Tony shook his head. “I'm just collecting facts. Can you tell me about your relationship with Ragsdale?”
“We've barely even met and never really spoken together. His sister is, was, my mom. She drank herself to death about two years ago. And my uncle, their brother, is in the penitentiary in Illinois. We don't visit.” The young man stared into the distance, past Tony's shoulder. “Quite a family tree, isn't it?”
“I've known better and worse.” Tony wasn't without sympathy. “I don't suppose you know anything about Ragsdale's will.”
“If there is one, I know nothing about it. You can ask my grandmother, but she's my dad's mom.”
Tony thought the young man's facial expression was half-belligerent and half-desperate at the idea of an inheritance.
“Grandma did say some man with a cane stopped by one day and wanted to meet my daughter. I thought it might be my uncle Harrison. Grandma said she took a broom and swept him off the porch; didn't like the looks of him. He never came by again.”
“How are your finances?”
“Without Grandma's help, I couldn't afford to live here. The fertilizer plant pays okay, but if I had to pay a baby-sitter, I don't know how I'd do it.”
“About your ex-wife.” Tony felt like a louse asking him painful questions. Randal acted like a good father and a hard worker but the law was his job. “Do you have joint custody?”
A bitter-sounding laugh was part of Randal's answer. “Nope. I have full custody and eight kinds of paper to prove it. She didn't want any part of us. It seems I was fun for a little while, but she didn't think being a mom was worth the effort. She bitched a lot about stretch marks and stuff. I'd guess she used all the money I gave her to pay for some plastic surgery. Last I heard, she was headed to Hollywood.”
“Is she an actress?”
Randal laughed long and hard. A real, deep-from-the-belly laugh. “Thank you, Sheriff. I swear that's the funniest thing I've heard in weeks. Yeah, she thought she was finest actress ever, and to be fair, she convinced me that she loved me, for a while.” He tossed the ball to his daughter.
Tony watched the little girl trot after it. She watched them over her shoulder. “She looks concerned.”
Randal's voice dropped to a whisper. “The first few weeks we were here, she was afraid her mom was coming to take her away.”
“She didn't want her mom?” Tony didn't like the way this story was getting hinky. “Does she think she's going back to live with her?”
“No, not anymore, but it's taken a lot to convince her she's just mine.” Randal kicked a rock with his toe. He squinted as he raised his eyes. “One of the reasons, besides every dime I had, my ex-wife finally signed the papers giving me full custody was because I threatened to call the cops and have her arrested.”
“Abuse or neglect?” Provoked by his anger, Tony's stomach gnawed.
“A little of both, and neither obvious.” Randal looked directly into Tony's eyes. “When you're working two jobs and are rarely home, it's hard to keep track of all the little details. There were just lots of things my wife said or did that didn't quite add up.” He heaved a big sigh. “Then one day, I came home and she, my wife, was entertaining a man in our bedroom and my daughter was locked in her room. I went ballistic.”
“I think I've heard enough.” Tony extended his hand. “Good luck with your daughter. As long as all this is substantiated, I'm on your side.”
“Do you think? Is it possible?” Randal couldn't quite ask the question.
“Do you mean are you in the will?”
Randal nodded.
Tony lied. “I don't know. We haven't found one yet. But if you are, you'll be contacted by the lawyers.” Tony sincerely hoped Randal was as innocent as he seemed. “We're still looking into your uncle's death, so it may take a while. Don't give up hope, and remember your time is worth more to your daughter than the things money buys.”
“Yes, sir.” Randal picked up the ball and tossed it. The little girl ran after it, giggling and suddenly at ease, almost as if she sensed a possible threat to her happiness had been averted. Her hair flew behind her and the old lady opened the door and called them to dinner.
“Good luck.” Tony whispered and went home to hug his own kids. Running around in circles was not conducive to thinking things through, and money was still one of the oldest and best motives for murder.
“I want to know what the three Farquhar boys have been up to for the past week or two.” Tony addressed the day shift—Wade, Mike, Sheila, and Darren. “And I wouldn't be disappointed if one of you should learn one of them fed Ragsdale a handful of walnuts.”
