The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

  Irene shook her head. "No, but after Charley left, the mayor came by looking for him. Said he needed to talk to him about a business deal he thought Charley might be interested in."

  "What kind of business deal?"

  "He didn't say. I couldn't have told him anything even if I'd wanted to since Charley had left a few days before and hadn't told me where he was going. Roland seemed upset. Like the deal was important. Like he didn't believe me. When Charley finally called me, I told him about Roland's visit. He said he didn't know anything about a deal, and I shouldn't tell the mayor or anybody else where he was."

  "Because he was in danger."

  Irene nodded.

  "From the mayor?"

  "He never said that." Irene started to say something, hesitated, then continued. "I figured it had something to do with him. Otherwise, why would he have come around looking for Charley? I figured—" She broke off, hesitated again.

  "You figured Charley had run some kind of a scam on the mayor."

  Irene sighed. "Charley had a good heart. But some of the things he did weren't always good."

  Amanda could attest to that. "He told you he was in Dallas?"

  "Oh, no. I figured it was Dallas because that's where he'd always wanted to go. But I never told anybody what I thought. We didn't know where he was living or anything until the police came down here to talk to us after he…" Her voice wavered, she blinked a couple of times, then cleared her throat and continued. "After he was killed."

  Amanda ate a couple more bites of sandwich and some potato salad while she considered the ramifications of what Irene had told her. Adding her mother-in-law's information to what she'd learned about Kimball this morning, Charley's crazy stories were beginning to sound a lot less crazy. If Charley had blackmailed then double-crossed Kimball, he would need to hide, and a big city like Dallas was a good place to do that. But Dallas was only an hour's drive away. Silver Creek was practically a suburb of Dallas. It would have made more sense for him to go farther…Los Angeles, Chicago, even Houston.

  There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and Charley, for all his new-found honesty, probably wouldn't answer them. But perhaps she could verify the crime Charley claimed started all this mess.

  "Was there a murder just before Charley left town, Dianne somebody?"

  Irene nodded. "Why, yes. Dianne Carter. Charley told you about that? It was awful. They found her body in her car out by the lake. Shot and killed, her purse missing. Young mother, left a husband and two kids. Pecan pie?"

  "Yes, please." Amanda accepted a piece, taking a bite before she continued. "They ever catch the killer?"

  "No. Had to be somebody passing through. They never found the gun. She was the sweetest thing. Taught Sunday school at our church. Her and Greg—that's her husband—were always helping people, working with kids to keep them off drugs, delivering Christmas baskets to poor people. Greg's the coach at the high school. Penny and Paula have him for track, and they think he's wonderful."

  "Sounds like Dianne was a regular saint." Too good to be true?

  "She was a saint. Nobody ever had a bad word to say about her. Everybody loved her."

  "Everybody? How about Mayor Kimball?"

  Irene sat quietly for a few seconds, her blue gaze narrowed, assessing Amanda as if trying to figure out why she would ask that question. Perhaps her mother-in-law wasn't quite as naïve as she seemed. "Funny you ask that. Dianne and Roland were sweethearts in high school. Everybody assumed they'd get married after they got out of college."

  "But they didn't."

  Irene wadded her paper napkin and put it on her empty plate. "People change. Nobody knows why they broke up, but they both came back and married different people."

  "Did they stay friends? Or did they hate each other?"

  "Dianne didn't hate anybody. But whatever happened with her and Roland, they kept their distance after that. Acted like strangers. Too bad. I think his mama and daddy were disappointed."

  "They liked Dianne?"

  "Everybody liked Dianne. Her family wasn't wealthy like the Kimballs. Her folks own a farm, raise soybeans, run a few head of cattle. But she was a good influence on Roland. He was pretty wild in high school. Son of the richest man in town. Privileged. Arrogant even then. Samuel Kimball, his daddy, doesn't want any taint on the family name. Mind you, that old man's not perfect, but he's always kept his sins under the table. He expected his only son to do the same. So when Roland started dating Dianne, and settled down, Samuel was happy about it." She shrugged and grinned a little sheepishly. "In a small town, we mind each other's business. It's better than daytime television."

  "Did the police question anybody in particular about Dianne's death?"

  Irene stood and began tidying the kitchen. "For a while, they thought it might be Claude Dobyns. Leastwise, they acted like they suspected him. I think they just did it to look like they were doing something. Claude's different, so he gets picked on a lot."

  "What do you mean, different?"

  "He never was quite right in the head. His mama died when he was born. His daddy was too stingy to pay a doctor, had a neighbor woman come over, so Miz Dobyns died, and they say the baby didn't come out right." Irene ran water into one side of the sink and squirted in dishwashing liquid.

  Amanda stood and looked around the room. "Where are your dishtowels?"

  "Second drawer, over there."

