by Bill Crider
Not many people frequented the strip center where Lloyd’s shop was located, but people worked there, and people went in and out of Rollin’ Sevens often enough. So why hadn’t anybody seen anything?
Rhodes couldn’t help feeling he’d missed something important. The pieces of the puzzle were all on the table right there in front of him, but he couldn’t make any of them fit together the right way.
He had a prisoner, and the prisoner had motive, opportunity, and means. All that wasn’t enough, however. In spite of everything, Rhodes couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that Cecil had killed Lloyd.
Things would be different on CSI. The cops on that show had all kinds of forensic facts before they made an arrest. About all Rhodes had to work with was his intuition, and at the moment that seemed to have failed him.
The truth of the matter was that he didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t just that his stomach was still punishing him for eating the FlameThrower. He could’ve used a couple of antacid tablets, not to mention some solid evidence and a couple of credible witnesses.
Since he had none of those things, and since he wasn’t likely to come across any of them except the antacid tablets, at least not without a lot more work, he decided to go with what he was feeling. He told Cecil to call Randy Lawless.
“What for?” Cecil said.
“He’ll bond you out, and you can go finish that job for Ms. Harris. You’ll need to clean up the yard, too.”
Cecil brooded on the bottom bunk of his cell. He didn’t look happy with his orange jumpsuit, but it was an improvement over the paint-spattered overalls.
“I don’t see why I have to clean anything up,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault that the paint got all over the place.”
“If you hadn’t tried to throw the paint can at me, it wouldn’t have happened,” Rhodes reminded him.
“Yeah, well, you made me do it. You accused me of killing Lloyd.”
“Not exactly, but even if I had accused you, you had no reason to throw that paint roller at me and then to go for the whole can. It’s going to be a tough cleanup, and you’re the one to do it. Ivy’s not going to be happy with the way I look, either. You’ve ruined my clothes.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to take care of that, too.”
Rhodes said he’d take care of it himself.
“What am I gonna tell Faye Lynn about all this? You may think you’re in trouble with your wife, but at least you’re not in jail.”
“I have a feeling Faye Lynn will understand. She never fooled around with Lloyd, if that’s what you’re worried about. You can believe me on that.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know. I’m the sheriff.”
“Right, and I’m the handyman convict.”
Rhodes had had enough of Cecil’s self-pity. He was trying to give the man a break, and Cecil wouldn’t take it.
“Just call Lawless,” Rhodes said. “He’ll take care of you, and you’ll take care of Ms. Harris’s yard. Right?”
Cecil waited a while to answer, probably to make Rhodes sweat a little. Finally he said, “Right.”
The little strip center hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Rhodes was there. He parked in front of Lloyd Berry’s shop, moved the yellow crime-scene tape, and opened the door.
If he’d been hoping to spot some previously overlooked clue at his first glance, he was disappointed. Nothing had changed, except that most of the plants looked a bit wilted.
Rhodes went inside. He’d have to bring Ivy out and let her see to the plants. He was certain death for plants. If he touched one, or even tried to water it without touching it, it would die.
He moved through the shop and then went out back to the stairs. Climbing them, he looked out at the cattle in the fields. For all he could tell, they might not have moved since the last time he’d been there. The spring grass was coming in, and that seemed to require all their attention.
The inside of Lloyd’s apartment looked the same, too, almost. Rhodes thought that something was wrong, and he realized that someone had been there since his last visit. Ruth had checked it out, of course, after he’d looked it over, but she would never have left the paperback book on top of the nightstand. He was sure of that, but there it was.
Rhodes wondered what someone had been looking for. Money, maybe. If so, they hadn’t found any, not unless he and Ruth were a lot more careless than he thought likely.
Looking around the room, Rhodes didn’t see anything else that had been moved. He did his own careful search but found nothing that hadn’t been there before. He wished he knew what he was looking for. He stood and thought about it, but he couldn’t come up with any answers.
After a while, he gave up and left.
Guy Wilks was no happier to see Rhodes than he’d been the last time.
“Who’d you kill?” he said.
“Nobody. It’s just paint, not blood.”
Wilks looked disappointed and didn’t say anything else. He just sat behind his desk and glowered, so Rhodes didn’t see any point in making small talk.
“You lied to me about Lloyd Berry,” he said.
Wilks relaxed a little. “I never lied about anything. Maybe I didn’t tell you all I knew, but I didn’t lie.”
“You said Lloyd never came in here.”
“Not exactly. I said I’d never seen him in here. There’s a difference.”
“True. But you have seen him in here. Right in this office. So why did you lie to me?”
Wilks’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you he was in this office?”
“Reliable witnesses,” Rhodes said, thinking that he might be giving the Eccles cousins a little more credit than they deserved.
Wilkes puffed out his cheeks and blew out some air. Rhodes wondered if he was counting to ten.
“Okay,” Wilks said. “It’s true. Lloyd and I had a little discussion. I told him I thought he was spending too much time here. He came down every day after he closed the store, and he didn’t win much. I thought it would be good for him to take a break.”
Somehow Rhodes hadn’t thought of Wilks as being quite so altruistic.
“That was thoughtful of you. I guess he didn’t take your advice too well.”