“They haven't been in town for a while.” Sheila tapped her notebook. “Or they're being low-key. I had to drag two of them out of the Okay a couple of weeks ago. Mom Proffitt said she'd shoot one if they came back. They are definitely not welcome in her establishment.”
Mike said. “The only certainty is they're drinking somewhere. They were pretty liquored up at the festival. I bumped into one of them, and he started to take a swing at me, but his brothers pulled him away.”
“So they're probably doing their drinking at home or over at the Spa,” said Sheila.
Tony thought about his next move. The Spa was the nickname for the Spot. No one ever seemed to think pronouncing the whole “spot” was worth the effort. Neither was spending much time in the Spa. Unlike the Okay, the only reason anyone went there was to have too much to drink and maybe chum up with someone else over-imbibing. It was a dump. A dive. A cesspool. And thankfully for the county budget, it was conveniently near a really fine place to set a trap for speeders and DUIs. “I'll go to the Spa myself. I need to have a little chat with Fast Osborne about his customers being over-served. Wade, come with me.”
“I'll watch the roads while you two chat with the Farquhars,” Sheila looked at Mike and Darren. When they nodded, Sheila relaxed a bit, making Tony wonder what she wasn't telling him. Sheila said, “Have you noticed the shrine near Dead Man's Curve seems to be growing?”
“Larger?”
“Flowers.” Sheila used her hands to suggest the width and length. “The center is planted with crocuses and some other small bulbs, and around it is a border of something else, and so on. There's at least four borders, and each contains a different kind of plant. I've been taking Alvin out there to clear the weeds from his grandparents' memorial and we've noticed lots of changes.”
“Any idea who is gardening there?” Tony leaned forward. “Or what, if anything, is buried there?”
“No.” Sheila gestured again. “The center has had a handmade cross ever since the man from North Carolina drove into the stone wall and you rescued Catherine. It's pretty crudely done but identifiable. Now there's an additional wreath of artificial flowers on a stand. The way the shrine is getting larger kind of gives me the creeps.”
“Here's your chance to do some detective work. See what you can learn about it. I remember seeing it not long ago, but it sounds like after several years untouched it is definitely changing. Find out why.” Tony knew Sheila would handle the assignment with her usual efficiency. He looked at Mike and Darren. “You two, watch out for those Farquhar boys. I suspect they are our burglars as well as our arsonists.”
“Do you think one of them was the body in the garage?” Mike absently massaged Dammit's ear. “I wouldn't put it past them to kill one of their own.”
“Me neither, so be extra careful. Don't turn your back on them.” Tony stood. “Wade, let's go bar hopping.”
In Tony's opinion, if there was ever a case of a nickname not matching the establishment, it was the Spa. Where the Okay Bar and Bait Shop was built like a box, sort of a whitewashed wooden cube, the Spa was long and narrow and built of cinder-blocks. The original owner named it “the Spot” and had painted a huge red circle on the front of the building, encompassing the door. The rest of the cinderblocks were painted the same dull gray as their natural color.
No one had painted anything arou
nd the Spa in years, and most of the red paint had flaked off long ago. No one had trimmed the weeds growing through the gravel of the parking lot. No one had filled the ruts either. Driving across the parking lot in the patrol vehicle, Tony had to wonder how the Spa's customers could afford to keep their vehicles in alignment.
“Good thing we brought your vehicle. It has higher clearance than mine.” Wade gripped the window frame of the Blazer as they dropped into a vicious rut. “I doubt the Thomas Brothers could straighten the frame if I drove here in my car.”
“I was thinking along the same lines.” Tony parked right in front of the bar's front door, mostly because it was the flattest part of the parking lot. He looked at Wade. “You'd better suck in all the oxygen you can. Last time I went inside there wasn't any, just old tired air.” He climbed out of the Blazer and headed inside, Wade followed close on his heels.
“Sheriff?” The owner/bartender, Fast Osborne, peered through the haze. “Is there a problem?”