  Amanda pulled a snowy white dishtowel from the designated drawer. "That's sad," she said, "what happened to Claude."

  "And it just got worse. His daddy raised him on their little farm a few miles from town, kept him out of school and made him work. Some say he beat him. I'd believe that of old man Dobyns."

  The summer breezes coming through the window over the kitchen sink brought scents of magnolia blossoms to mingle with the lemon scent of the dishwashing liquid. Irene set the glasses in the water and selected the first to wash.

  "Anyway," she continued, "his daddy died a few years ago. Claude still stays at the farm, but I hear the place is bad run down. Claude drinks some, but that's not really his problem. Mostly he's just not right. Thinks everybody's out to hurt him. Dianne used to take him food, and he tolerated her pretty good But then one day she brought out a doctor who wanted to put Claude on some medicine." She rinsed the glass, set it on the rack and began washing the next glass.

  "Schizophrenia meds? Bi-polar?" Amanda picked up the glass and wiped the moisture from it, then set it in the cabinet.

  "Don't know. But whatever that medicine was, Claude didn't take kindly to it. He threw an awful fit and run them both off his land. Threatened them with a shotgun."

  "Does Claude live close to the lake where Dianne was killed?" she asked.

  "Nope. Not close to the grocery store she went to, either. The police couldn't find anything to say Claude did it. No trace of her purse or the money in it. Claude doesn't own a handgun. They said he cried when he found out she was dead."

  Amanda dried the final plate, a little disappointed the ritual was ended. It had been relaxing, soothing and established a connection between her and her mother-in-law, as if the two of them were bonded in some important activity. She'd never dried dishes with her own mother. She doubted her mother had ever washed a dish in her pampered life. Too bad.

  "Did the police question Mayor Kimball about her death? I mean, since they used to date and broke up and…"

  Irene pulled a plug, and the soapy water gurgled as it rushed down the drain. "You mean just because he seems like a bad person?"

  Irene's response surprised her. Amanda had expected her to think the question was totally out of line. "Something like that." Because your son claims he was blackmailing Kimball for Dianne's murder.

  "No, the mayor was never a suspect."

  As she watched Irene wipe off the counter and table top, Amanda reflected that the evidence was building to support Charley's claims. It was possible Kimball had killed his former girlfriend. She had no idea why, and
didn't suppose that really mattered. All that mattered was that she somehow get her gun back from the psycho mayor and prove she hadn't shot Charley.

  A terrible thought hit her. What if he'd thrown her gun away like Charley said he did with the gun he used to murder Dianne? In that case, she had no choice but to forget about Kimball, go back to Dallas and trust in the legal system.

  Her heart sank. After all her years of watching judges and lawyers in action, she knew she'd be better off trusting Charley than the legal system, and she'd be better off trusting the hangman than trusting Charley.

  The jury might even deem it premeditated murder since she and Charley had been fighting so much, and, by her own admission, she'd had the gun in her possession before his murder.

  Twenty-five to life.

  The more she learned about this mess, the worse it got.

  When she got out of prison—if she got out of prison—would she still be able to ride a motorcycle? Would they still be making motorcycles or would everything be hovercraft?

  Suddenly she wasn't feeling so good.

  Maybe she'd better call her dad and see if they could work out some kind of a deal.

  "Amanda, are you okay?" Irene asked. "You look kinda pale. Did that food not set well?"

  "I'm fine. No, I'm not fine. I probably shouldn't have eaten that second piece of pie."

  "You only had one piece of pie."

  "I should have had two. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go lie down for a few minutes."

  Irene looked worried. "Holler if you need anything."

  Amanda fled upstairs to Charley's old room. But before she could call her father, she saw Charley sitting on the window sill.

  "Now do you believe me?" he asked.

  "Were you eavesdropping?"

  He shrugged. "I was listening."

  "I didn't see you."

  "I'm always there for you, whether you see me or not."

  She moved toward him, pointing a threatening finger. "If I find out you've been spying on me in the shower or when I'm changing clothes, I'll—" She stopped. It was hard to threaten somebody who was already dead.

  "Amanda! I'm shocked! I'm dead. I've risen above all that sort of thing."

  "Ha!"

  "So what are you going to do now? I've got an idea. If you just get me inside Kimball's house, I can look around and see if I can find that gun."

  "Get you inside? Why don't you just zap yourself over there the way you do everywhere else?"

  "Can't. I seem to be attached to you. I can only go where you go."

  "Oh, so you need me to get inside Kimball's house? Hey, no problem. I'll knock on the door and he'll invite me in for a glass of wine or maybe to stay for dinner because I'm his new best friend. Anyway, what makes you think he's even still got the gun? You said he threw away the one he used to kill Dianne. The one you think he used to kill Dianne. If he killed her. Why would he kill her? They broke up years ago."

