A Violent End at Blake Ranch

by Terry Shames

  “Did it ever occur to you that she might just want you out of the house?”

  He grins. “Might have. She has her bridge club at the house today and I have been known to wander in and give my opinion on somebody’s bridge hand. Not always appreciated.”

  I bring him up to date on the Blake case. He has a lot of experience as a cop, although he has never worked homicide. He was in vice. Sometimes he has a good suggestion, but today he shakes his head. “I don’t know how you’ll figure out this one. That family is closing ranks. Not that I blame them. One of them likely killed that girl.”

  We stare at each other for a couple of minutes. I don’t like what’s running through my head. I usually feel like I have a good chance of getting to the bottom of a problem through my knowledge of the town and its workings; through the past and my relationships with people. But I don’t know the Blakes, and they present a smooth exterior with no way for me to pry my way in. Zeke isn’t any help. It’s like we’re running out of steam, too old to be on this kind of job. Maybe it needs a younger brain.

  Zeke shakes himself, and I can’t help wondering if he’s having the same doubts. He points his finger at me. “Here’s a question. Have you checked for sure that the older son was actually in Denton, like his sister said? It’s not that far away. He could have snuck back here, killed the girl, and then gone back to where he was supposed to be.”

  “That’s a good thought. The kind of thing you’d be good at checking out,” I say.

  “I’ll get right on it,” he says.

  Judy Mosley died a few years ago of lung cancer, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped her husband, Everett, from filling his house with cigarette smoke so thick you could choke on it.

  “Sure, I remember Nonie,” Everett says. “How could I forget? We left her with our kids—trusted her. And then come to find out what she did to her sister. I don’t mind telling you, Judy had half a mind to drive out there and slap the girl in person.” He has a raspy cough and I wonder how long it will be before he follows his wife into an early grave. He’s a thin, stooped man who looks older than his fifty years, his face wrinkled as a lizard.

  “You knew Nonie was back in town?”

  “You’d have to be under a rock not to know that,” he says. “You know there were some people thought she ought to be banned from the town.” He takes a heavy drag off his cigarette and stubs it out. “Nasty habit,” he says. “I know I ought to quit. Anyway, I didn’t hold with that notion. The girl had something wrong with her, and it’s been twenty years. I expect they wouldn’t have let her out of that place if they thought she was a danger. Besides, she’d have to know that everybody would be watching her every move, so I can’t see her getting away with a lot.”

  “Did you see her after she got back?”

  “Who, me? How would I see her? The way I heard it, they kept her to herself out there at the Blakes’ place. Most likely didn’t want her to be a spectacle.”

  “Did she try to contact you?”

  He stares at me. “Why would she do that? The kids are grown and gone.” He shakes another cigarette out of his pack and lights it.

  “Apparently she wanted to contact somebody here in town, and I’m trying to find out who it was.”

  “You’re thinking whoever that was might have killed her? All I can tell you is that it wasn’t me. If Judy was still alive, you might look to her, she was that mad, but I say that’s a long time ago and no sense in bringing up old problems.”

  “Did you ever catch Nonie snooping in your business?”

  “My business? I own a service station. Why would she be interested in that?”

  “You didn’t own it at the time. You bought it a few years ago.”

  He wrinkles his forehead. “You’re asking if I, what, cheated Russ out of the station and Nonie somehow got wind of it? You’re getting close to insult here, Chief. You can ask Russ Matlock. I bought that business fair and square when he wanted to retire. That’s the end of it.” His indignation sends him into a coughing fit. “Goddam, I’ve got to quit this habit.” He starts to stub out the half-smoked cigarette but sets it down in the ashtray instead. “You can talk to Russ. He’ll tell you. He lives out in a place on the lake. Me and him go fishing together.”

  “You understand I have to ask. This isn’t personal.”

  “It is to me.” He gets up from his seat. “I don’t know what else I can tell you, but I’ll tell you flat out I had nothing to do with that girl being killed. If I was you, I’d go looking closer to home.”

