs. “Not a damn bit of difference. I can take care of myself. But I can’t add anything to what Joyce said.” Her apartment is on the second floor, and she sticks her head out the door, glancing left and right as if she’s worried somebody will overhear.

  “Maybe we should talk inside,” I say.

  “Can’t do it. My house is a mess.”

  I suspect the real reason is so she can tell Eddie she didn’t invite me in. They may not be married anymore, but he’s still got a hold on her. “That’s all right. I won’t keep you long anyway. Tell me, when did you and Eddie get married?”

  She looks up at the overhang of her apartment as if the date might be written up there. “It was around four or five years after he left college.”

  “How’d you meet him?”

  She snorts. “How does anybody meet anybody? We met at a bar. I’ll say this about Eddie. He knows how to turn on the charm.” She lifts her eyebrows in a suggestive way.

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  She shrugs and takes another drag, blowing the smoke up toward the sky. “Ten years give or take. We’re still friends, though. Eddie’s all right as long you don’t have to put up with his b.s. twenty-four seven.”

  “When you say b.s., what do you mean exactly?”

  She takes one last puff of the cigarette, steps over to the rail, and throws it over the side to the pavement below. When she comes back, she leans against the door with her arms crossed. “I mean he has kind of a quick temper. He gets these moods where you feel like you’re walking on eggs around him.”

  “Did he ever hit you?”

  “Oh, hell no! He knows I would have done a Lorena Bobbitt on him.” She smirks.

  “His temper ever cause him problems on the job?”

  She ponders her answer. “Doesn’t help any. It’s hard enough to make a living in the building business. All you have to do is look at somebody funny and next thing you know, you’re fired.”

  “I thought he was an independent contractor.”

  “He is. He wouldn’t be able to stand working for anybody else. But even with your own business, you have to suck up to the general contractor to get hired, and then you have to make sure not to piss him off.”

  “Is Eddie working now?”

  “He sure is. Things are looking up in the building trade and Joyce said Eddie’s got plenty of work. She said he’s trying to get a contract on a big mall project in Bobtail.”

  “Why would he want to go all the way over there to work?”

  “Hold on a minute.” She disappears inside and comes back with a fresh cigarette and leans against the doorjamb again. She’s relaxed a little since we started talking. “I asked Eddie the same thing. I know he’s from Bobtail, but it seemed like a long way to go when he can work right here. Turns out he helped build that subdivision they’re tearing down to put up the mall. He said he happened to know the houses were shoddy to begin with and it’ll give him satisfaction to see them come down.” She laughs.

  “How did he know they were building the mall?”

  “I don’t know. I expect the same way he finds out about any job, through the grapevine.”

  “You know Eddie’s mamma passed away a short time ago?”

  “Yeah, I knew his mamma passed. Far as I’m concerned that’s no big whoop. She always treated Eddie like dirt. Broke his heart. I think that’s one reason he’s so moody all the time.”

  “His mamma left him her house, so maybe he plans to move back there.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “First time I heard of that. But I’d be surprised if he plans to move back. He never had much good to say about the town.” She glances down the hallway again, and I know she’s getting restless to be rid of me.

  “Did Eddie ever talk about his daddy?”

  She frowns. “Just that he walked out on the family.”

  “Did he tell you he was supposed to get a football scholarship to SMU?”

  “Oh, yeah. To hear him tell it, that was his one big chance and he blew it. Not that it was his fault. He was still a kid, and he was upset because his daddy had abandoned them.”

  “He ever try to get in touch with his daddy that you know of ?”

  “It wasn’t a topic of conversation.”

  “Did you ever meet his mamma or his sister?”

  “No way. He didn’t have anything to do with them. They had some kind of falling-out and he said I was better off not meeting them.”

  “You know what they fought about?”

  “Not really. Eddie said his mamma didn’t approve of his first wife because she was a Mexican.”

  “He was married before you?”

  She smirks. “Like I said, Eddie could turn on the charm. Problem is, it doesn’t last. His first wife ran out on him.”

  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “No, she wasn’t around.” Marlene straightens up and takes a step back. “I think we’re about done here.”

  “What do you mean she wasn’t around?”

  “She was gone. Eddie told me he was off in Austin and when he got back she had left him a note saying she was leaving him and heading out to west Texas. Never saw her again.” She eases back into her apartment, preparing to close the door.

  “If he didn’t know where she was, how did he get a divorce so he could marry you?”

  “He got an annulment.” She snickers. “At least he said he did. Hey, maybe I’m a bigamist and didn’t even know it. I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you anymore.”

  I thank her for her time, but I’m talking to a closed door.

  Driving home, I try to read between the lines of what Marlene told me. Despite her bravado, I think she’s a little afraid of Eddie. The more I heard what she had to say, the more I think Eddie is the kind of guy who always feels like people are picking on him and blames others for his problems.

  I’m almost home when my cell phone rings. It’s Jenny.

  “You feeling any better?” I say.

  “Not particularly. But I figured since I hadn’t heard from you today, I’d better call and find out if you’re still speaking to me.”

  “Of course I am. I’ve had a busy day is all, and I didn’t want to disturb you too early.�
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  “Where are you?”

  “I’m almost home. I’ll stop by a little later.”

  “You don’t have to. In fact, it’s probably not a good idea. I’m probably going to spend tonight the same way I did last night.”

  “You mean with a bottle?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Drunk.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan to me. Try to lay off a little. I’d like to talk to you and I can’t come over right now.”

  “I’m not promising anything.”

  CHAPTER 27

  I get home in time to feed Zelda, who is barely speaking to me these days except to tell me she’s half starved. I consider taking food over to Jenny, but she still has a refrigerator full of casseroles. I argue with myself about whether to take over a bottle of wine. I don’t want to encourage Jenny’s affair with the bottle, but at the same time, I usually do bring wine. I’d like to look like things are normal, even if they aren’t. “Zelda, I’m thinking you ought to come with me,” I say as I’m walking out the door. She doesn’t think much of the idea and stays right where she is on her favorite chair.

  Jenny has already started on the Jack Daniels. I open the bottle of wine and take two glasses out to the living room, hoping I can ease her into wine instead of the hard stuff. There is a wealth of Jell-O salad and casseroles in the refrigerator, but I rummage around and find some Jarlsberg cheese and a box of crackers.

  When I bring out the plate of snacks and the wine, she says, “Cheese and crackers and wine! That’s more like it. If I eat one more pimiento cheese sandwich or noodle casserole, I’m going to lose it.”

  “That bruise on your face is a fetching shade of yellow,” I say. “Looks like you’ve been in a bar fight.”

  “Don’t try to butter me up with compliments.” I’m glad to find out that she’s got some sense of humor back. We talk a little and drink a glass of wine, and then I decide it’s time to leap. “Jenny, I’ve got something to say, and I’m going to come right out with it. It’s about your brother.”