“You could say that. I thought it was for the best, though.”
“And you never saw him again after that.”
“See? That’s why I had to lie to you. You think I killed him, but I didn’t, and I can prove it. I never left this place the morning he died. We don’t have a lot of people in early in the day, but we have a few. They’ll all tell you I was right here, and that includes your snitches.”
“My snitches?”
“The Eccles boys. It took me a second, but I figured it out. They’re the only ones who’d know enough to get you interested in me. So ask them. They’ll tell you. I’m in the clear all the way.”
Maybe, Rhodes thought. Maybe not. Whatever the answer was, he’d need some kind of evidence against Wilks, and he just didn’t have it, any more than he had evidence against Cecil. It was something he’d have to think about. Right now, Wilks was at the top of his list of suspects.
“You’re going to ask them, right?” Wilks said. “Be sure to do it pretty soon, because they’re leaving town, or so they told me. You can bet they won’t be coming in here again. I’ll ban them for life.”
Rhodes wondered who Wilks would get to enforce the ban.
“I’ll ask them,” he said.
“You do that. And don’t hurry back.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” Rhodes said. “I think you can count on that.”
The Eccles cousins were just about to crank up the big red Mack and hit the road when Rhodes drove into their front yard. They didn’t look happy to see him. It was beginning to seem as if nobody ever was, not that Rhodes blamed them, particularly not Lance and Hugh. They must have thought he was there to keep them from leaving.
“I hope the other guy looks worse than you do,�
� Lance said when Rhodes got out of the car.
Rhodes was tired of explaining about the paint, so he said, “He does. A lot worse.”
It was even true, in a way. Cecil had a lot more paint on him than Rhodes did.
“Good,” Lance said. “I hope there’s not a problem with me and Hugh. You said we could leave whenever we needed to.”
“This isn’t about you going anywhere,” Rhodes told him. “It’s about Guy Wilks.”
Rhodes told Lance what he wanted to know about Wilks. Hugh, who was still standing by the truck, listened in.
“Wilks is telling you the truth,” Lance said. “Isn’t that right, Hugh.”
“Maybe. There’s a back door to that office. Didn’t you see it when you were there, Sheriff?”
“I saw it.”
“He could’ve gone out that way,” Hugh said. “While we were playing the games. Wouldn’t take him long to walk down to Lloyd’s and come back. We might not’ve seen him go.”
“That’s right,” Lance said. “I don’t think he left, but I couldn’t promise you that he didn’t.”
“All right,” Rhodes said and thanked them. “You boys have a good trip.”
“Any trip away from here’s a good trip,” Hugh said, mounting the cab.
“Don’t bring home any alligators this time,” Rhodes said.
“We won’t,” Hugh said. “I’m not saying we ever did, you understand.”
“I understand,” Rhodes said.
Hugh climbed into the cab of the truck, slammed the door, and cranked the engine. Lance got in on the other side of the cab and honked the air horn.
Rhodes flipped them a salute, and they drove away.
Ivy hadn’t come in yet when Rhodes got home, so Rhodes and Yancey went out in the backyard to go a few rounds with Speedo. Yancey was in fine form. He nabbed the squeaky toy before Speedo even knew he was there and went tearing across the yard with it. Speedo took off in hot pursuit.
It made Rhodes feel good to watch them. For a little while he forgot all about Lloyd Berry, Cecil, and all the rest of it. His stomach felt fine now, and he wondered what he and Ivy would do for supper. Meatless meatloaf leftovers didn’t appeal to him much. Even though he’d had a substantial lunch, he wouldn’t mind going out for dinner.
His good feeling didn’t last long. Lloyd Berry’s murder bothered him too much. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Cecil hadn’t done it.
But if Cecil hadn’t, who had? Rhodes didn’t have any idea, and that made him feel even worse. He didn’t even cheer up much when Yancey made a sudden spin move and stopped dead, causing Speedo to tumble over him.
Rhodes heard the screen door open behind him, and Ivy came out.
“Good Lord!” she said when she saw Rhodes sitting on the step. “What happened?”
Rhodes realized that he’d forgotten to change clothes.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“It looks terrible. I hope that’s not your blood all over you.”
Rhodes laughed. People kept making the same mistake.
“It’s nobody’s blood,” he said. “It’s red paint.”
“Red paint? How did that happen?”
Rhodes went through the story, making it as short as possible.
“I’m glad it was nothing worse,” Ivy said, and then she told Rhodes that she’d like to try some more of Max’s barbecue instead of having dinner at home. Rhodes thought that was a fine idea, even though he wasn’t sure what another spicy meal would do to his stomach. He didn’t mention the FlameThrower to Ivy, however. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t approve.
“You’ll have to clean up first, though,” Ivy told him. “We can’t go anywhere with you looking like that. I don’t know how we’ll get that paint off you.”
“I’ve heard Vicks VapoRub works,” Rhodes said.
Ivy was skeptical. “Where did you hear that?”
“I’m the sheriff. I have a lot of confidential informants who feed me information.”
“All right,” Ivy said. “Who am I to question a confidential informant. We’ll give it a try.”
