by Bill Crider
Max handed him a menu. “I’ll let you know what I decide. Enjoy your meal. I still have the best smokers and the best sauce in Texas. Those are the two big secrets of the barbecue business.”
Max left the table, and as Rhodes watched him leave, Seepy Benton came into the restaurant. Max met Benton with a menu. Benton took the menu and headed for Rhodes’s table.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Ivy kicked Rhodes again. He’d never worn boots because they hurt his feet, but he might have to consider buying a pair just to protect his ankles.
“Have a seat,” he said.
“Thanks.” Benton pulled out a chair and sat down. “Good evening, Ivy. How are you tonight?”
“I’m fine,” Ivy said. “And how are you?”
“Great. Life is good. It would be better if I were singing tonight, but this isn’t my evening for that.”
Rhodes waited for Ivy to kick him again. When she didn’t, he said, “How are things at the college?”
“We need to talk,” Benton said.
Rhodes thought that was a good idea. He had a lot of questions for Benton about the way things worked at the college and about Wellington’s relationship with the rest of the faculty and administrators. He wanted to know more about the rumors, too.
“I’ve been doing a little investigation of my own,” Benton continued.
“That’s not a good idea,” Rhodes said, but he didn’t explain why because the server arrived to take their order. Rhodes said he’d have a sliced beef plate with pinto beans and coleslaw with the barbecue sauce on the side. Ivy decided she’d just visit the salad bar, and Benton joined her. If that was what they wanted, Rhodes didn’t object, but he was sticking with real food.
When the waiter left to fill Rhodes’s order, Rhodes said, “I know that amateurs do just fine in the movies, but you could get in trouble nosing around at the college.”
Benton raised his eyebrows. “Amateur? I’m a deputy.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am. You forgot to undeputize me. I’m going to get my salad.”
Benton had made two trips to the salad bar by the time Rhodes’s meal arrived. Ivy was still working on the small bowl of salad she’d created on her first visit. Rhodes added some sauce to his sliced beef. Max was right: The secret was in the sauce. The meat was lean and tender, but the sauce was just the addition it needed. Not too much sauce, though. It wouldn’t do to overpower the smoky flavor of the meat. For good measure Rhodes put a little of the sauce in his pinto beans.
Between bites of his salad, Benton told Rhodes what he’d found out at the college. “I talked to a lot of people who don’t have to keep things confidential,” he said. “One of them was the bookstore manager, Mary Mason. She says she knows you.”
Ivy gave Rhodes a look, but at least she didn’t kick him.
“I wouldn’t say I know her,” Rhodes told Benton. “I know who she is.”
“Everybody knows who she is,” Ivy said with a little edge in her tone.
Who Mary Mason was was one of Clearview’s most eligible women. Mary had appeared in town a year or so earlier for unspecified, but widely speculated upon, reasons. She was from a college town called Pecan City, which Rhodes had never visited, though he’d met Boss Napier, the chief of police, once.
There were rumors that Mary had left town after a clandestine affair with someone at the college in Pecan City, possibly the president, but no one had ever confirmed it. She was blond and buxom, and she’d become quite popular with the young men about town, of whom there weren’t many. Wellington would have been one of them, though as far as anyone knew he wasn’t much interested in women. Or maybe it was that they weren’t interested in him.
“Does Ruth know you talked to Mary Mason?” Rhodes asked.
“I haven’t told her yet,” Benton said, “but she won’t mind. She knows I’m as pure as the driven snow.”
Rhodes hadn’t seen a lot of snow in his lifetime, most of which had been spent in Texas. He’d always wondered why driven snow was supposed to be so pure. Now probably wasn’t the time to get into that, however, though he knew Benton would have an opinion. Benton had an opinion on just about everything.
“Did she know Wellington?” Rhodes asked.
“I didn’t think to ask her about that,” Benton said.
Amateur. “Did you get distracted?”
“No,” Benton said. “Anyway, there wasn’t any need to ask that. She worked in the bookstore, and Wellington was a teacher. She knew him, all right.”