Tony ignored the question. He'd have taken a seat on one of the stools, but guessed the back of his khaki pants would bear the stains forever. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Wade wipe one with a corner of his handkerchief. He folded it carefully and put it in his jacket pocket, but not before Tony saw the brown sludge folded into the middle of it.
“Have you seen the Farquhar boys lately?” Tony thought he'd skip the pleasantries.
Osborne just stared at him. “Huh?”
“I know they're customers of yours. Jocko and Geordie and Shawn Farquhar.” Tony's skin started itching. He was no stranger to walking into unclean buildings, crime scenes, and accidents, but this room felt like a biology experiment in action.
The bartender still didn't respond, but from an even darker corner, near the back, a man's voice, raspy from years of smoke and whiskey, said, “Two of 'em was in here this morning.”
“Okay, that's a start. Which two?”
“Can't tell them apart.” Behind the bar, Osborne found his voice at last. “They're all dumb, dishonest, and drunk most of the time.”
“So, some of your favorite customers.” Tony guessed the “boys” spent all the money they stole right here.
“They do keep me in business.” Osborne's breath came out in a great gust. “Is that a crime?”
Tony backed away from the fumes emanating from the bartender. He'd evidently been sampling the wares himself. “It is a crime if you over-serve them and send them out on the road.” Tony wouldn't want the bartender behind the wheel either and hoped he still lived on the premises.
“They's grownups, ain't they? I don't serve no kids in here.” The little man puffed up like an angry bird. “I run a class eee-stablishment.”
“Yeah,” Wade muttered near Tony's ear. “If A is good, this is definitely E rated.”
Tony nodded. “Tell me about the two Farquhar boys who were in here this morning then. Were they talking big, flashing money, anything unusual for them?”
With the palm of his hand, the bartender smashed a black bug staggering along the bar, then wiped the remains on the side of his dirty jeans. “You know, seems like they was a bit quieter than usual. Maybe 'cause there was only two of them, but they was kinda huddled together at that table.” He nodded to a corner table in almost total darkness.
“Who took them their drinks?” Wade tipped his notebook to let the paltry light shine on it so he could make his notes.
“I did. They each had a couple of beers and left.” Osborne spat on the floor behind the bar.
“Anyone talk to them?” said Tony.
“Naw, but I wouldn't say that's any different than usual. Those boys ain't real friendly ‘n’ most times they's generally left alone.”
Feeling there was nothing to learn and anxious to be outside, Tony beat Wade to the door. As soon as they were in the fresh air, he took huge gulps of the stuff, trying to purge his lungs of stale Spa air. “Can you imagine spending more than ten minutes in there?”
Wade shook his head and wheezed. “I feel like I need a shower and a fresh uniform.”
As they prepared to pull back onto the road, Jessica's boyfriend, Vic, drove past them in his work van. A giant plastic bug lay, legs up, on the roof. The logo on the door said “Vic's Victims, Exterminator.” Tony glanced at Wade. “Mom Proffitt called earlier and said she remembered Vic talking about coming into big dollars—like he was marrying an heiress. What do you think?”
“I think it might be interesting to hear what he says when Jessica isn't around. She strikes me as a no-nonsense woman with a firm grip on the reins.”
“My thought exactly.” Tony followed the van until it stopped in front of a house and parked. Calling out and waving to Vic, Wade got out first.
The three men gathered near the oversized, fake deceased insect. After a brief meet and greet, Tony said, “Did you know about the houses Ragsdale owned?”
“Sure.” Vic's expression hinted of pride. “He had me spray all of them each spring and fall. Said the riff-raff couldn't be trusted to watch for termites or creepies.”
Wade made a note. “How many houses?”
“Six or seven.” Vic scratched his head. “I have the addresses in my files. Guess there's no reason not to show them to you.”
“So, you've been doing this for several years?” Tony leaned casually against the van thinking the number of houses was quite different from Jessica's version. “How's business?”
“There's always bugs.” Vic chuckled. “They're my job security.” His laughter faded. “I imagine you've heard I have been having a bit of difficulty paying my bills.”
