A steady stream of expletives came from under the trash can.
Carl Lee Cashdollar, Jocko's court-appointed and clearly reluctant attorney, arrived at the doorway and paused. He listened briefly to Jocko's tirade, then he pounded on the top of the trashcan with one of his large, boney hands. “I'm your lawyer. Shut up.”
Tony knew the squalling of twin infants couldn't come close to the annoying and loud caterwauling coming from Jocko's trashcan. Tony made a mental note to apologize to his baby girls. They were delightful and quiet and demure, even when hungry. “Would you like to be alone with your client?”
Carl Lee began with a shake of the head, then paused. “I suppose I must.”
Tony left the two men in the greenhouse, their version of an interview room, together and wandered back to his office, leaving Wade to watch the door. Tony was curious about whether or not Carl Lee would remove the trash can, and seriously doubted Jocko was likely to be a cooperative client.
Maybe twenty minutes passed before Carl Lee pounded on the greenhouse door and Wade released the attorney into the fresher air beyond the door. Seconds later, he sat in Tony's office, leaving his client guarded by the deputy. “I've got a problem.”
Tony hadn't seen Carl Lee like this before. He was shaking and kept knitting his fingers together one way and then switching them, compulsively. Tony doubted he was even aware he was doing it. The man had talked to some seriously bad guys in the past and let what he'd learned slide off. Carl Lee gulped, sucking in a great draft of air.
“Take your time.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “Tell me when you're ready.”
“But that's the problem. I can't.” Carl Lee surged to his feet and began pacing, his long legs covering the floor space in two strides. “He even reminded me of attorney-client privilege, can you imagine? By now he's out on bail, and I've got a scum bucket weasel reminding me about ethics?”
Tony rubbed his chin. “I'm assuming that what he told you was not only incriminating, but I'm guessing it involved a crime I'm unaware of. Are you allowed to nod?”
Carl Lee nodded, agreeing with at least part of Tony's statement.
“All right.” Tony thought hard. “Did it have anything to do with the recent burglaries?” There hadn't been many fingerprints left behind during the crime spree, and they were Jocko's. He assumed the other brothers wore gloves.
Carl Lee's expression was noncommittal.
Tony grinned. The lawyer hadn't shaken his head. “Okay. I'll try another question. By any chance was he near the Smith house when it burned?”
Carl Lee examined his fingernails.
Tony did notice the hands still shaking. “Were his brothers with him?”
Carl Lee froze.
Tony felt acid pour into his stomach, making him queasy. “The body in the garage? Is it one of the brothers?”
Carl Lee didn't blink.
“So I'm guessing Jocko and maybe the third brother hit whoever and knocked him out or killed one of his own brothers. I don't suppose you can tell me which one.” Tony was just thinking out loud now. “It still doesn't make sense. Why was one of them on the roof of a burning garage? Where is the remaining brother?”
Carl Lee shrugged.
Tony received a call from the arson investigator, Scorch Single-tarry. “Why don't y'all drop by this burnt-out house and I'll give you a preliminary report.”
Tony knew the lackadaisical attitude of the Alabama native was a cover. Scorch had another first name; he just kept it secret, just like he pretended to be laid back. He was a detail-driven type A personality. The casual “drop by” meant Tony should get to the house as quickly as he could. So Tony and Wade dropped the report on Harrison Ragsdale and headed out.
Scorch led them on a tour of the exterior, pointing out various burn patterns and discolorations. In the light of day with all the smoke dissipated, the house looked even worse than it had. No roof. Shards of shattered glass everywhere. Huge areas of the stone walls were stained black. “I'm thinking your fire began on the garage roof, just below this little balcony.” He tapped a finger on a photograph he carried, of the unburned house. “We found some shattered glass on the garage floor beneath the body and there was an empty gasoline can and some jars near the lawnmower.”
“Someone poured gas on the body?”
