by Bill Crider
The kitchen cabinets were original to the house, and there was no dishwasher. The stove was a white Chambers range. Rhodes’s parents had owned one exactly like it. It had once been the top of the line, but now it was a collector’s item.
A divided sink had been installed in the counter at one time, but it was by now forty years old or more, and a chip of enamel was missing on one edge. The Formica-covered countertops were clean but worn, lined with canisters, a chrome toaster, and a coffee percolator. An old wooden table stood on the faded linoleum at the opposite end of the room, near a door leading into a dining room. Near the table a bowl of cat food and a bowl of water sat on a rubber mat.
The only jarring note in the room was the body lying on the floor in front of the sink.
It looked as if there had been an accident.
Helen Harris lay motionless with an overturned stool beside her. She lay on one side, almost as if she were asleep, but Rhodes had seen enough dead bodies to be pretty sure that Mrs. Harris wouldn’t ever be waking up. He didn’t want to take any chances that he was wrong, however, so he walked over and knelt down to check for a pulse. There was none.
The stool was made of wood and had four legs, which would supposedly make it fairly stable. Apparently it hadn’t been.
The cover of the light over the sink had been removed and was sitting on the counter, and a lightbulb with a dark spot on it lay beside it. Rhodes stood up and looked into the sink. A broken bulb lay in the bottom.
So Mrs. Harris had been standing on the stool, trying to replace the bulb. Something had happened to the stool, it had become overbalanced, and she had fallen. The new bulb had landed in the sink, and she had landed on the floor.
That wouldn’t have been enough to kill her. Her head, covered with wispy white hair, was beside the stool, and a pair of glasses lay not far away. Rhodes supposed that she might have hit one of the rounded corners of the stool when she fell. He saw a couple of white hairs caught on the wood, but he didn’t make any firm conclusions.
He felt a kind of sadness that was a little different from that which usually came over him at someone’s death. Mrs. Harris had been a part of the community for far longer than Rhodes could remember. For longer than most people in town could remember. Rhodes hadn’t known her well, but he had vivid memories of her husband’s algebry classes.
After looking down at the body for a couple of seconds, Rhodes sighed and went to check the rest of the house to make sure that no one else was hiding there. First he checked the front door. It was locked.
The furnishings in all the rooms were as old as the house, except for the TV set, which might not have been much more than twenty years old. There was only one telephone, an old black handset with a rotary dial, sitting in a little niche in a hallway. Rhodes didn’t think there were many of those left in use even in a small town like Clearview.
Every room was as clean as the kitchen. The hardwood floors were smooth and shiny, the throw rugs hardly seemed to have been stepped on, and there was no cat hair that Rhodes could see. He wondered if there was a single dust bunny to be found under any of the beds. Probably not.
In one of the bedrooms on a low bookshelf there were all sorts of interesting items: pieces of old glass and metal objects, including a few coins. One was a half-dollar. Rhodes hadn’t seen one of those in years. Some things Rhodes couldn’t identify. Most of them appeared to be not much more than junk: an old ice pick, what looked like a rust-covered hood ornament from the days before they’d been eliminated, even some rusty bottle caps. Junk or not, everything was clean and dusted.
The bed in Helen’s room had already been made up, and her purse sat on the dresser. Rhodes would check it later, but it didn’t appear to have been disturbed.
A tall jewelry box sat in front of the dresser mirror. Rhodes opened the little doors and saw necklaces draped over small hangers. He opened the drawers to see if any rings were inside. Several rings were there, and it didn’t appear that any had been taken. Whatever had happened in the kitchen, robbery didn’t seem to have entered into it.
After peeking into the rest of the rooms and finding no one, Rhodes went back to the kitchen. Nothing in the house had been disturbed. Everything pointed to an accidental death, but Rhodes somehow didn’t believe that was the case. He suspected that Helen Harris had been murdered. There was no proof of that as yet, and in fact nothing in the deserted house suggested it, but Rhodes couldn’t shake the feeling.
The setup was obvious enough. When Mrs. Harris had gone into the kitchen that morning, she’d discovered that the bulb over her sink was burned out and decided to change it. Then the accident had happened. It was even possible that events had gone exactly that way.
But a few things were wrong. For one, the back screen door hadn’t been latched. Rhodes thought that a meticulously careful person like Helen Harris would latch the door, especially if the door leading from the screened porch into the kitchen was open and unlocked.
It wasn’t the doors that bothered Rhodes the most, though. It was the cat. Ivy said that Mrs. Harris never let the cat leave the house, but it had left, and it had been outside long enough to wander a couple of blocks to Rhodes’s house. Who had let it out? Rhodes was convinced that someone besides Helen Harris had been in the house, someone who had gone out the back door and then gone somewhere else.
Rhodes thought about going to the black telephone and making the necessary calls, but he didn’t want to mess up any fingerprints that might be there. He wished he’d brought a cell phone with him, but he didn’t like cell phones. He thought about the odds of someone other than Mrs. Harris having made any phone calls. He decided there was next to no chance that anyone had, so he went into the hall and called the jail, dialing awkwardly because he was out of practice.
