by Bill Crider
CURSED TO DEATH
Book Three of the Dan Rhodes Mystery Series
Bill Crider
First Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Copyright © 2013 / Bill Crider
Texas flag image courtesy of:
Nicolas Raymond
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Meet the Author
BILL CRIDER is the author of more than fifty published novels and numerous short stories. He won the Anthony Award for best first mystery novel in 1987 for Too Late to Die and was nominated for the Shamus Award for best first private-eye novel for Dead on the Island. He won the Golden Duck award for “best juvenile science fiction novel” for Mike Gonzo and the UFO Terror. He and his wife, Judy, won the best short story Anthony in 2002 for their story “Chocolate Moose.” His story “Cranked” from Damn Near Dead (Busted Flush Press) was nominated for the Edgar award for best short story.
Check out his homepage at: http:// www.billcrider.com or take a look at his peculiar blog at http://billcrider.blogspot.com
Book List
Novels:
The Sheriff Dan Rhodes Mystery Series
Too Late to Die
Shotgun Saturday Night
Cursed to Death
Death on the Move
Evil at the Root
Booked for a Hanging
Murder Most Fowl
Winning Can Be Murder
Death by Accident
A Ghost of a Chance
A Romantic Way to Die
Red, White, and Blue Murder
“The Empty Manger,” (novella in the collection entitled Murder, Mayhem, and Mistletoe.)
A Mammoth Murder
Murder Among the O.W.L.S.
Of All Sad Words
Murder in Four Parts
Murder in the Air
The Wild Hog Murders
The Murder of a Beauty Shop Queen
The Carl Burns Mystery Series
One Dead Dean
Dying Voices
…A Dangerous Thing
Dead Soldiers
The Truman Smith Mystery Series
Dead on the Island
Gator Kill
When Old Men Die
The Prairie Chicken Kill
Murder Takes a Break
The Sally Good Mystery Series
Murder Is An Art
A Knife in the Back
A Bond with Death
The Stanley Waters Mystery Series (Willard Scott, Co-Author)
Murder under Blue Skies
Murder in the Mist
Stand-Alone Mystery and Suspense Novels
Blood Marks
The Texas Capitol Murders
Houston Homicide (with Clyde Wilson)
House-Name Spy Fiction
The Coyote Connection (a Nick Carter book, in collaboration with Jack Davis)
Western Novels
Ryan Rides Back
Galveston Gunman
A Time for Hanging
Medicine Show
Outrage at Blanco
Texas Vigilante
As Colby Jackson:
Dead Man’s Revenge
Gabby Darbins and the Slide-Rock Bolter
Horror Novels (all published under the pseudonym “Jack MacLane”)
Keepers of the Beast
Goodnight, Moom
Blood Dreams
Rest in Peace
Just before Dark
Books for Young Readers
A Vampire Named Fred
Muttketeer
Mike Gonzo and the Sewer Monster
Mike Gonzo and the Almost Invisible Man
Mike Gonzo and the UFO Terror
Short Story Collections:
The Nighttime is the Right Time
CONTENTS
CURSED TO DEATH
A Preview of TOO LATE TO DIE
A Preview of DEAD ON THE ISLAND
A Preview of ONE DEAD DEAN
CURSED TO DEATH
Chapter 1
“What do you mean, there’s no law against it?” Samuel A. Martin, DDS, was wrought up. His sharp-featured face was suffused with red, and his hands were clenched tight.
“I didn’t say there was no law against it,” Sheriff Dan Rhodes told him. “I said I’d never heard of it before. Maybe we could make a case for abusive language.”
“Abusive language, my foot,” Martin said, stomping for emphasis. “She put a curse on me! She threatened my life!”
“Well,” Rhodes said, “I don’t think we could say she actually threatened you.”
Martin turned away. The two men were in what had been the kitchen of the small frame house he had converted into his dental offices. Rhodes was sitting in a vinyl-covered chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the Formica top of the table. Martin was standing at the sink, looking out into the back yard.
“She threatened me,” Martin said. He turned back to Rhodes and repeated the statement. “She threatened me.”
“Let’s go over it again,” Rhodes said. “Do you remember her exact words?”
“Not her exact words, but pretty close,” Martin said. “It was too long for me to remember the whole thing, and there were some funny names in there. But basically she said something about me getting sick, losing all my money, and having all my teeth fall out.”