  “What do you mean? Did Nonie ever indicate that she had problems with her family?”

  “She might have. I don’t want to get anybody in trouble, but she might have hinted around that she’d like to get away from her family. And that’s all I know about it.”

  I don’t know whether he’s attempting to draw attention away from himself or if Nonie really did complain about her family. And if she did, it may have been nothing more than a teenager’s normal rant.

  It’s a relief to be outside. Even if it’s twenty degrees hotter outside than in the house, at least I can breathe. On the porch, one more thing occurs to me. “Everett, do you know if Nonie babysat for any other families?”

  He shakes his head. “Judy would have known, but I don’t think I ever heard her say so.”

  “Your kids still live around here?”

  “Daughter does. She’s married and lives in Bobtail. Has a couple of kids.”

  When I get back, Zeke is pleased with himself. “I talked to an old boy I know in the Rodeo Association. There was a rodeo in Denton a couple weeks ago. Billy Blake won the bronc-riding competition. This guy gave me the name of somebody in Denton who runs the rodeo there. Name of Arlie Cole. Cole told me that Billy marked his home base as New Braunfels.”

  “So why was he still in Denton after the rodeo? That’s where his sister said she located him.”

  “I asked Cole, and he said if Billy was hanging around, it was probably to do with a woman. He said Billy is quite the man for the ladies, but that he’d try to find out more for me.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Everett Mosley’s daughter, Kaylee Tharp, has two youngsters, ages three and one, but she looks like a teenager who has stumbled on a couple of kids to take care of. She’s wearing short shorts and a halter top, and she’s snapping gum like she’s trying to kill it.

  “I was as sad as I could be when I heard what happened to Nonie,” she says. “Sorry about the mess in here. Both the girls have been up since five-thirty, and I can’t wait for naptime so I can straighten up a little bit.”

  She and her husband live in a small house in a subdivision in Bobtail. She’s brought me into the chaos she calls the living room to talk about her old babysitter. As soon as I arrived, she plunked the three-year-old in front of the TV to watch a program that appears to be about penguins who talk gibberish. She’s holding the one-year-old on her lap. Her energetic management of the two kids is proof of why it’s youngsters who have children.

  “You have fond memories of Nonie?”

  The baby fusses, and Kaylee bounces her on her knee. “Not so much of Nonie herself, but the fact that Nonie replaced a witch of a babysitter that we hated—she talked to her boyfriend on the phone all the time and yelled at us if we made a peep. Nonie didn’t care much what we did as long as we left her alone.”

  “What did she do while she was there that she wanted to be left alone for?”

  “I didn’t think much about it at the time, but thinking back, I’m pretty sure she probably snooped around in my parents’ business. She’d go in their bedroom. I followed her in there a couple of times and she’d be poking through drawers and stuff.”

  “Did she get mad at you for following her?”

  “No, she’d put my mamma’s jewelry and makeup on me and tell me I looked pretty.”

  “Your brother liked her?”

  “My brother only wanted to watch TV. That was it. She let him watch his progr
ams, so he was happy.”

  The baby is fussing harder. “Hold on a minute while I get her a bottle. She’s about ready to go down.” She glances over at the TV where her older daughter is giggling at the program. “Stacy Marie, you stay right there while I get Lizzie’s bottle. You want anything?”

  The girl shakes her head without turning to look at her mother.

  While I wait for Kaylee to come back, I try to make sense of what Stacy Marie is watching on the TV. It seems like there’s a lot of activity with no point to it, but she seems highly entertained, especially when one of the penguins slides around on the ice.

  Kaylee doesn’t have anything more to add with regard to what went on in the household while Nonie was there.

  “Do you know if Nonie babysat for anyone else?”

  “I didn’t know it at the time, but when she was killed, my girlfriend Kimberley Havranek called and told me Nonie used to babysit for her, too.”

