by Bill Crider
His mother had pretty good reasons for keeping an eye on her sons, Rhodes thought, but he was glad Claude had decided to leave the house anyway.
“If you were there when I looked out the window,” Rhodes said, “you must’ve seen somebody go into the building.”
“No, sir, I didn’t. I was over on the same side you were on, so if anybody went in through that front door, I didn’t see ’em.”
“Did any lights go on downstairs?”
“There was light movin’ around down there,” Claude said, “but I didn’t see who was holdin’ it.”
“What about where the explosion was?”
“All I could see was a light. And I did see somebody start a fire in there. I couldn’t see who it was, though.”
“How long was that before the explosion?”
“Not long. Maybe a few minutes.”
That was about right, Rhodes figured. Maybe open the gas jets on the stove all the way, light a fire in a wastebasket, and get out while the getting was good.
But Rhodes still wasn’t sure why it had happened.
“You didn’t see anything else?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Claude said. “That was it.”
“You didn’t see anybody fall out of that window on the third floor.”
“Not me, no, sir.”
Claude’s voice sounded firm, but his eyes kept sliding away. Rhodes wasn’t convinced that he was telling the complete truth.
“And your brother didn’t see anything, either?”
“No, sir, he didn’t,” Claude said, looking at his wristwatch. “He’s better about stayin’ in the house than I am these days. My break time’s about up, Sheriff. I wish I could help you out some more, but I’ve told you everything I know about what happened.”
“All right, Claude. I appreciate your help.”
Claude stood up and said, “You’re not gonna arrest me, are you?”
“No,” Rhodes told him. “You didn’t do anything that I could arrest you for, did you?”
“No, sir. I wish you’d tell my mother that. She thinks you’re gonna come arrest me any minute.”
Mrs. Appleby had showed up sometime in the midst of all the excitement after the explosion, and she hadn’t been happy with Claude. Rhodes hadn’t heard what she said to Claude, but he could imagine that it wasn’t composed entirely of commendations for his behavior.
“I’ll see what I can do to relieve her mind,” Rhodes said. “After all, you saved my life. But I may have to talk to you again about things.”
“You know where to find me,” Claude said, and headed back into the store.
22
THE SPOT WHERE TERRY DON COSLIN HAD HIT THE GROUND WAS in the main building’s shadow, so the light still wasn’t ideal, but Rhodes saw Ruth Grady going over the spot very carefully.
“Find anything new?” he asked.
Ruth looked up and said, “I didn’t expect to see you out here today.”
Rhodes was reminded of how sore he was. Every muscle in his body ached, but at least his head wasn’t throbbing.
“You know me,” he said. “I can’t resist a good crime scene.”
“This isn’t a very good one,” Ruth said. “We should’ve been more careful last night.”
“I thought we were careful. What’s the problem?”
“Footprints.”
“There weren’t any.”
“Well, there are now. We were here, the ambulance crew was here, the justice of the peace was here. It was like that writers’ convention moved out of the building and met right where Terry Don Coslin fell.”
“But everyone knows the drill. Besides, the ground’s too hard to take footprints.”
“The grass isn’t. Look at the way it’s been trampled down.”
Rhodes could see the flattened blades, which would have been more easily crushed in the evening when the dew was on the ground.
“I didn’t notice any of that last night,” he said. “Maybe because it wasn’t there.”
“Maybe. But maybe the light just wasn’t good. Maybe we missed something. We should’ve kept everyone away.”
“So you think someone might have been up here and taken a look at Terry Don.”
“I don’t think anything, one way or the other,” Ruth said. “But if someone was here, we’ve just about covered up all the traces of it.”
Rhodes thought about the way Claude Appleby wouldn’t quite look him in the eye when they were talking.
“If someone had been here, what difference would it make?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like being careless.”
Rhodes didn’t like it, either. On the other hand, they’d done the best they could under the circumstances, and they couldn’t very well have left Terry Don lying out there on the cold ground all night.
“It’s possible someone came up here and looked things over after the body was moved,” he said.
“Claude Appleby,” Ruth said, catching on fast. “He was up here, wasn’t he.”
“He pulled me out of that building,” Rhodes said. “I wouldn’t have made it on my own. I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. And I couldn’t seem to stand up.”
“I’m glad he pulled you out, but I wish he hadn’t messed around up here.”
“We don’t know that he did,” Rhodes reminded her.
“No, we don’t, but I can’t help thinking someone did. Have you talked to him today?”
Rhodes nodded. “He said he didn’t do anything, but he did admit that he was standing on this side of the building.”
“I knew it,” Ruth said. “He’s the one who messed things up. I’d bet money on it.”
“Probably,” Rhodes said. “And he might have seen something that he didn’t mention to me. I’ve been wondering how whoever killed Terry Don got out of the building. Maybe he used the fire escape.”
The cylindrical structure that served as a fire escape was attached to the side of the main building. If you entered it, you found that the inside was a curving slide that dumped you out on the grass. Rhodes knew because he’d been in there once before.