“Maybe poured, maybe tossed flaming jars.” Scorch shook his head, the sunlight reflecting from his gunmetal gray hair. “This is a new house and until we have all the information from the builder, I'm guessing some of the burning gasoline ran under the shingles and burnt the barrier fabric and then the chemicals in the particle board took off.”
“It burned awful fast,” said Wade. “Is that normal?”
“Yep.” Scorch pointed at the burn pattern. “Old houses burn slower than these new ones because they don't have all the glue and chemicals.”
Tony wasn't sorry his wife's house was the oldest brick one in town. He hated fire.
Theo wondered how long it would take before one of her customers noticed her new hair style. She also considered the likelihood of her being able to pretend to have planned to change it. The odds were against her.
The first question was answered in less than a minute after she arrived at the shop somewhat later than usual. Elderly Caro stood in the classroom doorway and shrieked. “Theo what have you done to yourself?”
Theo thought the tone of the exclamation might have been better suited to, “Eek, a mouse!” Every head swiveled in her direction. Shoppers bending low to examine the fabric on the lower shelves straightened quickly. Heads, like those belonging to meerkats, popped up over the racks filled with bolts of fabric, all eyes focused on her. Theo wasn't sure whether to stick her head in a paper bag or take a bow. Trying to act casual, she patted the back of her newly cropped hair, still surprised by the smooth texture. “What do you think?”
Gretchen recovered first. “On you, it's charming. It fits your tininess.” She poked at one of the braids wrapped around the top of her own head, forming a blond coronet. “Not good for us Wagnerian types.”
Theo thought Gretchen was right. Her operatic assistant had glorious long, thick hair to go with her robust stature.
After the initial impact, Theo's customers examined her new do. Theo was gratified by the compliments of Prudence's skill with the scissors and continued to pretend to have been planning the change.
She was happy to see a small crowd of regulars in her shop and several unfamiliar faces. Business hadn't been good for a couple of months but now the tourists were starting to return. Thank goodness, because she had lots of bills to pay.
She struggled up the stairs carrying the twins. It was almost nap time.
Theo crept downstairs and paused in the classroom doorway checking on the group gathered there.
“The insurance claim is almost the worst part of this whole thing.” Susan Smith wiped her eyes. She sat in the classroom of Theo's shop surrounded by her quilting friends. Her preschool children played on the floor next to her. “I have to list everything in the house. From the beds to the brand of refrigerator. They want a list of the kids' toys. It's impossible.”
“What about in your sewing room? How does that work?” Gretchen handed her a cup of hot tea. “Will you get anything for your stuff?”
“They want to know how many spools of what kind of thread I lost. Like I keep an inventory of my thread.” Susan made a choking sound. “I'm supposed to list each ruler by brand and size. The patterns, the books, the fabrics. I just don't know.”
Theo joined them at the table. “Why don't you just start with the easy stuff? Your sewing machine is probably the most expensive item. What brand was it? What model? Write it down then mentally walk around your space. What else was in there?”
“I had a computer and television.” Susan tried a smile before writing them on the notepad in front of her. “I was very lucky to have such a beautiful sewing area and so many nice things. And I know it's just stuff, and I can deal
with those things being gone—but the baby's quilts, and the grandmother's flower garden quilt my own grandmother made for me. Those things can't be replaced.”
“I can't imagine how awful this is for you.” Theo meant every word. Poor Susan's life had suffered a disaster. Not knowing how or why their house was burnt to the foundation couldn't be an easy thing to deal with.
By noon there had been so many telephone calls from the Thursday Night Bowlers asking how they could help, Theo suggested an impromptu gathering in the late afternoon. It would start after those members with day jobs could arrive. This bit of socialization might give Susan some distraction and some comfort. Nothing would bring her life back to normal as fast as having handwork to help pass the hours in their motel home.
Each bowler brought an anonymous gift—a pattern or tool or white elephant for her, wrapped in fabric. Among the donated items were an appliqué pattern of a basket of flowers, paper hexagons to help her create her own grandmother's flower garden quilt, and someone donated a half pieced double wedding ring quilt with its scrappy arcs. When Susan unwrapped the arcs, she began to laugh. A real laugh and said, “Nina, I remember seeing you work on this at our last retreat and, as I recall, you spent as much time unsewing it and swearing as you did sewing.” She tossed the bag across the table. “Take it back.”
“Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a knot. I just wanted to see how desperate you are for something to do.” Nina smoothed one of the unfinished arcs. “At least things aren't so bad that you might consider fixing this project as a good use of your time.”
“Never.” Susan dug into the next bag. “Now this I can use.” She held up a T-shirt printed with decorative quilt blocks and a stack of neatly folded fabrics in her favorite colors. “Thank you all. I don't know what I would do without your support.”
Theo watched Tony cleaning up the dinner dishes as she stood, swaying slightly while patting little Lizzie. The poor exhausted baby was fighting sleep. “We had a gathering for Susan today.”
Tony turned to face her. “Did you learn something?”
“You mean besides how awful her life is this week?” Theo considered his question. “She's working on the inventory for the insurance company and trying not to upset the children more than she can help. And, as far as children go, I still can't believe her husband's ex-wife gave away her son like she did.” She snuggled Lizzie closer. “Can you?”
“No.” He poured soap into the dishwasher and turned it on. “But every day I'm flabbergasted by the things people do—to others, to themselves. Maybe she thought having a baby would be less work or more fun or, most likely, didn't think at all.”
“Could she have come back to get the boy? If she changed her mind about giving him away and thought no one was home, she might throw a match or two.”
“I see where you're going with the idea, but it hardly fits the situation.” He gently extricated Kara from the little swing where she'd fallen asleep, curled up like a snail. “I'm pretty certain I know what happened. I'm waiting for confirmation and we're still looking for proof.”
Theo glanced around. The boys were outside arguing over something trivial. “Speak to me.”
“I think maybe the Farquhar brothers went to burglarize the house and got into an argument or something and fought and one of the brothers either died on the garage roof or was knocked unconscious.”
Theo nodded. That sort of behavior certainly would be in character. “And the fire?”
“Why burn the house with your brother's body on it? To cover up the burglary, I guess. If the fight was upstairs, and the body was shoved from the little balcony, it would land on the roof of the garage.”
“So, when the garage burned down, the body fell with the roof.”
“Smart girl.” Kara blinked and smiled at her father. Tony grinned back. “I was talking about your mom, but I think you're pretty sharp too.”
“So, the remaining brothers are thieves and murderers.”
“And arsonists. Don't forget one or both of them stuck around and filled some bottles from the recycling bin with gasoline from the lawn mower can and fire bombed the house. The way they must have gone at it, it's surprising Susan and her kids were able to get out at all.”
“Susan said she heard something pop.” Theo shivered, thinking about the dangerous situation.
“Most likely the pop was one of the bottles breaking or exploding and sending a wave of fire behind it.” Tony's expression hardened. “I haven't argued with Gus or Berry lately. Not like I did when we were younger and they were bossing me around—but killing your brother? I can't imagine.” His voice trailed off.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Theo answered a morning phone call from mayor and funeral director, Calvin Cashdollar. He provided sad news, shocking, but not really unexpected. Ada Walker was dead. Ada had, Calvin told Theo, according to the doctor, gone to bed and never awakened. As a way to die, it was the best. “She had you listed as her next of kin.”
“I'm not really related, but I agreed to oversee her estate.” Theo had to push the words past a huge lump in her throat.
What made the news so shocking was having only seen Ada the day before. Ada had been her usual salty mouthed self. The “how long, oh Lord, must I go on” followed by “Theo, honey, I'll haunt you forever if you don't find a good home for my quilting stuff.” All interspersed with the steady flow of cheerful profanity.
So it fell on Theo's shoulders to arrange the yard sale. Ada herself had already set up the catered luncheon. All Theo had to do was notify the caterer of the chosen date. Theo decided to designate Susan as her official assistant, if for no other reason than to let her have first choice of the items to go on sale. Theo also arranged for Melissa, Susan's usual companion and best friend, to apply pressure from the other side by encouraging Susan to help Theo. The two of them all but dragged Susan into Ada's house.