  “Havranek. Why do I remember that name?”

  “Probably because a few years ago Kimberley’s mamma kicked her daddy out of the house and asked for a divorce. There was a big uproar. He sued her for custody of the kids—can you imagine that? Anyway, he lost and moved to Bobtail because he was so embarrassed.”

  “Did Kimberly ever say what led to the divorce?”

  “She said her daddy had a bad temper, although she loved him to pieces. Look at that.” She gazes down fondly at the baby, who has fallen asleep with the bottle slipped out of her mouth and a bubble of milk at the corner of her lips. “She’s the sweetest thing . . . especially when she’s asleep.” She laughs quietly. “I’m going to go put her in her crib.”

  She’s back soon and says, “Stacy Marie, you’ve got five more minutes. Then we’ll go in the kitchen and get lunch.” She turns to me. “I don’t like for her to get in the habit of eating in front of the TV. They say that’s a good way for kids to put on weight.”

  When I leave, I have a good feeling. This girl may be young, but she’s got a firm hold on life the way she’s living it. I wonder if she ever had a desire to have a job and live a different way, or if she’s doing exactly what she wants to do. My nephew Tom’s wife, Vicki, told me she knew she wanted kids, but she also knew if she had to stay home all the time, she’d lose her mind. I remember a time when those choices weren’t so easy to make, and it seems like it’s better for women to have the choice.

  Since I’m in Bobtail, I go down to city hall and look up Bruce Havranek’s information. He works as a CPA for a trucking company with headquarters in Bobtail. I call him at his work, and the receptionist tells me he’s out for lunch. I leave a message for him to call me on my cell. Then I put in a call to Wallace Lyndall, a cop I got to be friends with a while back, and arrange to have lunch with him. Over sandwiches, I ask him if the law in Bobtail has had any dealings with Bruce Havranek, but he doesn’t know the name.

  By the time we’re done, Havranek hasn’t returned my call, and when I phone his place of work, they tell me he decided to take the afternoon off. I wonder if he decided this before or after he got my message.

  He lives in an apartment complex of four units. He doesn’t answer his doorbell, so I leave him my card with a note to contact me as soon as he gets it.

  On my way home, I get a call from Nonie’s old psychiatrist, Richard Buckley. “My secretary was able to get that report you asked for. How soon do you need it?”

  “The sooner the better. How big is it?”

  “A lot of pages. I’ll have her ship it by FedEx overnight. Do you have an account I can charge?”

  I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I suppose FedEx does deliver things here, but I’ve never had occasion to use them. “Tell you what,” I say. “Let you me call you back with a number. I expect the sheriff’s office has one.”

  Sure enough, the duty officer in Bobtail tells me they have a Federal Express account, and I can use it for what I’m after.

  Buckley says he’ll send it right out, and I should have it in the morning. I hang up and marvel at the wonders of the modern world. Not that I was exactly alive during pony express days, but seems like not that long ago when I would have had to wait at least a few days for the report to be delivered in the mail.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nonie Blake’s funeral is Friday, and attending falls under the category of work for me. I sit at the back to be as inconspicuous as possible, since I don’t want to draw special attention to the ongoing murder investigation. A lot of people have come to the funeral to gawk at the family. I’m gratified that Loretta has enough character to stay away, although there are plenty of curious attendees who have no business being here who will be able to fill her in on the details later.

  Skeeter isn’t in attendance, so I assume he has been put in charge of keeping a watch on John back home, which will serve my purposes. Charlotte has brought Trey but turns him over to a young woman, who takes him outside to play. It’s a short service, handled by the funeral director, Ernest Landau, since the Blakes have no declared church affiliation.

  At the reception afterward, Charlotte and Adelaide keep their heads high and greet everyone as if it’s quite natural that they be there. Billy tries to do the same, but he’s not as good at hiding his annoyance.

  I see Kaylee Tharp talking to someone her age and go over to say hello. She introduces me to her friend, and as I’d hoped, it’s Kimberley Havranek.