“Maybe he just came down the stairs,” Ruth said.
“Sure. But what if he didn’t want to be seen?”
“He got upstairs without being seen.”
“People were still eating. Later they’d have been standing around, talking, maybe within sight of the stairs.”
“Why didn’t they hear Terry Don fall?”
“Because he didn’t yell,” Rhodes said. “And nobody was on this side of the building to hear him when he landed.”
“But the killer had a look at him.”
“It’s possible, if he used the fire escape.”
“Then what did he do?”
“He went back inside,” Rhodes said. “Mingled with the crowd, and no one ever knew he’d been gone.”
“Okay,” Ruth said. “Let’s check it out.”
They looked at the exit of the fire escape, but there was no evidence that anyone had used it.
“I’ll look inside,” Ruth said. “Maybe there’s something in there.”
Rhodes agreed that checking the fire escape was a good idea.
“But we need to check the top floor again first,” he said, and told her what he thought he’d seen there.
“You mean I missed something?” Ruth said.
“I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing, or it might just be something that’s been there for years.”
“We’d better get up there and have a look, just the same.”
“I’ll get a flashlight,” Rhodes said.
The smell of charred wood and wet carpet and smoke was almost overpowering inside the building. Water was still dripping from the ceiling.
“A least the dust won’t be so bad,” Rhodes said as they started up the stairs.
“Thank God for small favors,” Ruth said. “Are you sure it’s safe to be in here?”
“No. I’d bet it’s not safe at all
, if you want to know the truth. I wouldn’t want any civilians coming in here, and I wouldn’t be in here myself if I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Ruth said. “You think it’s going to fall down on our heads?”
“No, but there’s always the possibility.”
“It’s a real shame. Mr. Chatterton worked hard getting this place in shape, and he must’ve spent a lot of money on it. It was really nice, too, something the town could be proud of. And now look at it.”
Rhodes looked around at the soaked floors and the dripping walls of the second floor, trying to ignore the fact that climbing the stairs had taken quite a toll on him.
“I’m sure Chatterton feels lower than a snake’s belly about the whole thing,” he said. “I just hope he had good insurance.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ruth said, starting up to the third floor. “I talked to him earlier. He’s crushed. If you blew on him, he’d fall over.”
“What about the workshop?”
“They’re going to try having their sessions in the sitting room of the dormitory. It’s going to be crowded and uncomfortable, but it’s the best they can do.”
“Did you talk to anybody else other than Chatterton?”
“I talked to that Serena Thayer. She threw a hissy fit when I told her that she couldn’t leave until the investigation was finished.”
“Jeanne Arnot was upset, too,” Rhodes said.
“Not as upset as Thayer, I’ll bet. I thought she was going to jump me and claw my eyes out. If I hadn’t been wearing a sidearm, she might’ve tried it.”
“She would’ve been in for a surprise,” Rhodes said.
Ruth grinned. “You got that right.”
They reached the third floor without incident, though Rhodes had thought the walls might tumble down on them at any moment, no matter what he’d said to Ruth. Maybe the old building was sturdier than he’d thought.
The top floor was much drier than the other two, not that the Obert fire truck hadn’t had the power to pump the water that high. It just hadn’t seemed necessary. Still, it was fairly damp. The crime-scene tape was still attached to both sides of the doorway, and Rhodes pulled it off. It wasn’t doing any good there.
“Where did you see something?” Ruth asked.
“It was over by the window,” Rhodes said. “The light had to hit it at just the right angle.”
He shined the flashlight along the cracks between the floorboards, trying to catch a glimpse of the same sparkle that he’d seen the previous night, but he couldn’t locate it.
“Maybe I was just imagining things,” he said after about five minutes. “I could have sworn I saw it, though.”
“Exactly where were you when you saw it?” Ruth asked.
Rhodes showed her.
“But that’s only a guess. Somebody moved the paint can and hit me with it.”
“Evidence,” Ruth said, going over to the can.
“Whoever hit me was probably holding it by the bail,” Rhodes said. “There won’t be any prints on that.”
He touched the back of his head gingerly with his fingertips. The knot was hard and tender, and he wished he hadn’t touched it.
“There might be some of my hair on that can,” he said. “But I don’t think that’ll be much help to us.”
Ruth didn’t think so, either. She left the can sitting where it was.
“Just try to get as close to where you were as you can,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find it this time.”
Rhodes tried again, but it was no use. There was not the faintest glimmer of a reflection in the flashlight’s beam.
“I think somebody came up here and found it,” Ruth said.
“That’s why you got conked.”
“Could be,” Rhodes said. “Or the explosion could have shaken the thing deeper into one of the cracks. But whatever it was, it’s not here now.”
Ruth didn’t want to give up the search.
“It could still be here and we missed it. We need to keep looking.”
“I don’t think so,” Rhodes said. “I have a feeling it’s gone. But if it’s still here, and if we need it, we can always come back for it.”
“All right,” Ruth said, giving in reluctantly. “What are we going to do next?”
