“Bring another round, will you? I’ll have a Jameson on the rocks. Actually, one rock.” I smiled at the other three at the table. “More ice would be a travesty when drinking Irish whiskey, don’t you think?”
“You’re not a member,” Gruber said. Rather uncharitably I thought.
“But you are, Malc. If Southern hospitality isn’t enough of a reason to buy a guest a drink, then just look at it as penance for lying to me about your busy day back at the nursing home.”
His golf partners looked stunned. I was proud of myself. I thought it was one of my better entrances.
“My name is Alton Rhode. I’m a private investigator looking into the death of your friend, Colver Elson. I came to see Clyde but thought this might be a good chance to talk to all of you at once. I didn’t know Malc here was one of the late Judge Elson’s foursome.”
I put out my hand to the man whose name I didn’t know.
“Who are you?”
It’s hard not to introduce yourself when someone sticks a hand out. He took mine and gave it a perfunctory shake. His hand was moist. Maybe from his beer glass. Maybe from something else.
“Alvin Blaloch,” he said shortly.
“Blaloch? You wouldn’t be the local coroner, would you?’
“That’s my part-time position,” he said.
“What’s your full-time job?”
“Funeral director.”
Our drinks came. I took a sip of mine. The Jameson didn’t disappoint.
“I thought you were just a friend of the woman who claims to be Colver’s granddaughter,” Gruber said. “You misrepresented yourself to me.”
I knew he was lying. Ever since being followed by the pickup truck, I was pretty sure everyone in town knew who I was and what I was doing. But I decided to play along.
“You didn’t stick around long enough for me to explain myself,” I said. “Not that I begrudge you a round of golf on a nice day like this. Life is too short. Which brings me back to Judge Elson. Any of you have an idea about who stuck an ice pick in his eye?”
“We already told the police everything we know,” Gruber said.
I ignored him.
“Mr. Blaloch, it must have been tough on you to autopsy a friend.”
“Of course. But I had a job to do.”
“I don’t suppose there was any doubt as to the cause of death.”
“None, whatsoever.”
“Mr. Spivey, it must have been a shock finding the body.”
“To say the least.”
“The three of you all seem to be a good deal younger than the judge. He must have been a good golfer to keep up.”
“The handicap system evens things up,” Blaloch said. “And the old bastard could putt lights out.”
“You better believe it,” Spivey said. “He sure scored better than his handicap.”
No matter what the circumstances, golfers love to talk golf and bitch about other players. From their tone, I’d bet Elson had won some money from his “buddies” with his putter.
“I think you have taken up enough of our time, Rhode.”
Gruber again. I liked ignoring him, so I continued doing it.
“What kind of man was Judge Elson?”
“Colver was a fine man,” Spivey said. “An upstanding citizen and a credit to the community. His death was a great tragedy. We lost a good friend.”
The others, even Gruber, nodded in agreement at the rote-like platitudes.
“Well, someone obviously didn’t think so,” I said.
“A lunatic,” Blaloch said. “Perhaps a criminal he sent to jail in the past.”
“Yes, it was probably some nut,” Spivey added.
“I don’t know,” I said. “An ice pick in the eye seems kind of personal. I understand the judge was something of a ladies’ man.”
“What are you implying?” Gruber said.
“Nothing. But apparently Elson didn’t struggle. That might indicate he knew his killer. Perhaps someone he was close to. Someone who used the judge’s own ice pick.”
“I believe the police have looked into everyone Colver knew, intimately or otherwise,” Gruber said.
“And checked alibis,” Spivey said.
“Including all of yours, I presume,” I said.
“You are out of line,” Gruber thundered, drawing some looks from nearby tables.
“Oh, I don’t know. Where I come from, handicap inflation is cause for murder.”
“It was probably a burglar,” Blaloch said in a strangled voice.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “There was no forced break-in, until a couple of days ago, I mean.”
My remark should have generated an immediate reaction from the men. Instead, I caught a momentary eye shift from all of them, before Gruber said, “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, what are you talking about?” Blaloch chimed in, another beat too late.
I was convinced that all of them knew about the break-in. Of course, it was possible that they learned of it through the small-town grapevine, from cops, the forensic crew, the cleaners who put the place back together or the locksmith, to name a few. But I didn’t think so. The communal eye shift gave them away. And if they knew about the break-in, they might know something about the murder.
“Somebody went through the place and tore it up pretty thoroughly. And it wasn’t a burglary this time, either. Nothing of value seems to be missing. I think they were looking for something.” I paused. “But I don’t think they found it.”
All three were now sitting rigidly. I smiled.
“Not to worry. If it’s in the house, I’ll find it.”
I wasn’t sure I would, of course. But I could see fear on their faces. Which was why I said it.
“Well, thanks for the drink, fellas. I have to run along.”
As I walked out of the club, I wondered what Chief Deerly-Johnson would think of my pot-stirring.
CHAPTER 13 - HUNTING SEASON
The next morning I put on some coffee and again went out to the hen house on Elson’s property. The hens had come through once more and I collected a half dozen speckled brown eggs. On the way back I passed Lucas, who was carrying a toolbox.