27
THE VICKS WORKED BETTER THAN RHODES HAD EXPECTED, AND by using it along with some soap and water he was able to make himself more or less presentable. Certainly presentable enough for barbecue.
Max Schwartz greeted him and Ivy when they came inside Max’s Place, and he had a question for Rhodes.
“Do you know who Joe Bob Briggs is?” he asked. “He writes stuff about movies.”
As it happened, Rhodes did know, because Joe Bob liked some of the same kinds of movies that Rhodes had once enjoyed watching so much.
“I’m not talking about movies, though,” Max said. “I’m talking about my business.”
“The barbecue business or the music store?” Rhodes said.
“This one. Briggs wrote something once about the way to tell if you’re getting good barbecue is to go to a place where they don’t spell out the word on the sign out front. He thinks the sign should just say BBQ. That’s the key, he said. Do you believe that?”
Rhodes said he’d never thought about it. “What difference would it make to how the food tasted?”
For Rhodes, the smoky smell of the mesquite wood in the pit and the thought of ice cream melting on top of hot cobbler were enough to make him hungry. He didn’t need a sign. Whatever the sign said, it wouldn’t matter to Rhodes.
“Perception,” Schwartz said. “It’s all perception. People would think the food tasted better, depending on the sign, and if they think it’s better, that’s the same as if it was better.”
Rhodes tried to follow the logic of it, and Max got impatient.
“Should I change my sign or not?” he said. “What do you think?”
The sign out front said MAX’S PLACE. BARBECUE. RIBS. BRISKET. SANDWICHES. Rhodes couldn’t see how changing it would make any difference at all, and he told Max so.
“Maybe, but what if this Briggs is onto something?” Max said. “I worry about things like that.”
“You have a lot of customers,” Rhodes said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Max was a worrier, however, and nothing Rhodes said would ease his mind. Another customer came in, and Max rushed over to him to ask him about the sign.
Seeing that Rhodes and Ivy were free of Max, Jackee came out from behind the counter and said, “I’ll show you to a table. Max will fret about that for a week, and then he’ll leave the sign just the way it is.”
When Rhodes and Ivy got into the dining room, Rhodes saw Seepy Benton tuning his guitar.
“Entertainment tonight,” Ivy said.
“You’re not being sarcastic, are you?” Rhodes said.
“Me? Of course not.”
“Good. I think that right after Jerry Kergan criticized Seepy’s singing, Kergan got smashed by a truck.”
“You’re not saying there was a connection, are you?”
“You never know,” Rhodes said, and something tickled at the back of his mind.
He couldn’t bring it forward, but he knew it would make its way there sooner or later if it was important. He and Ivy sat at the table Jackee took them to. It was made of heavy wood, and the oversized chairs were also wood. The floor was thick planking.
Rhodes looked at the menu Jackee set in front of him. Rhodes already knew what he wanted, and so did Ivy. As soon as the server came, they both ordered the small beef plate.
By the time the food arrived, Seepy had started on his first set, beginning with what he called “an old favorite that I wrote a couple of weeks ago, a little number called ‘Getting Wasted Is Wasted on the Young.’ It’s in the key of G, and you can all hum along if you don’t know the words. If you can’t hum, you can suck on ice cubes in four-four time.”
Rhodes didn’t know the words, and he didn’t hum along. He didn’t suck on ice cubes, either. Even his humming was unsatisfactory to him. He’d rather listen to someone e
lse, even if the someone was Seepy Benton. As far as Rhodes was concerned, Benton’s bass rumble blended just fine with the clinking silverware and conversations of the other diners, hardly any of whom seemed to notice that Benton was singing.
“That song’s not exactly politically correct, is it?” Ivy said.
Rhodes poured some sauce from a little side bowl onto his brisket and added a dash of habanero sauce from the bottle on the table. Combined with the FlameThrower, this meal would either kill him or make him stronger.
“I don’t think Seepy cares about being politically correct,” he said. “He just likes the way the words sound.”
“You don’t think he’s advocating drug use by older people?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Rhodes said, and he started to eat.
The beans needed a little something, so he put some barbecue sauce on them. The coleslaw, potato salad, and brisket were just right.
While he was eating and halfway listening to Seepy Benton’s songs, Rhodes’s mind kept worrying at the pieces of the puzzle that was Lloyd Berry’s murder. Rhodes wondered if he and Max Schwartz weren’t a lot alike in a way, both of them worriers of the kind that couldn’t let go of something once they started thinking about it, not even to eat or listen to music, if you could call Seepy’s singing music.
Rhodes looked up from his plate and across the room of diners at Seepy, and as he did, a few pieces of the puzzle rearranged themselves inside his head and fit right together.
“Bingo,” he said.
“Bingo?” Ivy said. “I didn’t even know we were playing.”
“This isn’t playing,” Rhodes said. “It’s a lot more serious than that.”
“Bingo is?”
“Never mind,” Rhodes said. “Just eat. Then we need to talk to Seepy.”
“About bingo?”
Rhodes grinned at Ivy’s confusion. It was too bad he couldn’t play Hack and Lawton that way, and he wasn’t even trying.
“About the Internet,” he said, “and Web sites.”