  "I don't know. What difference does it make?"

  "None, I guess. I'm not sure any of this matters. My gun's probably at the bottom of White Rock Lake or the Trinity River right now. Nobody's going to search the Trinity River. They'd die from the smell before in the first five minutes."

  "You got a better idea?"

  Amanda sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. "Call my dad. Turn myself in. Throw myself on the mercy of the court."

  "I asked if you had a better idea, not if you had an idea that was even dumber than mine."

  "If you're here to help me, you're not doing a very good job of it. I don't think you're going to be earning your wings any time soon."

  Amanda's cell phone chimed, announcing she had a text message. She pulled the phone from her pocket. The message was from Dawson.

  Cop came by today. Jake Daggett. Asked a lot of dumb questions. R u ok?

  Damn. Daggett again. She could feel the iron bars of prison closing around her.

  I'm fine, she texted back, lying through her thumbs. What kind of questions?

  Do I have a key to ur apt. Did I go in and leave the door unlocked. All about ur fights with Charley.

  What did—

  "Hey!" Charley appeared beside her on the bed, reaching for the cell phone, causing the letters she was laboriously typing on the small keypad to become gobbledygook. "That's it! The geek!"

  "What? Stop that!"

  "Dawson. He's a computer geek."

  "He's an amazing artist and motorcycle repair assistant. He's smart and trustworthy and honest, unlike you, so don’t go calling him names."

  "He does all that stuff on computers. He's a freaking genius on computers."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Like on TV. He can run a check on Kimball and find out all kinds of stuff about him."

  "Charley, there are limits to the information on the internet. I don't think there's going to be a website dedicated to the exact location of my former gun."

  "I've watched these crime shows. You can't imagine all the things they find. It'd scare you to death if you knew what's on the internet about you."

  "To death? Really?"

  "Go with me on this. I got a feeling about it. Just ask him to do it. What have you got to lose?"

  Amanda sighed. "Not much, I guess, since I'm already looking at spending the rest of my life behind bars." She texted Dawson with the request to find out anything he could about Roland Kimball. As an afterthought she added, And Dianne Carter, especially their years at the University of Texas.

  "And after Dawson discovers Roland Kimball has excellent credit because he's rich, and he has no outstanding warrants because he's rich, and he just bought his wife a ten thousand dollar ring for her birthday because he's rich, then I'll call my dad and turn myself in and throw myself on the mercy of the court."

  "If you go to prison, I'll be in prison, too."

  Amanda slapped herself on the forehead. "Gee, Charley, I hadn't thought about that. But now that you've pointed it out, why, I guess I don't want to go to prison after all. I certainly wouldn't want you to be inconvenienced."

  "You don't have to be sarcastic."

  She fell back across the bed and sighed. "Sarcasm helps about as much as anything else right now."

  "Not true. I've got another idea." Charley stood and moved across the room to the window, outside the window, then back in again, his face exultant. "This will work!"

  Amanda sat up and stared at him. "What? If I go to prison, you'll be able to float out through the bars? Gee, that makes me feel a lot better."

  "You don't have to get into Kimball's house. You just have to get close to it. I'll be close to you, and I can get inside his house. Go downstairs, go outside, and we'll see if I can be inside while you're outside."

  "No," Amanda said. "I'm not going to do it. That's nuts. I'm not getting anywhere near Kimball's house. What good will it do if you find my gun inside? How will we get it out? You can't carry it."

  "One thing at a time. First we find the gun, then we figure out how to get it."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  Nevertheless, a few minutes later she was standing in the yard, looking upward as Charley gleefully sailed into and out of the house several times.

  What had she just been thinking about trusting Charley more than the legal system and the hangman more than Charley? No good had ever come of any of Charley's ideas. It was a measure of her desperation that she was considering this latest one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silver Creek was a small town, a stereotypical small town, and Amanda was a big-city girl. Dallas had always felt just right, warm and cozy, home. It surprised her to feel so comfortable in Silver Creek.

  After lunch, Irene suggested a tour of downtown which consisted of the Town Square, Main Street and Grand Avenue. This activity would have taken less than thirty minutes except for the fact that Irene knew everybody. They all greeted Irene, offered their sympathy on Charley's death, were introduced to Amanda, and then chatted about their kids, their
grandkids, the weather, the state of the union, and sometimes their bunions. Rachel in Wood's Drugstore had pictures of her new granddaughter, and Joe in McAllen's Feed and Seed had pictures of his new pig.

  It was, Amanda reflected, not a bad way to spend an afternoon. If nothing else, it kept her from thinking about going to prison for the rest of her life, skulking around Roland Kimball's house in the middle of the night, and any number of other unpleasant activities that could be a part of her immediate future.