Tony hadn't, but kept his ignorance to himself. “Did you ever consider Jessica would lose all her inheritance if they divorced?”
“But she's his widow.” Desperation rang in Vic's voice. “Don't she get it all?”
Tony was frustrated and busy, but he still made time to help at Chris's baseball practice. He was walking across the park from his house to the ball fields when he encountered a coach from a rival team. Andy Marks.
“My wife said I should talk to Doc Nash, and I did, and he said I should talk to you.” The man said as he approached Tony in the park. “I think it's silly.”
“What's that?” Tony's curiosity was certainly piqued. He shifted the baseball equipment bag on his shoulder. Andy carried a similar one.
“Well, it was something that happened at the Ramp Festival. I have allergies and ate something with nuts in it there and had to leave early.” Andy gazed off in the distance, a slight smile on his lips. “I would purely have enjoyed seeing Hairy Rags go down. Missed the whole rocket potato. My tongue started swelling, and my wife got me out of there and jabbed me with my emergency anti-allergy syringe.” He flexed his beefy arm and pointed to a small dark bruise. “I mean it. She jabbed that sucker in hard.”
Tony wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or arrest the woman. “But it did the trick for you?”
“Yeah, I still had to go to the doctor and all, but there wasn't a big rush and all's well. Anyway, the doctor said for me to tell you I'm allergic to nuts, and now I have.” Looking somewhat embarrassed, Andy turned to leave.
“Wait.” Tony set his bag down and pulled out his notebook. “Tell me everything you can remember from before your reaction—what did you see, eat, smell, taste?”
Andy stared for a moment. “You really want to know all this, do you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, the wife and me wandered around the crafts booths first. The food lines were really long when we got there, especially for the ramp pies.” Andy paused. “This is really what you want to know?”
Jotting down a note, Tony smiled and nodded. “You're doing great. Just keep talking.”
“Okay. Well, the wife bought a few cookies at the bake sale, but like I said, I couldn't eat any because of the nuts. Honestly, that woman's wonderful, she loves nuts and she takes the cookies to her office and eats them. She's really good at brushing her teeth an
d washing her face after she eats them, but it's not enough. When she eats stuff with nuts in it, I can't kiss my own wife because of the nut thing.”
“I'd say it's a pretty severe allergy then.” Tony didn't think he'd ever heard of someone having such extreme reactions to anything. “Have you always had it?”
“Yep. But, it does seem like it's been getting worse, like each time I have a reaction, the next time it's stronger. I didn't used to have to carry medication.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Before you start thinkin' my wife isn't good to me, you're wrong. She does the cookies thing only about once a year when the ladies of the church have their bake sale. One of those ladies makes a walnut, chocolate, caramel cookie to die for, so to speak.” Andy cracked a wide grin. “My wife indulges with my blessing.”
Tony made a note to chat with the church ladies. Even if it turned out it wasn't part of the case, he thought he should investigate just how good the cookies really were. “So after visiting the crafts and bake sale, were you feeling all right?”
“Just fine. My wife had the ladies seal the cookies up in the triple plastic bags she brought along. Everyone was very careful. Then she stashed it in her purse and zipped it up.” His pride about the way his wife worked to protect him was obvious. “So then we watched some of the entertainment. And by the way, if you should shoot them Elves, I'll give you an alibi. Name the day and time, and I'll say you were with me.” His head bobbed emphatically. “I'll swear it on the Bible.”
Tony nodded, afraid if he opened his mouth a laugh would escape.
“So, anyway we went over to the ramp stuff. I got a slice of ramp pie and the wife got a cup of the soup. Those relics—I can't believe that's what they want to be called—but they had the name printed on T-shirts. Anyhow, they were handing out napkins and plastic spoons and offering salt and pepper and hot sauce. I guess if you sprinkle enough fiery sauce on the ramps, you don't notice the taste so bad. I had two bites and my lips started to swell, and I could feel my throat closing. I handed the wife my pen, she stabbed me, and we left.” He made a snuffling sound. “Didn't get to see those vegetables fly.”
Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable Page 20