Hack Jensen, the dispatcher, answered, and Rhodes told him to have Ruth Grady, one of the deputies, meet him at Helen Harris’s house.
“What’s the matter?” Hack said. “Something happen to Helen?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Rhodes said, and hung up the phone, knowing that he’d just ruined Hack’s day. The dispatcher wanted to know everything as soon as it happened, so he could lord it over Lawton, the jailer.
Rhodes then called the ambulance and the justice of the peace. He called Ivy last.
“That’s terrible,” Ivy said when he’d told her about Mrs. Harris. “I can’t imagine why a woman of her age would want to climb up on a stool. She’s frail and not exactly steady.”
“I’m not sure she climbed on anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. A few things don’t seem quite right to me. I need to find out more about Helen Harris.”
“Are you suggesting that it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t mean to suggest anything.”
There was a pause, then Ivy said, “It’s Sam, isn’t it.”
Rhodes wished she hadn’t used the cat’s name, but he said, “Yes. Didn’t you say she never let him outside?”
“That’s right. Someone had to open the door, or he’d still be in the house. I know Helen wouldn’t have let him leave, and certainly not before she tried to change a lightbulb. Someone who didn’t know about Sam’s habits must have done it. Or someone who knew and didn’t notice Sam slipping past.”
That was what Rhodes thought, too. He said, “I don’t know a lot about cats, but if S—if the cat hadn’t been outside before, why would it go out now?”
“Because it was scared? Or bothered by a stranger being in the house?”
It sounded right to Rhodes.
“How many women are in the OWLS?” he asked.
“About six regulars, but Helen was in several other groups. She joined some of them when her husband was still alive.”
That would complicate things, Rhodes thought. The more acquaintances a person had, the more potential suspects in a murder case. If this was a murder case. And that didn’t even begin to account for the possi
bility of a stranger who might have wandered by.
“Do you know anything about those other groups?” he said.
Ivy didn’t, not really.
“One of them was a metal-detecting club,” she said, and Rhodes thought about the things he’d seen on the shelves. “But I don’t know who else was in it,” Ivy continued. “I don’t even know for sure if she was still a member, but she used to talk about it now and then. You’ll have to ask some of the OWLS.”
Rhodes told her that he would and asked if she had a membership list.
“No,” Ivy said, “but you can bet that Helen did. She was very particular about things like that.”
Rhodes said that he believed it. “Where would the list be?”
“Isn’t there a little black desk in one of the spare bedrooms?”
Rhodes said that he’d seen it. There had been a desk calendar with daily Bible verses on it, but that was all. Helen kept the top of the desk as clean as everything else in the house.
“That’s where the list would be,” Ivy said. “In one of the drawers, probably.”
Rhodes said he’d look there and hung up the phone. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. Maybe Mrs. Harris had simply had an accident and, being old and frail, had died as a result.
Rhodes sighed. It was easy enough to tell himself that, but he didn’t believe it for a minute.
Chapter 3
RHODES RETURNED TO THE BACKYARD, WHERE SPEEDO SAT WAITING. As soon as Speedo saw Rhodes, he charged to the other side of the yard, probably hoping that Rhodes would follow and play. Rhodes did follow, but only to check the gate in the rusty fence. It was between two of the gardenia bushes, and it was closed. It opened to the white-graveled alley that led away behind houses in both directions. Whoever had been in the house, if anyone had been, could have gone just about anywhere without much danger of being seen, since most of the yards backing up to the alley had either high wooden fences or trees or both hiding it from sight of the houses.
If Rhodes was right about someone having left by the back door, it meant that whoever had let the cat escape had walked to the house, but probably not through the alley. Most people used the sidewalk. Maybe someone had been outside and seen whoever it was, so Rhodes would have to talk to everyone who was home along both sides of the street.
Speedo tried to nudge past Rhodes and see what was so interesting in the alley, but Rhodes didn’t open the gate.
“Can’t touch it,” he told the dog. “There might be fingerprints.”
Speedo sat back on his haunches and looked wise, as if he understood completely.
Rhodes wished that he understood things as well as Speedo seemed to. He was sure he didn’t have any solid reasons for his suspicions, but they didn’t go away. They just kept getting stronger.
Rhodes heard a car pull into the driveway. He told Speedo to behave himself and went to see who’d arrived.
It was Ruth Grady, who got out of the county car and asked what was going on.
“Mrs. Helen Harris is in the kitchen,” Rhodes told her. “She’s dead. It looks like an accident.”
“You wouldn’t have called me for an accident,” Ruth said.
She was short and stout and one of the best deputies Rhodes had ever worked with. She’d gotten a law enforcement degree at a community college in south Texas before coming to work in Blacklin County, and Rhodes trusted her to work a crime scene without making any mistakes.
“It might be an accident,” Rhodes said. “But it might not.” He told her about the cat. “So we’re not going to take any chances.”
“This is your neighborhood, isn’t it?” Ruth said.
“Yes, but we’d do the same anywhere.”
“I know that. I was just commenting. Did you know the victim?”
“She might not be a victim. But I knew her. Not well. Ivy knew her better. Her husband taught me algebra when I was in high school.”
“I was pretty good in algebra,” Ruth said.
