Texas Summer

by Hachtel, Leslie

  “Three now and you make jokes,” Michael replied.

  “What else can I do? They’re dropping like flies.”

  “I wish I’d said that. So who was this one?” Michael asked.

  “Name’s Sweet. At least, that’s the obvious ID. Even though there’s not much left. But it was his house, and it’s a man’s corpse, so it’s not hard to figure it’s him. Not a particularly well-loved fellow. Everyone suspected he was into some shady stuff, but no one could ever prove it.”

  “Well, this time he was clearly playing with the wrong friends,” Michael stated. “Any relation to the other two?”

  “Genetically, yes. The mayor is his uncle. The mayor is also Delie’s stepfather, and he’s married to PJ’s ex. Sweet was always complaining about PJ Made it clear he had no use for him. Said he cheated at cards. Which is strange, since I never thought of Sweet as a gambler, so how would he know if PJ ran an honest game or not? Also, Sweet had his head bashed in before he was burned. Whether he’s related to the other murders, I don’t know. He wasn’t stabbed.”

  “Hey, you’re getting good at this. Want my job?” Michael asked.

  “Very funny. Do some work, will you? I don’t like this. I need you to give me something I can use to stop it.”

  Miller looked up as Michael came into his office later in the day.

  “I wish I had more, Miller. But you were right. Blunt force trauma to the head certainly killed him. From the fractures, it looks like a crowbar or something about that size. It was wielded with a lot of force, because the skull isn’t so easy to shatter like that unless it’s hit pretty hard. He smelled strongly of kerosene. I don’t have all the sophisticated stuff they have in the big cities to test what kind, but that’s probably as accurate an assessment as you’d get anyway.”

  “Could a woman have done it?” Miller asked.

  “Maybe. He was hit at least four times on the top of his head, which suggests he was sitting down when it happened.”

  “Actually, yeah, you’re right. When we found him, he was practically melted into a recliner.”

  “Nice. I guess a woman could have done it, but she’d have to have been very strong or very mad. Or both. I got an impression of his mouth, and I’ll contact the local dentist. Although I have to wonder if he ever had his teeth checked. Even though there wasn’t much left after the fire, they appear to be a mess. I am hoping, though, because it would help confirm his identity. I like my ducks in a row.”

  “Well, thanks for your help.”

  “I wish it was more. I’ll send you the written version as soon as it’s transcribed. Miller, next time I’m hitting you up for gas money.”

  “There better not be a next time.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wylie appeared in the diner as the lunch crowd was thinning out. He knew everyone had always found Kennedy a source of fascination. He worried that it bothered her, but she told him she was used to being stared at. Almost. He, however, had become part of the landscape and was worth only a passing glance. Go figure.

  When Wylie entered, it was as if the sun had just come out for Kennedy. The remaining diners blatantly stared at her, and then at him, hoping for some drama to unfold. When he simply slid into a booth and she continued to clear some tables, they obviously decided the fun was not to be had, finished their respective meals, paid, and left.

  Finally they were alone. Kennedy slid into the booth next to him.

  “I missed you last night,” he said.

  “Just as well I was home. I’m sure I’ll need an alibi,” she stated, a little bitterness creeping into her voice.

  Wylie raised his eyebrows in question.

  “Sweet was killed last night. You remember, the guy with Weir that day, here in the diner. Not a nice man. But no one deserves to die like that.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe one or two I can think of.” Kennedy laughed humorlessly. “Sweet never hid the fact that he hated PJ. He always claimed PJ cheated him. And he always leered at Delie. But then he leered at Dolores too. Rumor had it he wanted to date them. So I don’t know what’s happening. I just wish it would stop.”

  Wylie remembered Sweet all right. He had been a busy boy planting evidence before he was killed. Wylie still hadn’t told Kennedy, even though he wasn’t exactly sure why. Was she the one who had made off with the knife? If so, what was her reason? “Maybe we should talk to Miller,” Wylie suggested.

  “About—?”

  “I don’t know. Since we seem to be the prime suspects, it sort of seems like we have an obligation to try and figure this out. Get ourselves off the hook, so to speak.”

  “What I don’t understand is why we’re the prime suspects.”

  “Good question,” he replied. “So we should ask.”

  The door to the diner opened, and Miller walked in. He scanned the room and saw them sitting together in the corner booth. He walked, grabbed a chair from a nearby table, and set it backward in front of the booth. He sat, resting his arms on the back.

  “Well, if it isn’t the two people I was hoping to see,” Miller said.

  “Actually, Sheriff, that’s what we were just talking about,” Wylie said. “Why us?”

  Miller took a moment. “Fair question, I guess. You know, you both sure act innocent.”

  “Could that be because we are?” Kennedy asked, sarcastically. “So look somewhere else.”

  “Then how about you tell me who I should suspect?”

  “How the hell should I know? But something is going on, and people are dying. There has to be a reason—a connection—that doesn’t have anything to do with us.” Kennedy’s frustration was showing. Suddenly, she seemed to remember something. “You know, right after Delie was killed, Dolores said something strange. She said I couldn’t inherit if I was in jail for Delie’s murder. At the time, I thought she was upset, but now I wonder.”