Rhodes tried not to smile. It wasn’t a bad curse to put on a dentist, though, he thought. He remembered the dentist who had worked on his own teeth when he was a kid, Dr. Cranfill, who had been dead for some years now. “This won’t hurt any more than a little sticker burr up on a sandy land hill,” Dr. Cranfill would say. Then he would jab the needle in Rhodes’s gum and merrily jiggle it around while he pumped in the Novocain, or whatever it was he used to deaden the mouth. It always hurt a lot more than a sticker burr.
Those days were long past, though. All dentists now were painless, or so Rhodes had heard. He hadn’t needed any fillings for a long time. “Why did she curse you?” be asked.
“It didn’t have anything to do with my practice,” Martin said, as if he had been reading Rhodes’s thoughts. “She’s been renting one of my houses.”
“Houses,” Rhodes said, leaning back from the table. “Which houses?”
“Rental property,” Martin said. He was a tall man, at least six and a half feet, and very thin. As he crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink counter, he reminded Rhodes of a big white crane. “I bought some houses and fixed them up. It was a tax thing.”
“What was wrong with the house?” Rhodes asked.
“There wasn’t anything wrong,” Martin said. “Not with the house, anyway. It was just that I was trying to get her to pay the rent.”
“I guess that can be pretty upsetting to some people,” Rhodes said. “She owe you much?”
“Three months.” Martin was calming down now, and his color was returning to normal. He had unclenched his fists. “I let the first month slide, which I guess was a mistake. The second month I went out to talk to her and found out she had a man living
there with her. That was all right with me, rent was the same. But you’d think one of them could pay it, wouldn’t you?”
“What about the third month?”
Martin looked sheepish and studied the floor, an unpleasant yellow tile that Rhodes didn’t much like. “Uh, that’s when I took the TV set,” Martin finally said.
“Took the TV set?”
“Well, they wouldn’t pay.” Martin unfolded his arms in a sort of appeal for understanding. “So I took something of value to hold until I got the money.”
“She might have a better case against you than you have against her,” Rhodes said.
“Well, it just wasn’t fair,” Martin said. “There they had that big, expensive TV set—a brand-new RCA, mind you, a console. With stereo. I don’t have stereo.”
“Me neither,” Rhodes said. Not that he cared, really. Most of the old movies he liked to watch were made long before stereo came along.
“Anyway,” Martin said, “I gave it back. After she cursed me.”
“When?”
“After she cursed me.”
Rhodes couldn’t help himself this time. He smiled.
“It’s not funny, Sheriff,” Martin said.
“I know,” Rhodes said. “Do you have any witnesses to all this?”
“Of course I do,” Martin said. “That’s what’s so upsetting. That woman came right into the office, and then barged right on into Room 1, where I was working on a cavity in Jennie Dunlap’s incisor.”
“So Jennie Dunlap is a witness?”
“Yes, but she’s gone. Everyone heard. My assistant, my hygienist, my receptionist. You can ask any of them.”
“I guess I’d better,” Rhodes said.
“I’ve had to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day,” Martin said. “This has been awful. If you could only have heard the way that woman talked . . .”
“I’m sure it was bad,” Rhodes said. “Why don’t you send the receptionist back first?”
“All right,” Martin said. He almost had to bend to get through the doorway.
Rhodes got up and looked out the window. All the grass was dead, killed in the last freeze. There was a big pecan tree, its branches whipping in the wind. Martin had done a good job on this house. It was tight and quiet. You’d never know what was going on outside, unless you looked.
The receptionist came in. She was dressed in black slacks and a multicolored striped blouse. Dentists’ offices just weren’t what they used to be. She also looked about fifteen years old. Rhodes had found that one of the distracting things about reaching middle age was that everyone looked younger than you. Dr. Martin, for that matter, looked about twenty.
“I’m Sheriff Rhodes,” he told the receptionist.
“I’m Tammy Green,” she said. At least she didn’t sound like a fifteen-year-old.
“Tell me about what happened this morning, Tammy,” Rhodes said.
“O.K.,” she said. “Can I sit down?”
“Of course.”
She sat in the chair Rhodes had just left, then smiled at him. He could see why Martin had hired her. Either her family had spent a small fortune on orthodontic work, or she had naturally straight white teeth. Either way, she would have been a reassuring sight for people in a dental office.