Rhodes didn’t want to get into a discussion of his high school accomplishments, or lack thereof, especially one in which he’d come off badly, so he told Ruth what he wanted her to do as soon as the justice of the peace got through with his business.
“I’ll be interviewing the people who live up and down the block,” Rhodes said, “in case they’ve noticed anything unusual.”
Ruth looked both ways along the street, then back at Rhodes.
“I don’t see anybody.”
“If anybody’s home, they know we’re here. Not too many county cars pull into driveways in this part of town.”
“Except for yours.”
“That’s right, but nobody even notices mine anymore. There’s never been one in this driveway, though.”
Rhodes heard a siren in the distance. Speedo, in the backyard, heard it, too, and started howling in accompaniment.
“That’ll really get people’s attention,” Rhodes told Ruth. “You go on in and look things over.”
“You haven’t already done that?”
“Yes, but I didn’t touch a thing. Treat it like a crime scene. Get pictures of everything before they move the body.”
The ambulance parked at the curb, and its siren wound down. Speedo’s howling did, too.
“That dog you hear is Speedo,” Rhodes told Ruth. “You might want to say ‘hey’ to him when you go in.”
“I like Speedo,” Ruth said.
“Everybody does. He won’t bother you.”
“I know. He likes me, too.”
Rhodes grinned and went to talk to the EMTs while Ruth was looking things over. After a few more minutes the JP arrived, and Rhodes left them there to begin walking the block.
He went to three houses before he found anybody who knew anything. In the first house, no one was home. In the second, a man named Grover Middleton was plenty willing to talk, but not about anything related to Helen Harris. He mainly wanted to quiz Rhodes about the ambulance and the patrol car being at Mrs. Harris’s house. After finding out that Middleton had nothing to contribute, Rhodes told him as little as possible and left.
In the third house, Francine Oates had a lot to say, as if the idea of her neighbor’s death had made her nervous. Francine was about Helen’s age, and the two had known each other for many years, ever since the Harrises had moved to Clearview. Like Mrs. Harris, Francine had taught elementary school.
Francine was a tough, wiry woman whose hair was dyed a reddish brown. She’d been married at one time. Rhodes didn’t remember her husband, who had been dead for years. Francine seemed to have given up wearing her wedding band, or any other rings, for that matter.
“I always did worry about Helen,” Francine said after Rhodes had explained the reason for his visit. “She was entirely too active if you ask me, even when we were teaching together, and especially now. Women our age shouldn’t be out mowing the yard and pruning trees.”
Rhodes said what Francine wanted to hear.
“You don’t look as old as Helen.”
Francine smiled, revealing a set of good teeth.
“That’s because I take care of myself, not like Helen, out sweating in the yard. It’s hardly ladylike, if you know what I mean.”
Francine dated back to the time when the word ladylike had been acceptable. More than that, it had meant something good, at least to people like Francine. Ladies wore hats and gloves when they went to church, which they did twice on Sunday and often on Wednesday. They didn’t smoke, swear, or sweat, and they always let men hold the door for them. On the other hand, she was currently dressed in a pair of new-looking blue jeans and a man’s long-sleeved shirt, which didn’t look ladylike to Rhodes, though he refrained from saying so.
“You mentioned that it was an accident,” Francine said. “You’re probably right. Helen wasn’t always as careful as she should be. Always climbing around.”
“Was she careful about other things?” Rhodes said. “Like locking her doors?”
Francine hesitated fo
r a couple of seconds. “I guess she was. A lady has to be careful these days.” Francine had small eyes set too close together, and Rhodes detected a hint of nervous anxiety in her tone. “If it was an accident, then why are you here? I didn’t think the sheriff investigated accidents.”
“We have to make sure,” Rhodes said. “Sometimes things aren’t the way they seem.”
“I’m sure they are in this case. Helen was always careless.”
“Did you happen to see a car parked at Mrs. Harris’s house this morning?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been busy and haven’t been outside. Anybody could have parked there, and I wouldn’t have known. Would you like some coffee?”
Rhodes didn’t drink coffee, so he declined politely.
“I have some Dublin Dr Pepper if you’d like a soft drink.”
Rhodes couldn’t resist an offer like that. The bottling company in Dublin still made Dr Pepper with real sugar, and it tasted the way it had when Rhodes had been growing up.
“I ordered it off the Internet,” Francine said. “I don’t think Helen even had a computer.”
Rhodes hadn’t seen one, but there could have been a laptop in a drawer. Or it could have been taken from the house.
“Come on in the kitchen,” Francine said. “We can talk there. I’d be glad to help if I can.”
Rhodes followed her to the back of the house, which was as old as the Harris home but with more up-to-date furnishings. The kitchen had a dishwasher, and the floor was tiled.
“Have a seat,” Francine said, and Rhodes sat in a captain’s chair at the square wooden table while she got the Dr Pepper out of the refrigerator. It was in a can, but Rhodes didn’t mind, not if it was a real Dublin Dr Pepper.
“Aren’t you going to have one?” Rhodes said, after she’d wrapped the can in a napkin and set it in front of him.
“I drink one a day, in the afternoon. I have to watch my weight.”