  “So now you’re trying to say she framed you?”

  “No, I’m just telling you what she said. Maybe there was a reason.”

  Miller shook his head. “Where were you last night?” he asked Wylie.

  “In my room, asleep.”

  “Anyone see you?”

  “My laptop.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “I’m serious. It has a time/date stamp. I worked on it for several hours.”

  “OK.” Miller turned to Kennedy. “You?”

  “Home with my mama.”

  “All night?”

  “All night!”

  Miller got up to leave.

  Wylie stopped him. “Sheriff, maybe we can help?”

  Miller sat back down. “Help? How?”

  “Well, I’m a writer.”

  Miller raised his eyebrows at that. “So?”

  “So I create plots for a living. Motives. Reasons. When you write, the plot has to be believable, or people won’t buy it.”

  “So?” Miller repeated.

  “Maybe I can offer some suggestions. I’ve been thinking about this, and there has to be a logical answer.”

  “Any theories so far?”

  “If I approached this the way I do writing, I’d have set up the motive in advance. So this will be like working backward. But I’d like to try.” Without waiting for a response, Wylie continued. “What do we know so far? Three murders. A man who was rich, an heir who was one of three and—”

  “Sweet was Freddie’s nephew. Freddie is the mayor. He is also Delie’s stepfather,” Kennedy supplied.

  “OK, so they’re all related, sort of. Who else could be involved in this?”

  “Dolores,” Kennedy said. “My half-sister and the other heir to PJ’s fortune.”

  “If your theory is right, that would account for PJ and Delie and make you or Dolores the next target,” Miller said to Kennedy.

  “I know,” she replied.

  “You know you’re a target? What the hell?” Wylie demanded, as reality struck him.

  “Calm down, Nichols. This is just speculation,” Mille
r said. “And that would mean that either you or Dolores were behind the murders. How does Sweet fit in? He wasn’t in line for the money. And if it’s not you, that leaves your sister. Do you really think Dolores is capable of murder? And if so, why would she kill Sweet?”

  Kennedy shot him a look that said her mind held no doubt. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” she said sheepishly. “Someone planted a knife in my purse. I found it and took it.”

  “You took it?” Wylie demanded, the same time as Miller said, “Why?”

  “I’m afraid you won’t believe me,” she directed at Miller.

  “Try me.”

  “I went back to the room and saw it in my purse. I had no doubt it was a murder weapon. I was sure it was part of a plot to make me—us—look guilty. I guess I just panicked. Don’t worry. I was careful. I didn’t touch it.”

  “Where is it now?” Miller asked, ignoring Wylie.

  “I hid it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was sure someone would call and have you search me.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring it to me?” Miller asked. “Who do you think put it there?”

  “It was Sweet. I saw him. But why didn’t you tell me you took it?” Wylie asked Kennedy.

  She jumped up. “Wylie, you knew about it. You didn’t say a word. You know, I’m tired of being blamed for everything that goes wrong in this town.” With that, she grabbed her purse and ran out of the diner.

  Wylie stood to follow her. Miller stayed him with a hand on his arm. “She’s upset, and I can’t blame her.”

  Wylie sat back down. “So now you have a connection between the murders and Sweet.”

  “Maybe. But until I get hold of the knife she claims was planted on her, I don’t know if there’s any connection at all.”

  “She claims?” Wylie asked, his voice rising. “I saw Sweet break into my room, and when he left, the knife was in her bag.”

  “So you said. Look, writer, I have to deal in facts here. Get her to bring me the knife, and we’ll see where to go from there.”

  Wylie walked slowly to Kennedy’s house. He knew she was upset, and he knew that anger could go a lot of directions looking for satisfaction. He wanted to make sure it didn’t turn toward him. He knocked on the door and waited. After a few minutes, Kennedy appeared behind the screen.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “I have to go back to work,” she stated.

  “Hey, I’m on your side here. If you haven’t noticed, we’re in this together.”

  Kennedy opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “OK. You’re right. I’m just tired, and…I don’t know what to believe.”

  He enfolded her in his arms. “Believe I’m here for you. We’ll get this thing solved, and then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “Do you mean it?” Her question was filled with unvarnished hope.

  “Every word. Besides, I already promised—remember?”

  “Do you want to walk me to work?” she asked.

  “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

  Kennedy called a good-bye to her mother. She and Wylie started the short trek to town. They held hands, talked about the future, the weather, and anything else that was simple and superficial.

  They had almost reached the diner when Wylie asked the question he realized too late he shouldn’t have. “Why didn’t you tell me you took the knife?”

  Kennedy stopped walking and spun to face him. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “I’m accusing you of withholding information. Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was rising.

  “Me withholding? You knew Sweet was there. All I knew was I had to take care of it. This is all really none of your business. So why don’t you just keep your nose out of it?” Her voice was getting louder.

  “Are you serious? Miller acts like I’m just as guilty as you are.” Definitely the wrong thing to say.