“I didn’t mean being acquainted,” Rhodes said. “I meant did she know him well.”
“I didn’t find that out. I got what I wanted, though. I found out about Ike Terrell’s bookstore bill.”
Maybe not such an amateur after all. Rhodes wouldn’t have thought of that, but then he didn’t quite see what it had to do with anything.
“What did you find out?” Rhodes asked.
“Ike’s made only a partial payment for his textbooks. He’s not going to get his grades at the end of the semester if he owes the college money, and it looks like he does. He might owe even more. I’d have to check with the dean of students to find out. In a couple of days anybody who hasn’t paid his tuition is going to be forced to drop out of classes. Ike might not have paid up.”
Rhodes had figured out what Benton had been after, and it was a point in Benton’s favor that he’d thought of the bookstore bill.
“So you think Ike might have stolen that hair to help pay his bills,” he said.
“I’ve heard a little bit about his family,” Benton said. “Judging from what I’ve been told, Ike’s about as likely to be taking out any student loans or applying for a government grant as I am to fly to the moon under my own power.” He paused. “That’s not out of the question, you know. It could happen.”
Rhodes started to say something, but Ivy kicked him again. He looked at her. She was having trouble keeping a straight face.
“So I suppose Ike could pay his bills, too,” Benton said, “but I think he might have needed to get some money, fast, to pay them with. Hair extensions are easy to get cash for, according to the news reports. People are stealing them all over the country. Wigs, too.”
He was right, and Rhodes had to give him credit for coming up with a motive for the theft. It didn’t make Ike any less guilty, but it did help explain why he’d committed the burglary. He must have been desperate. Able didn’t appear to be withholding financial support from his son, but there might not have been enough money to pay for tuition and books. Ike would have had a tough time getting a job in town, not because nobody would hire him but because Able would’ve objected. Not that there were a lot of jobs to be had anyway.
Everyone had finished eating now, but Rhodes wasn’t ready to leave. He wanted to hear what else Benton had found out, and he wanted to hear it now. The waiter had come by and left their bills, separate checks without even being asked. He deserved a good tip.
“What else did Mary Mason know?” Rhodes asked.
“Nothing much,” Benton said. “She’d heard that Wellington and Dean King had a big fight about something and that the dean and Dr. Harris were planning to get rid of Wellington at the end of the year.”
Part of that was news to Rhodes. He knew about the plagiarism argument but not that the dean and the department head were planning to get rid of Wellington. Neither King nor Harris had mentioned it. Trying not to draw suspicion to themselves, Rhodes was sure. Mary Mason might have been doing the same, but Rhodes couldn’t be sure since Benton hadn’t asked about any possible relationship with Wellington. Rhodes would have to find out about that.
“Anything else?” Rhodes asked.
“She’d heard the same things we’ve all heard,” Benton said. “That’s all.”
Rhodes had been wondering about those rumors. Everything had to start somewhere, and while rumors usually seemed to spring up without any particular origin, they didn’t just
happen. They had an origin, even if it was almost always impossible to find.
“Where do you hear all that stuff?” Rhodes asked.
“In the faculty lounge,” Benton said. “A lot of the people with early classes like to have coffee in the lounge and talk to their friends. It’s a nice way to start the day. Not today, of course, but most days. Sometimes there’s a little gossip. Teachers love gossip, and that’s where Wellington got raked over the coals.”
“He wasn’t there?”
“He comes in, or came in, early, but he never came by the lounge. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable with the rest of us. You know how it is. The ones who’ve been around for a few years don’t always welcome the newcomers. It took me a while to be part of the group, but I won them over with my natural charm.”
Rhodes waited for Ivy to kick him, but she just grinned at him.
“Besides,” Benton said, “Wellington liked to go outside and have a smoke before class. You know that already.”
“Who’s in the lounge in the mornings?” Rhodes asked. “Other than you.”