“What are you doing here, Lucas? It’s Sunday.”
He bent down to pet Gunner.
“I can’t come for a while, Mr. Rhode. I have basketball practice all week. I want to get the well fixed.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I guess it hasn’t been used since the judge died,” he said. “The winch is kind of rusted and I’m having trouble raising the bucket. I don’t want to break anything. The well has to be cleaned out before winter sets in.”
“Well, first come in to the house and have some bacon and eggs.”
“I appreciate it, but my mom made me a nice breakfast after 7 o’clock Mass.”
He headed to the well. Until running into Lucas, I had felt fairly industrious and countrified about my jaunt to the hen house.
“Let’s go, Gunner. The damn kid was probably milking cows while I was asleep.”
The smell of frying bacon and fresh-baked biscuits brought Alice to the kitchen. She was barefoot and freshly scrubbed, wearing shorts and one of my shirts.
“Ah, the country life,” she said, and opened a window. “I could get used to this.”
I poured her a cup of coffee and then cracked four eggs in some butter in the pan.
“Good Lord, Alton. I’ve never seen yolks so yellow. Is that what real farm eggs look like?”
“Wait until you taste them, kiddo.”
“So, what’s your plan, now,” Alice said as I ladled out the food. “Do you really think your trip to the country club yesterday will pay dividends?”
“I don’t know. I think I struck some nerves, but I might be overreacting. Maybe Gruber and the others have nothing to do with anything. Even without alibis, they would be pretty low on any suspect list. And they have alibis for the murder. And no one needs an alibi for the
break-in, since we don’t know exactly when it happened. Tomorrow, I’ll go over the case files with Deerly-Johnson and see if I can spot anything she missed, which is unlikely. She’s a pretty sharp cop.”
“Unusual name.”
“Yes, I asked her about that. The Deerly is English and was the name of the last slave owner who bought her ancestor from a Louisiana owner. The Johnson is Swedish.”
“And now she’s Chief of Police in Atlas, Virginia. There’s justice in that. But if you don’t find anything new, what then?”
“I’ll keep annoying people and hope something happens. Maybe I’ll spot another tail, although that might not mean much. It may have nothing to do with Elson’s murder and is only related to the fight over his estate.”
“You don’t sound very hopeful.”
“That’s because I’m not. My coming down here to solve a murder that happened months ago was always a long shot. I told Laurene that.”
There was a knock on the door. It was Lucas. He smiled at Alice and his eyes drifted toward the opening in the shirt she was wearing before he glanced away quickly. I didn’t mind. I was a teen-age boy once myself, a million years ago.
“Are you sure you won’t have something to eat?”
“No, thanks, Mr. Rhode. I was wondering if you might run me into town to pick up some solvent and grease.”
“Where’s your car?”
“In the shop. My Mom dropped me off. But I can wait until you finish your breakfast.”
“No need.”
I walked over to the counter and flipped him my car keys.
“Take the Santa Fe. And would you mind putting some gas in it for me.”
“Not a problem.”
I gave him some cash.
“Do you need money for the other stuff?”
“Nah. I run a tab and the lawyer lady pays it at the end of the month.”
“Do you think the whole windlass has to be replaced?”
“I hope not.”
“What’s a windlass?” Alice asked.
“It’s a kind of crank,” I said.
Alice smiled at me.
“You mean you’re not the only one here?”
Lucas laughed.
“You are very industrious, Lucas,” Alice said.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s about the only job I haven’t gotten to around here. Judge Elson told me not to fret about the well whenever I mentioned cleaning it out. Said I had more important work to do.” He paused. “Those biscuits sure look good. Mind if I take one for the road?”
Alice gave him two. Gunner followed the boy to the door. They’d gotten close.
“Can I take him with me? He’ll be OK.”
“Sure,” I said. “But you better grab some more biscuits. He loves them.”
Alice gave him two more and he and Gunner set off.
“What a nice kid,” Alice said.
“Yeah, he is. Even if he only left me with two biscuits.”
***
We had just started cleaning up when I heard a small boom in the distance.
Alice looked at me.
“It’s hunting season,” I said. “Deer.”
We’d been hearing shots all weekend. There was another boom.
“I never understood the fascination with hunting,” Alice said. “It seems so unfair. They are such beautiful creatures.”
“Don’t go Bambi on me, Alice. There are more deer in this country than there were when the Pilgrims landed. In some states in the East they are called farm rats, for all the damage they do to crops and gardens. And they can be a menace on the highways. Hunting is a rite of passage, especially in the South, and while I’m not particularly enamored of the culture, hunters probably provide a needed service.”
“That’s a rationalization, and you know it. I could give you a dozen reasons why hunting is wrong.”
“You’re a philosophy professor, Alice. You could give me a dozen reasons why the world is a rhombus.”
“Pshaw!”
“Pshaw? Is that how they speak at Bryn Mawr?”
“The Bryn Mawr pshaw is a lot classier than ‘bucker and fucker’.”