  “As guilty as I am?” She was practically shouting now. “You think I’m guilty? Well, I have news for you. I haven’t done anything wrong. I thought you were supposed to be on my side? Yeah, you sure sound like it.”

  “Kennedy, I didn’t mean—”

  “I have to go to work.” Kennedy stormed into the diner. She had an appointment and didn’t want Wylie to know about it. Maybe seeing James would help her sort things out.

  * * *

  When Kennedy arrived at James Morton’s office, he ushered her into the chair in front of his scarred old oak desk and sat across from her. He took off his horn-rimmed glasses and polished the lenses thoughtfully with a handkerchief. Then he put them back on and adjusted them. It was clear he was pondering how to tell her something. Something unpleasant, no doubt. Kennedy patiently waited, her hands folded in her lap. He was PJ’s childhood friend and attorney and was one of the few who had always made Kennedy feel comfortable. He had told Kennedy she was his favorite, so it made sense that he would call her first if he had news to impart.

  “Good to see you, Kennedy. Such a small town and we never seem to run into each other. I can see you’ve been well without asking.”

  “I am well, James. Very well. Except for the murders around here, life is good.”

  “Have you called Roger?” Everyone knew Roger Deaton was ten times the lawyer James would ever hope to be. His practice was in Abilene, but he would have risen to the top anywhere. And Roger practiced criminal law.

  Kennedy raised her eyebrows. “Why would I need to?” Kennedy already didn’t like where this was going.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” James said. “I only meant… I didn’t mean anything. And when you hear what I have to tell you, the irony will be evident.”

  “Go on,” Kennedy said, not quite relaxing.

  “You see, there is no money.”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “There’s no money. PJ made some very bad financial decisions. Well, more like I did. He trusted me, and it’s gone. All of it.”

  It took a second to sink in. Then Kennedy laughed. She laughed so hard it was contagious. James joined in. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she laughed some more.

  Finally she calmed and, after a few hiccups, caught her breath. “Perfect. That’s perfect. You’re sure? No money at all? All gone?”

  “I’m sure. Do you want to hit me or something? There is no legal remedy for you since PJ approved my investments.”

  “Did PJ know it had all been lost before he died?”

  “No. I didn’t find out myself until I asked for an audit after his funeral. I was so trusting, it didn’t occur to me to ask for a real accounting beforehand. I just got paper statements. Everything looked good on the surface. Of course, when we dug deeper…well—”

  “So someone killed PJ and Delie and Sweet, and it was most certainly because of the money, and now there is no money. That is priceless. No pun intended.”

  He made it clear this wasn’t the reaction he expected. “You’re not upset?”

  “James, I’ve been poor all my life. I was born without money, raised without it, and I don’t have any now. It’s not like I was living the high life and someone took it away. My life hasn’t changed. Why would I be upset?” Kennedy was baffled by his concern.

  “The promise of it. Didn’t you think about it, about what you were going to do with all that cash once you got it?”

  “Well, sure. I just guess I never imagined that it was the key to happiness. In fact, I think I worried it would cause more trouble than it was worth. Did Delie know? Does Dolores?”

  “No. You’re the first I’ve told.” He winked at her. “You’ve always been my favorite.” That from anyone else would put her on guard, but from James it was just sweet.

  “Do you mind if I tell Dolores? I’m sure she won’t believe me, but I’d like to be the one. I would love for her to hear it from me first.” Kennedy had to wonder why she asked this. Maybe she just wanted to see Dolores’s expression? She
decided not to overanalyze it.

  “No, I don’t mind. I planned to schedule a reading of the will, but now that’s pretty much moot. There is no estate. In fact, there are still some outstanding bills for the funeral. PJ had a few dollars in his bank account, but not enough to cover his last expenses. I’m guessing the funeral home and cemetery might come after you and Dolores, but chances are they’re going to have to suck it up.”

  Kennedy stood and shook his hand. “Well, thanks, James. You’ve always been a good friend. I appreciate it.”

  As she walked from his office, he called. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Several hours later Kennedy was finished with her shift. Wylie stood on the sidewalk, waiting. She tried to act as if he wasn’t there, since her anger hadn’t cooled much, but it was a futile attempt. He stepped in front of her and blocked her path, then took hold of her arms when she tried to sidestep him.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he said. “It came out all wrong.”

  She gave him a look intended to communicate volumes.

  “Please, Kennedy. I don’t think you’re guilty any more than I am. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Please…” He was pleading now.

  “How do I know that it’s not what you really think and that now you’re just trying to get on my good side?”

  “Why? Why would I lie to you? You know how much I care about you. I want you with me always. Don’t you get it? I told you I love you, and I mean forever.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Why shouldn’t you? I already got in your pants—so to speak,” he said, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

  She felt herself caving. “You really believe I had nothing to do with the murders?”

  “Of course I believe you. Why do you think I want them solved?” He didn’t wait for her response. “So we can get you out of this town and away from these people who want to blame you.”

  Kennedy bit her lip. “OK. I forgive you. Just don’t ever doubt me again.”

  “I never doubted you. I just said the wrong thing. I’m a man. We’re known for that. Why do you think God invented flowers? So men could apologize for stupidity.”