by Bill Crider
Seepy made an attempt to look modest and failed miserably. Modesty wasn’t his best trait.
“I’m glad the truth is out,” Rhodes said. “Now maybe people will stop asking me about that character.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Jennifer said. “After all, Sage Barton is a sheriff, while Dr. Benton is a math teacher.”
“And a darn good one,” Seepy said. “As of today, you can add award-winning painter to that list.”
“You won a prize?” Rhodes couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice. “I thought your painting was damaged.”
“Well, not first prize, but I did get a ribbon. The judges met and decided not to let the vandalism affect their decisions. They’d judge the painting by the way it looked before the vandalism.”
“I guess that’s only fair,” Rhodes said, “as long as they could tell what the original was.”
“They’d seen them already,” Seepy said. “They knew what they looked like before they were vandalized, so they could make an informed decision.”
“Who were the judges?” Rhodes asked, but before Seepy could answer, Jennifer broke in.
“You’re very sly, Sheriff,” she said, “but you’re not fooling me.”
Rhodes tried to look puzzled, with about as much success as Seepy had when he’d tried to look modest. “Fooling you?”
“You know what I mean. You’ve managed to get the conversation well away from Burt Collins and what happened to him last night.”
Rhodes started to say that he’d had plenty of help from Seepy in leading the conversation, but then they’d be right back to Sage Barton. So Rhodes tried another tack.
“I don’t know what happened to him,” he said.
“You know he’s dead, and you know he didn’t die of natural causes.”
That wasn’t technically true. Rhodes hadn’t seen an autopsy report, so he didn’t know the exact cause of death. He had what he considered a pretty good guess, but until it was official, a guess was all he had.
“Not exactly,” Rhodes said.
“You’re investigating his death, though. Or your deputies are. I saw two county cars at Collins’s house this morning.”
“We have to look at every angle,” Rhodes said.
“I’ll help you,” Benton said. “Do you know how many hits the video of the riot yesterday has had already? Thanks to me and my martial arts skills.”
“How many?” Rhodes asked, glad to change the subject.
“A lot,” Benton said. “How can I help with the investigation?”
“You can tell me who the judges were, to start with.”
“Don McClaren and Eric Stewart.”
That made sense. McClaren was an art teacher and an artist, and Stewart was the one who ran the gallery. He’d know at least a little bit about art.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” Benton said, “do you want to give me a badge and swear me in?”
Rhodes wasn’t paying much attention to Benton, as the conversation among McClaren, Stewart, Dr. King, and Marilyn Bradley had become heated. Rhodes thought it might be a good idea to see what was going on.
Before he could get to them, riot number two had begun.
Chapter 9
Rhodes, of course, wouldn’t have called it a riot, but Jennifer Loam did on her video account of it, so that’s the way it was later viewed in the county. Rhodes had to admit that it did involve the throwing of vegetables and a good bit of yelling, though he still didn’t believe that flung vegetables and some loud voices constituted a riot.
The person doing most of the yelling was Marilyn Bradley, and she was yelling at Don McClaren and Eric Stewart, both of whom backed away from her and started edging toward the doorway into the back part of the building, that one being the nearest to them.
Marilyn was right behind them, and as she passed the food table, she picked up one of the plates of vegetables. She then used the vegetables as missiles. Broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots sailed through the air.
If she’d had good aim and hit only her intended targets—that is, if McClaren and Stewart were indeed the targets—things might not have gotten out of hand. However, she also hit some of the others in the room, so they decided to join in the fun by hurling vegetables of their own. Crackers were also involved.
Rhodes thought that Dean King might have prevented Marilyn’s actions before they got out of hand, but instead the dean just stood and watched in amazement. So did everyone else who wasn’t throwing something, so it was up to Rhodes to put a stop to things.
By the time he got to Marilyn, Stewart and McClaren had escaped into the rear of the building, pulling the door shut behind them. Marilyn stood in front of the door, still yelling but no longer tossing vegetables. Others were, however, and Rhodes had to slap aside a couple of cauliflower florets and some broccoli on his way to her.
He snatched the platter away from Marilyn and handed it to Benton, who was following along right behind him.
“Hold that,” Rhodes said.
Jennifer Loam was there, too, her little camera recording everything. Rhodes was starting to have serious doubts about the new forms of journalism.
“You want me to subdue her?” Benton asked.
Rhodes knew he meant Marilyn, but for one unworthy second he wondered what would happen if Jennifer were subdued and her camera confiscated.
“No,” he said. “Move away.”
Something in his tone must have gotten through to both Benton and Jennifer, and they stepped back so Rhodes could confront Marilyn.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rhodes asked.
The noise behind him died down, and no more vegetables flew through the air. Quite a few of them lay on the floor, though.
“I’m upset,” Marilyn said. Her body was taut, and her orange hair was even wilder than before, as if it might be reflecting her mood. “I needed to vent.”
“This isn’t exactly a good time or place for that,” Rhodes said.