I poured myself another cup of coffee while I tried to come up with an appropriate retort. Before I could, I heard Gunner barking at the door.
“That was quick,” Alice said. “I thought they’d be gone longer than that.”
I didn’t recall hearing a car pull up. She went to let them in.
“Alton! Oh, my God!”
I ran to the front door. Alice was cradling Gunner in her arms. There were red specks on his coat. Some of his blood was now on her arms. There was no sign of Lucas or my car. I knelt down next to them and spread the dog’s fur apart. There were shards of glass embedded in it. Then I spotted the small round holes.
“He’s been shot. Looks like buckshot. Take him inside and call the cops. And a vet.”
“Where’s Lucas?”
I didn’t answer her. I ran back inside and grabbed my holster and gun from the back of the chair on which I’d been sitting. Alice’s car keys were also on the counter and I took them. She was gently leading Gunner into the house.
“Lock the doors. Wait for the cops.”
I jumped in the car and roared down Chandler Lane. I didn’t have to go far. I was halfway to Clayton Turnpike when I spotted my Hyundai off to the side in a ditch up against a tree that stopped its progress. There were no other cars. I got out and ran to the side of the Hyundai, immediately noting that both the windows on its left side had been shattered. I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I recalled the booms.
Both front airbags had deployed and Lucas was face down in the one that exploded out from the steering wheel. The air bag was bloodied, and I knew that wasn’t the result of the impact with the tree, which appeared minor. I opened the door and gently pulled back on the boy’s collar. The front of his face was almost completely gone. He was dead.
Lucas had taken the full blast of a shotgun, at close range. From his wounds, I surmised that he probably turned toward the shooter, perhaps out of curiosity. Gunner had almost surely been in the passenger seat and been hit by flying glass and a few pellets. The window on his side was open. He probably had his head out enjoying the ride when the attack occurred. After the car hit the tree, he probably jumped out through the window to escape. The two shots I’d heard explained the shattering of the rear passenger window. I wondered if the killer had been on foot or in a passing car or pickup truck. I didn’t wonder who the target was. With my car’s window up, the shooter would have assumed I was driving. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced the killer was in a vehicle. Even wounded, Gunner would have gone after an attacker on foot. And probably would be lying dead in the road. A passing car — or pickup truck — made more sense. Gunner might have chased a vehicle but not for long. He’s have returned to Lucas. And then headed back to me.
I heard a siren approaching. A minute later, an Atlas police cruiser slid to a stop next to the Santa Fe. A young cop got out and nervously pointed his gun at me. I realized that he saw my own weapon.
“On your knees, now! Hands behind your head.”
It was a dangerous situation. I assumed he could see the dead boy, the blood and the broken windows. And he had no easy way to disarm me. People have been shot with less reason. I did as he asked.
“Call your chief. Deerly-Johnson. My name is Rhode. She’ll vouch for me.”
“Shut up! Reach down with your left hand and take your gun out of the holster and fling it off to the side. Then lie face down. Make a sudden move and I’ll shoot you.”
This was a good cop. For all he knew, I got his chief’s name off the Internet. So, again, I did what he asked. I was saved from putting my face in the dirt with the arrival of another police car. Deerly-Johnson got out.
“It’s OK, Richie,” she said. “I know him.”
The young cop looked dubious, but he holstered his weapon.
Deerly-Johnso
n walked over to my car and looked in.
“Jesus Christ!”
CHAPTER 14 - AFTERMATH
I spent the rest of the day at the Atlas Police Department. Chief Deerly-Johnson made it abundantly clear she wished I’d never arrived in her town.
“But I don’t suppose you will leave now,” she said.
Outside her office window, the sun was just above the horizon. I was anxious to get back to the farm. Alice, with a police escort, had taken Gunner to a local veterinarian to be patched up and had called to say that both she and the dog were fine. The same young cop who had put me on the ground when I’d found Lucas was staying with her until I showed up.
I told Deerly-Johnson about my visit to the country club.
“I’m going to stick around,” I said. “Somebody doesn’t want me here, and it’s not because they believe I can do a better job than you solving Elson’s murder.”
“Although you probably do,” Deerly-Johnson said, dryly.
I shrugged.
“Not important. What is important is the fact that someone broke into the judge’s house just before I got there, and then tried to kill me today.”
“You are assuming it’s the same person or persons.”
“Yes, and so do you.”
She nodded.
“And I’ll tell you something else I’m assuming. Spivey, Blaloch or Gruber have something to do with this, because Lucas was killed after I bragged to them that I would find whatever the burglars missed.”
“That doesn’t mean they were involved. They might have told someone what you said. There are no secrets in country clubs. You aren’t the only one who runs off his mouth.”
I didn’t appreciate the rebuke.
“Do I have to remind you, Chief, that you wanted me to stir things up?”
“I didn’t want you to get a 17-year-old kid killed!” I think she was startled by her own anger. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you feel as shitty about Lucas Browne as I do.”
“Not possible,” I said.
“Sure. You realize they are probably going to try again.”
THE ELSON LEGACY (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 6) Page 8