  I hesitate to bring up the subject on the somber occasion of a funeral, but this may be the best chance I have to talk to her without having to track her down, so I plunge in. “I’ve been trying to contact your daddy and haven’t had any luck. You know where I might find him?”

  “Daddy? I hardly ever talk to him.” Her tone is dismissive, but her eyes give away her concern for him.

  An older woman walks up and says, “Kimmie, we’d better get home if you insist on going back to Houston tonight. I want to at least have a little time together before you leave.”

  I introduce myself to Kimberley’s mother and find out her name is Nelda Havranek.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around,” I say.

  “I work over in Bryan-College Station and hardly ever go out here. I probably ought to move over there, but I’ve lived here so long that it would be a chore to move.”

  “I understand Nonie Blake babysat for your kids a few times. Would you have time to answer some questions for me about Nonie this afternoon?” I see her hesitate. “After your daughter leaves. I don’t want to bother you while she’s here.”

  “Of course.”

  I give her my cell number so she can call me after Kimberley leaves.

  After that I hustle out of the funeral home. I’ve got some business out at the Blake ranch. Theoretically I should have a search warrant, but no judge in his right mind would grant me a warrant simply because I want to pry. But if I go out there now, I can get Skeeter’s and John’s verbal okays to look around. And I may have a chance to talk to John, which will be good, since I’m pretty sure Adelaide isn’t going to let me at him anytime soon.

  Skeeter meets me at the door looking wild-eyed. “Chief Craddock, I don’t mind telling you I’m glad to see a familiar face. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do. Daddy’s driving me up the wall.”

  I hear John in the other room yelling.

  “Let’s go see if we can calm him down,” I say.

  In the kitchen John has a skillet on the stove and is attempting to turn on the burner. “Goddam contraption never works! I want some eggs. Is that too much to ask? How come nobody ever feeds me? I can feed myself if you’ll—” He stops abruptly when he sees me and then says, “Can you turn this stove on?”

  “Daddy, you had a whole plateful of eggs an hour ago.”

  “I did not.”

  “I made them myself,” Skeeter says.

  “Prove it.”

  Skeeter makes an exasperated sound. “Let me show you again.” He pulls a trashcan out from under the kitchen si
nk and points to a handful of eggshells. “That’s from the eggs I cooked.”

  “They weren’t very good,” John says.

  “You want some toast?” I say.

  “Toast! I could go for some toast,” John says. “Two pieces. With a little jelly. We got any strawberry jelly?”

  Skeeter rolls his eyes at me and pulls a loaf of bread out of the refrigerator and pops two slices into the toaster.

  “John, while we wait for the toast, will you show me around outside? I need to look at a couple of things.”

  John’s face lights up. “I’ll be glad to.” He turns to Skeeter. “We’ve got some important business. I’ll see you later.”

  Skeeter laughs silently, shakes his head, and mouths “Thank you” to me. He might not thank me if he knew my intention wasn’t entirely aboveboard.

  Outside, I say, “John, can you show me where you keep your garden tools?”

  “You mean like a spade? Or the lawnmower?”

  The question is startling because his voice sounds perfectly rational and straightforward. “That’s what I mean. Both.”

  “They’re in the barn.” He points to it. “You know we used to have cows and we used the barn for storing hay and feed and stuff for the cows. But now it’s mostly garden stuff.” And then he stops abruptly and peers at me. “Are you the new gardener?”

  “Something like that,” I say. It’s unsettling to talk to people with dementia. They check in and out of the conversation, and you never know from one minute to the next what version of the person you’ll be talking to.

  I’m looking for the weapon used to murder Nonie Blake. Not that I expect to find it—I imagine whoever killed her took it with them, but I want to make sure I cover the bases. Bill Odum did a cursory check around the property the first day we were out here, and I want to look at possible hiding places a little more closely. It’s always possible that someone hid something in plain sight after removing traces of blood.