“I know,” Marilyn said. Some of the tension went out of her body. “It was a mistake to let myself lose it like that.”
Rhodes looked around. Everyone was watching them. Benton stood there holding the platter.
“It’s okay,” he told Marilyn. “Just a little error in judgment.” To Benton he said, “See if you can find anything left to eat and eat it.”
He turned back to Marilyn. “We can’t talk here. We’ll go outside.”
He took her arm to be sure she went with him and guided her through the curious crowd and out to the sidewalk. He was glad Benton and Jennifer hadn’t tried to follow.
“I’m sorry,” Marilyn said as soon as they were out the door. “That was terrible behavior, and I let my temper get the better of me. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I’m not in that business,” Rhodes said. “I just try to keep the peace. You’re not making it easy for me.”
“I know, and I apologize. I really am sorry. I want to apologize to the judges, too.”
“What got you started in the first place? Did they say something?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve apologized to you, and I’ll apologize to them. Isn’t that enough?”
Rhodes thought it over. No real harm had been done, and maybe it was a private matter. He looked through the door and saw that Stewart and McClaren had come back into the gallery. They were talking to Dr. King and taking an occasional glance outside.
“All right,” Rhodes said. “We’ll go back inside so you can apologize.”
“Do I have to do it now? I’m really embarrassed.”
“You have to do it now,” Rhodes said.
Marilyn stood where she was. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Let’s go.”
Rhodes went through the door, hoping that Marilyn would follow him. He didn’t want to put his hand on her this time. She might get upset and start throwing things at him if he did.
He needn’t have worried. She caught up with h
im and walked beside him over to where McClaren, Stewart, and Dr. King stood. Everyone else in the room was careful to ignore them except for Seepy Benton and Jennifer Loam, who made no attempt to conceal their curiosity. They stayed well away, however.
McClaren and Stewart looked a bit wary of Marilyn, but she said, “I’m very sorry for what I did. It was stupid and silly. I don’t blame anyone but myself. I want to apologize.”
Rhodes thought that sounded all right, but McClaren and Stewart still appeared a little bit put off by Marilyn. Finally Stewart said, “Well, then, I accept your apology. Let’s just forget all about it.”
Rhodes didn’t think that was possible. No matter what people said, they never forgot all about it.
“I accept, too,” McClaren said. “Let’s see if we can get some of this mess cleaned up and carry on with the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” Rhodes said. “What ceremony?”
“The announcement of the winners,” Stewart said. “The ribbons are on the paintings, but the official announcement hasn’t been made.”
Rhodes didn’t think he’d stay around for that. What he’d come for was a word with Seepy Benton. He looked around and saw Benton talking to Loam again.
“Excuse me,” Rhodes said. “I have to speak to someone.”
He left McClaren and Stewart with Marilyn and went over to Benton.
“Come outside for a minute,” Rhodes said, taking Benton’s arm. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“What about?” Jennifer asked.
“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Rhodes said. “They’re about to announce the winners. You’ll want to get video of that.”
“I’m one of the winners,” Benton said.
“I won’t keep you long,” Rhodes told him, giving him a gentle tug on his arm. “Come on.”
Benton went with him out of the building. “I really need to get back inside,” he said.
“In a minute. They have to get the vegetables off the floor before the announcement. You don’t need to help with that. Tell me about the reception last night.”
“It was very nice. I was dressed to the nines. I even wore leather shoes.”
“I didn’t want a fashion report. I want to know who was there. I want to know especially about Marilyn Bradley, Eric Stewart, Lonnie Wallace, and Don McClaren.”
“Why them? What’s this about?”
“I’m just trying to find out if they all have alibis.”
“Alibis? I thought you told Jennifer you didn’t know the cause of death for sure.”
“I don’t. That is, I don’t have an official cause of death. What I think happened was that somebody hit Burt in the head with a bust of Dale Earnhardt.”
“Junior or Senior?”
“Does it matter?
“It does to NASCAR fans.”
“Junior, then. Don’t mention any of this to Jennifer Loam. Or to anyone else, for that matter.”
Seepy touched his lips with his forefinger. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” Rhodes said. “Now what about the alibis?”
“Well, all the people you named were there, if that’s what you mean.”
“From when until when?”
“The reception started at seven, and just about everybody was there on time. You know how these things are. Everybody was gone by nine thirty or ten.”
Rhodes thought about that. He’d found Burt about eleven thirty, and Burt had been dead for a while. Not long, maybe an hour, and it would be hard to establish a more exact time of death. It seemed to Rhodes that anyone who’d been at the reception could’ve killed him. So much for Lonnie’s alibi.
“Nobody hung around to clean up?”
“Somebody from the college housecleaning staff took care of all that. The snacks were catered by the college, too, so someone would’ve come by to pick up what was left over.”
“All right,” Rhodes said. “That’s what I wanted to know. You can go back in and pick up your award.”
“I hope someone will record me on video.”