All Susan's protestations fell on deaf ears. She soon had set aside a rocking chair, some basic quilting supplies, a good floor lamp and two boxes of miscellaneous fabrics and a couple of UFOs—unfinished hand piecing and appliqué projects. Theo would not accept any money.
“Go ahead and take the lamp and this.” Theo handed her an old metal fruitcake box filled with scraps of fabric. “I doubt the rooms at the Riverview Motel have good task lighting.”
Susan's smile was strained, but Theo considered it a victory when Susan surrendered. Susan said, “I'll add these to the gifts the bowlers gave me. I'll have even more to occupy me after the kids are asleep.” Her fingers smoothed the small bits of fabric. “Without them I would have been just staring at the motel television. Filling out more insurance forms. Or crying.”
“You'll earn these things by helping me.” Theo reached up to hug the much taller woman. “If you don't, I might have to employ some of the juicy swear words Ada taught me.”
Ruth Ann appeared to be trying to make sense of the notes Tony left on her desk when yet another distraction hit. Orvan Lundy needed to confess.
“Not again.” Tony rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand hoping to smooth out his thoughts and wipe away the headache forming. “Could he pick a worse time?”
Ruth Ann managed to look sympathetic, but Tony wasn't fooled. He knew she lived for Orvan's confessions. He sighed. “Okay, bring him in.”
Predictably, Orvan had dressed formally for the event. Clean overalls and a blue and gray plaid long-sleeved shirt with buttons on the cuffs. Tony was sure it was the same ensemble he'd worn the day of the Ramp Festival and doubted it had been washed since then. The pervasive smell of ramps still clung to Orvan. Before the old guy could finish his traditional salute and fidget, Ruth Ann and Wade arrived, notebooks and water bottles in hand.
Tony led the little parade to the greenhouse.
“I know you're busy, Sheriff, what with the little problems at the gathering.” Orvan accepted a bottle of water from Ruth Ann, with a heartfelt sigh and liquid eyes. His lips moved soundlessly to fo
rm the words, “my angel.”
Tony considered a possible murder a bit larger event than Orvan might describe it. To be fair, he and his department had done a good job of skirting the issue of their not knowing just what had killed Harrison Ragsdale. He pretended to himself that the moment the actual cause of death became official, it would point to the killer, if there was one, like the X on a treasure map. “Go on.”
Orvan futzed a bit with his overalls and then with his water bottle. “I didn't have nothin' to do with it.”
“Now, Orvan,” Tony tapped his fingertips on the table. “I don't believe you're following the rules of confession. You are supposed to tell me what you did and leave out everything you didn't do.”
The rheumy, cloudy eyes filled with tears. “I cannot go to my grave with you believing I could kill all them.”
“Them?” Tony, Wade, and Ruth Ann managed the question in perfect unison.
“I know I'm an old sinner, but I'm not so bad as all that.” Orvan twisted the lid on his water bottle. “I'll swear on the Bible. Like I said afore, I had nothin' to do with it.”
“Let's back up just a bit, Orvan.” Tony felt as though he'd been blindsided. He didn't usually have to do much detective work during one of Orvan's confessions; translation maybe, but not detection. “What are you talking about?”
Orvan almost had the bottle to his lips. Surprised by Tony's question, he poured a fair quantity of water down the opening between the bib of the overalls and his shirt. He squalled like a baby when the cold water soaked through to his skin. “Don't you know?”
Tony waited for the inevitable tirade. It didn't take long.
“Our taxes pay your salary. I think we're gettin' robbed. Maybe you ought to be a-payin' us.”
In the time since Tony became the Park County sheriff, he doubted Orvan had made much money, and he'd swear the little menace wouldn't pay taxes to save his scrawny neck. “Talk or leave, Orvan.”
Ignoring Tony, Orvan gazed at Ruth Ann. “Does he treat you right, my angel?”
Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable Page 16