“You can check the fire escape first. Then go back to town to see what’s going on around the county. Hack and Lawton are likely to panic at the responsibility.”
“They told you about Tige Barker,” Ruth said.
“They did. And you never know when another emergency will come up.”
“I’ll try not to panic if it does,” Ruth said. “But just in case I do, where will you be?”
“Talking to the writers.”
“Don’t let that Serena jump you. I don’t trust her.”
Ruth’s eyes narrowed when she mentioned Serena’s name, and Rhodes wondered if maybe Ruth suspected Serena of having killed Terry Don.
“You don’t like her much, do you,” he said.
“Not even a little bit. She’s way too high-strung to suit me.”
Rhodes had to agree, but he felt he had to mention that being high-strung wasn’t a crime in Texas. “And,” he added, “I don’t think I’ll be talking to her yet, anyway.”
“Who’re you going to talk to then?”
“Belinda Marshall,” Rhodes said.
“Did she know Terry Don?”
“I think so,” Rhodes told her. “From what I hear, everybody knew Terry Don. One way or another.”
“Oh,” Ruth said.
23
RHODES MANAGED TO PERSUADE BELINDA MARSHALL THAT IT was more important that she talk to him than attend a workshop session on “The Arc of the Story.”
“I don’t really mind missing it,” Belinda said. “After all, it’s only Marian. I’ve heard her talk before, and it’s not like she’ll come up with anything new.”
Rhodes was a little surprised. He told Belinda that he’d always thought writers came up with new things to say all the time.
Belinda laughed. “That might be true when they’re writing, but not when they’re talking. Most of them are like tape recorders. When you give them a topic, it’s like punching the play button. You get the same thing every time.”
Rhodes and Belinda were sitting outside the dormitory in plastic lawn chairs beside a plastic table under a tall pecan tree. They’d had to brush the leaves out of the chairs before they could sit. The chairs and table had once been white, but they’d been outside for a while and they hadn’t been cleaned often. If ever. There were dark spots of something that Rhodes suspected might be mildew on them here and there.
Belinda rummaged around in her leather Dooney and Bourke bag and came out with a Marlboro hard pack and a butane lighter.
“You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”
Rhodes said he didn’t mind, and Belinda looked on the table for an ashtray. There wasn’t one.
“I’ll just use the yard,” she said. “I don’t think anyone will mind, do you?”
Rhodes said he didn’t think so.
Belinda lit her Marlboro, took a deep drag, and tossed her head, shaking the long braid that hung down her back.
“I was looking at some book covers yesterday,” Rhodes said. “I saw one of yours.”
“Which one?” she asked, exhaling smoke.
“I think it was called something like Passion in the Pines.”
Belinda laughed again. “Sounds good, but it’s not one of mine. Try again.”
“Was I close?”
“Not really. I do have one coming out in a month or two called The Passionate Pirate.”
“That’s the one,” Rhodes said. “The pirate looked a lot like Terry Don Coslin.”
“I had a feeling we’d get around to talking about him sooner or later,” Belinda said, flipping ashes on the grass.
“He did have quite a reputation,” Rhodes said. “If you know what I mean.”
�
��I know, all right. Everybody knows. It’s not as if it’s a secret. And I already know what your next question is.”
Rhodes wondered if she’d save him the trouble of asking it, and she did.
“I never slept with him,” she said. “I didn’t have to. I’m not big enough to have any influence on the cover selection for my books. It was just the luck of the draw. But if I’d had a choice, I’d have asked for Terry D. on my cover anyway. He didn’t have to sleep with me. His picture was worth a lot in sales. I think The Passionate Pirate would have sold an extra ten thousand copies because of it.”
“Would have?” Rhodes said.
“Now that he’s dead, it’ll probably sell an extra twenty-five thousand copies. Maybe more.”
“So dying was a good career move.”
“I’ve heard that one before. But it wasn’t so good for Terry D. For me, maybe.”
“You realize that you’re giving yourself a pretty good motive for murder, I guess,” Rhodes said.
Belinda flicked some more ashes into the air and watched them settle to the grass.
“Let me tell you something, Sheriff,” she said. “You might think I’m like some of those other women in there, but I’m not. It’s true that most of them would kill to sell a few more books, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need the fame, and I certanly don’t need the money.”
“I thought everybody could use a little money,” Rhodes said.
“Not everybody’s a millionaire,” Belinda said.
She dropped her cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the toe of her shoe.
“You’ve made a million dollars as a writer?” Rhodes said.
“Of course not,” Belinda told him. “Nobody does that, at least not anybody I know. Nora Roberts does, and Sandra Brown does, but I don’t know them. You don’t run into them at workshops like this one for some reason. Anyway, I made my money in the stock market.”
“You play the stock market?”
Rhodes was surprised. He thought writers sat around in their studies, surrounded by books, and wrote all the time.
“I don’t play,” Belinda said. “I work at it. I do research. I study trends. I bought Dell Computer when it went public. I bought Amazon.com early on. I bought Qualcomm when it was under fifty dollars a share.”