“The regular crowd is me, Tom Vance, Harry Harris, Charlotte Wilson, George Lewis, Beverly Baron, and Will Tracy. Do you know any of them?”
Rhodes knew Vance, a biology teacher and paleontologist who’d helped him out a little once upon a time when there was a mammoth involved in an investigation. He didn’t know the others, but he was sure he’d be talking to some of them. If they were in the lounge, though, they hadn’t been outside with Wellington.
“Oh,” Benton said, “Mary Mason comes in sometimes, too. She’s not faculty, of course, but she fits right in.”
“I’m sure she does,” Ivy said.
This time it was Rhodes’s turn to grin.
Chapter 12
After they left Max’s Place, Rhodes drove to Ballinger’s Funeral Home, which had at one time been a mansion occupied by one of Clearview’s wealthiest families. Ballinger lived in back in the servant’s quarters. If there was any symbolism in all of this, Rhodes preferred not to think about it. Rhodes saw a light in Ballinger’s window, so he parked the car and asked Ivy if she wanted to go in.
“That’s his house, right?” Ivy said.
“That’s it,” Rhodes said. “You didn’t think he lived in the funeral home, did you?”
“I just want to be sure there won’t be any surprises.”
“Clyde might be wearing his drop-seat pajamas.”
“That’s not the kind of surprise I meant, and you know it. Besides, nobody wears that kind of pajamas anymore.”
“Let’s go find out,” Rhodes said, and Ivy got out of the car.
They went to the door, and Rhodes knocked. Ballinger called for them to come in.
He wasn’t wearing drop-seat pajamas. He had on a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that was predominantly blue, with some palm trees and leis and waves as decoration.
Rhodes looked at Ivy. “Surprised?”
“At least it’s not drop-seat pajamas,” Ivy said.
Ballinger, who had been sitting at his desk, stood up and said, “Sometimes I get the feeling that I came in on the middle of something.”
“It’s nothing,” Rhodes said. “I hope we’re not bothering you.”
“Nope, I’ve been expecting you. Not Ivy, though. This is a rare pleasure. Have a seat.”
Rhodes and Ivy sat on a short sofa, and Ballinger sat back down in his desk chair. For years his desk had often been covered with copies of the kind of old paperbacks that he loved to read, but now there were none. There was just an e-book reader and several stacks of paper.
“Nice shirt,” Rhodes said. “Have you been hanging around with Mikey Burns?”
Commissioner Burns had a penchant for colorful shirts.
“Nope,” Ballinger said. “Just relaxing after a long day. You probably had one, too, considering that I have an autopsy report on the late Mr. Wellington for you.”
“All his days are long,” Ivy said. “I’m lucky to see him at all.”
“Always on duty or on call,” Ballinger said. “Not unlike a funeral director.”
“Did we interrupt your reading?” Rhodes asked.
“I was just seeing what I could pick up for free tonight. How is it that writers can just give their books away?”
Rhodes had to admit that he didn’t know.
“They do it all the time,” Ballinger said. He picked up his e-reader. “I’ve nearly filled this thing up with free books, and I just keep getting more. I’ll never get around to reading all of them.”
“Are they the kind you like?” Rhodes asked, remembering having seen the desk littered with books with lurid covers and titles like Park Avenue Tramp, Halfway to Hell, and Campus Doll.
“Sure,” Ballinger said. “Lots of old books are free, but I can get new ones for free, too. I don’t know how they do it, but if they’re going to give them away, I’m going to take them.”
“I should get one of those readers,” Ivy said.
Rhodes was sorry he’d brought it up, so he changed the subject by asking Ballinger about the autopsy report.
Ballinger tapped a small stack of paper. “Here it is. Dr. White said to tell you that it’s about what you’d expect. No surprises.”
Rhodes got up and took the report. He flipped through the pages. Wellington had died because of the blow to the back of his head, all right, possibly as the result of being knocked into the Dumpster during a struggle. The time of death was approximately seven fifteen. No students would have been arriving at the time. The early-bird faculty would already have been in the lounge.