“I’m sure it’ll be on A Clear View of Clearview in mere minutes,” Rhodes said.
“You’re right. It won’t be as good as the one of me subduing the rioters, though.”
“You’d better get in there before they think you’ve left and give the award to somebody else.”
“I’m already there,” Benton said.
* * *
Two county cars were parked outside the Collins house when Rhodes got there. He didn’t see either Ruth Grady or Andy Shelby, but he assumed that Ruth was still inside or talking with the neighbors and that Andy was searching the area. He parked his own car and was on his way in when Andy came out of the trees.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Andy said.
“Find anything?” Rhodes asked.
“Just a lot of trash. I don’t think anybody’s been out there except kids. Most of the trash probably blew in from the street when people threw it out of their cars. Somebody was out there last night breaking twigs and such, but that was probably Buddy.”
Rhodes might have made a mistake by having Buddy check things out. He could have covered up any clues, but it might not matter. Rhodes didn’t really think that whoever killed Burt had gone through the trees.
Ruth Grady came outside and said, “I didn’t find anything, either, and I’ve talked to the people in the three closest houses. None of them remembers hearing or seeing anything unusual. If a car drove up here last night, they wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”
“Did you check the computers?”
“They don’t own a computer. They must be the last holdouts in town.”
Rhodes doubted it. There were probably several other people who didn’t have computers.
“It’s a big house,” he said. “You searched the whole thing?”
“The upstairs is mostly vacant,” Ruth said. “I don’t think anybody’s been up there in years. No computers, no busts of Dale Earnhardt. Lots of dust bunnies, though.”
“So you really didn’t find anything,” he said.
“That’s right. I wish I had.”
“It’s okay.” Rhodes hadn’t had much hope that any big clues would be found. He’d occasionally read about some bank robber who filled out a deposit slip with his real name and left it in the bank or about a convenience store robber who dropped his wallet as he fled, but nothing like that had ever happened in Blacklin County. At least not since Rhodes had become the sheriff. Maybe some of his predecessors had been luckier.
“Did you know that Mrs. Collins isn’t here?” Ruth asked.
Rhodes glanced at the carport. Both the Collins vehicles were parked there. “Where is she?”
“At the new hotel on the east side of town. Her sister was here to pick up a few things when I got here, and she let me in. She said they went to the hotel last night because Mrs. Collins couldn’t stand to stay in the house. The thought of Burt dying here while she was gone was too much for her.”
That was interesting. Manish Patel was the manager of the hotel, and he was the one who’d had more than one little run-in with Burt. Ella Collins might not even know about that, however, if Burt was the kind to keep secrets.
“You two can go back on patrol,” Rhodes said. “There’s a lot of county out there, and we can’t spend all our time here. I’ll go to the hotel and talk to Mrs. Collins.”
He was going to talk to Manish Patel, too. It might be interesting to see what he was doing while Burt was being killed.
* * *
The new hotel was like so many others that had sprung up in small towns all across Texas in the last few years, plain but functional. If they could survive and even thrive there in places like Clearview, they could do just as well elsewhere. Rhodes had heard that more than half of the middle-sized motels and hotels in the country were owned by people of Indian descent, many of them named Patel, and while there’d been an occasional reaction against them earlier, it had died down. The only trouble i
n Clearview had come from Burt Collins.
As far as Rhodes was concerned the Patels were welcome. They worked hard, they stayed out of trouble, and they brought jobs and money into the community. It was true that a lot of the jobs were taken by family members, but Rhodes believed anything that stimulated the economy was welcome. Obviously Burt hadn’t seen it that way, or he wouldn’t have vandalized the hotels and the art exhibit.
Or maybe he hadn’t done a thing at the art show. He’d acted guilty, but he hadn’t admitted anything, and Rhodes reminded himself not to start making assumptions.
Rhodes counted eight cars in the parking lot. He didn’t know if that was good or bad for a Saturday, not being in the hotel business himself. He parked next to a black pickup and got out.
The lobby of the hotel was small and so clean that it looked like a picture in a magazine ad. On the right was the check-in desk, and on the left were four overstuffed black leather-covered chairs arranged around a low square table. Rhodes didn’t recognize the young man behind the desk, so he pulled his badge holder from his belt and walked over.
“Sheriff Dan Rhodes,” he said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Patel.”
The man blinked, looked at the badge, and said, “One moment, please.”
He opened a door behind the desk and stepped into what appeared to be an office, and in a couple of seconds he came back with Manish Patel.
Patel was considerably shorter than Rhodes and considerably better dressed. He wore a brown suit, white shirt, and brown tie. He had abundant black hair and a thick black mustache. His eyes were as black as his hair.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” he said. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is my cousin Jack. He has come here from Houston to work in the hotel and learn about the business. I have told him what a fine town Clearview is and how he will be very happy here.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Rhodes said to Jack. “I hope your cousin is right about how happy you’ll be here.”
“I’m sure he is,” he said, and moved back to his position behind the desk.