The report didn’t mention any bruises that might have resulted from blows to Wellington’s head and face, but there was a bit of bruising on his arms that suggested he might have been gripped tightly.
“Any help?” Ballinger asked when Rhodes was done.
“You never know,” Rhodes said. “What about personal effects?”
“Got ’em right here,” Ballinger said.
He reached down beside his chair and picked up a clear plastic bag. It was sealed and had a paper attached. That would be Dr. White’s statement that the bag held all of Wellington’s effects. Ballinger held the bag up, and Rhodes saw that it contained a cell phone, a wallet, some coins, a wristwatch, a package of filter-tip Camels, and a small pocketknife.
“Not many people still wear a watch,” Ballinger said. “They all have the time on their phones now.”
Rhodes took the bag and thanked Ballinger for his help.
“Drop by anytime at all,” Ballinger said.
* * *
Rhodes’s next stop was the jail.
“I’m getting the grand tour tonight,” Ivy said when they stopped outside. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”
“They should have a Take Your Spouse to Work Day,” Rhodes said as he opened the trunk of the county car. It was all right to drive the car to dinner, he figured, as long as he made sure to do some official business along the way.
Ivy got out of the car and joined him. “What’s in the trunk?”
Rhodes reached in and took out the AR-15.
“Where did that come from?” Ivy asked.
“I picked it up along the way today,” Rhodes said. When he’d told her about what he’d been doing, he’d omitted his little tussle with Duffy. “I’m going to lock it up where it’ll be safe.”
“I should hope so,” Ivy said, but she didn’t question him any further about it.
They went inside the jail, and Hack seemed glad to see her, though not quite so glad to see Rhodes.
“Where’d you get the rifle?” he asked.
“Just happened to find it,” Rhodes said, hoping Hack would let it drop and knowing all along that he wouldn’t.
“Find it where?” Hack asked.
“Down at Able Terrell’s place,” Rhodes told him. “I’m going to lock it up now.”
He got the keys to the evidence room, ignored Hack’s looks, and locked the gun away
. When he came back with the keys, Ivy was sitting at his desk, and Hack was still curious. He said, “Terrell just let you walk off with one of his guns?”
“He might not even know about it,” Rhodes said, and that was true. Duffy might not have told him.
“Able Terrell never let anybody walk off with a gun in his life.”
“It wasn’t Able. It was Duffy.”
“Guy who called here today? He sounded big as a house.”
“Not quite,” Rhodes said.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Ivy said.
“Don’t worry,” Rhodes said. “You won’t.”
They’d been married for a while now, but Ivy still had trouble dealing with some of the things that Rhodes got into. It was like the cheeseburger he’d had for lunch. He tried not to tell her more than she needed to know.
“Did Ike Terrell get his bond set today?” he asked Hack.
“Not yet. Judge’s gonna see him first thing tomorrow.”
“Don’t let him get away before I talk to him,” Rhodes said.
“Better be here early, then.”
“I’ll be here,” Rhodes said.
He and Ivy told Hack good night and left the jail. Rhodes was through for the night unless he got a call. It wouldn’t be unusual if he did. The county wasn’t always quiet at night. The metal thieves were still going after copper all the time, and they liked to vandalize air conditioners at deserted buildings in the wee hours. Churches were a favorite target. Rhodes had pretty much shut down the local outlets for illegally obtained metal, but the thieves could always go elsewhere—and would, as long as they got paid.
Lately there’d also been a rash of tailgate thefts. It took a skilled thief about fifteen seconds to remove a pickup tailgate, toss it into his own truck, and drive away. Rhodes didn’t know where the tailgates were being sold, but so far he hadn’t caught anyone in Clearview selling them. He’d keep looking, though.
Driving home, Rhodes thought about the day. He had more to worry about than tailgates and copper, including a dead body, but no real suspects unless he counted Ike Terrell, and he was by now convinced that while Ike might have burgled the Beauty Shack, he hadn’t killed anyone, even by accident.