“You heard what happened out there today?” Rhodes asked her. Now he was leaning against the sink.
“Sure,” she said. “It would’ve been hard to miss.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“Well, that Betsy Higgins came in. She looked a sight, too. An old sweater that looked like her daddy must’ve owned it, and that long dress dragging the floor. I swear.”
“She didn’t have an appointment, I guess.”
Tammy laughed. “She sure didn’t. I tried to tell her that Dr. Martin was busy, but she just wouldn’t listen. She went right through the door and jumped him out while he was doing a filling. I heard her going on in there, loud as could be.”
Rhodes pushed away from the sink and walked over to the table. “Could you hear what she said?”
“It was something about Dr. Martin getting sick and his teeth all falling out. And she was putting a curse on him. She said stuff about Lucifer and all.”
“What did Dr. Martin do?”
“Well, he got all upset, naturally. He told her that the TV set was here and that she could have it back. He got it out of the storeroom and carried it to her car. Carol had to help him. She’s the hygienist. She’s a pretty big girl.”
Tammy was no china doll herself. The short sleeves of her blouse were tight around her round white arms.
“Do you believe in curses?” Rhodes asked her.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Tammy said. “But that Betsy Higgins is a real witch. I heard her tell Dr. Martin so. I wouldn’t want her putting any curse on me, I’ll tell you that.”
“I guess not,” Rhodes said. He sent Tammy back to the front, then interviewed Carol Shamblin, the hygienist, who had straight blonde hair that looked as if someone had inverted a soup bowl over her head before giving her a haircut. She had pretty much the same story to tell, and so did Jamie Fox, the assistant.
After he had talked to them, Rhodes called Dr. Martin back. “Why’d you give her the TV set back?” he asked.
“I thought I’d better. She was pretty upset.” Martin gave Rhodes a hard look. “It wasn’t that I believed the curse,” he said.
“What about your rent money?”
“The check is in the mail,” Martin said.
“You could have her evicted,” Rhodes said.
“That’s a lot of trouble. Besides, I really do believe she’ll pay. It’s not that she’s a bad renter. I’ve never had any trouble from her, which is a lot more than I can say for some of my other tenants.”
“I guess I’d better have a talk with her, though,” Rhodes said. “We can’t have people going around cursing our dentists. It’s not good for the county.”
Martin managed a smile. “I’m sorry I got so agitated. I shouldn’t even have called you. I don’t really want her put in jail or anything like that, not now that I’ve had time to think about
“I’m not going to arrest her,” Rhodes said. “I don’t think we have any witchcraft laws. I’ll just talk to her, ask her to be a little better behaved in public. Maybe I’ll even mention that the Sheriff’s department can be called in to evict her, just in case that check isn’t really in the mail.”
“I’d appreciate that, Sheriff,” Martin said. He put out his hand to be shaken. “She lives on Taylor Street. Two-twelve Taylor Street.”
Rhodes took the hand, trying not to worry about how many mouths it had been in that day. “Give me a call if she causes you any more trouble.”
“Thanks, Sheriff, I’ll do that,” Martin said.
Rhodes went out through the waiting room. There were comfortable-looking chairs, and on the wall there were signs saying “We Cater to Cowards” and “Did You Remember to Floss Today?” He felt vaguely guilty. To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember having flossed in a week or two. Well, he’d do it tonight. He took his jacket off the old-fashioned coat rack and went outside.
When Rhodes was young he had seen comic postcards that depicted a map of Texas with the Panhandle stretching all the way to the North Pole. Only a single strand of barbed wire separated the two regions. On days like this he knew what the inspiration for the drawing was. It was December 3, and early in the morning a blue norther had come roaring down out of the high plains, dropping the temperature into the teens. It had warmed up a little, probably into the upper twenties, but that thirty-mile-an-hour wind went right through your clothes and directly to the bone. The sky was a solid gray overcast, and a little snow wouldn’t have surprised Rhodes. It never stayed cold for too long in Blacklin County, but when it got cold, it got cold.
Rhodes got in the county car, started it, and turned on the heater. Cold air blew out on his feet. It would take a while to warm
up, probably about as long as it would take him to drive over to Taylor Street.
Dr. Martin’s rental property, at least this particular house, was not in the very best part of Clearview, the largest town in Blacklin County. The street was paved, but it hadn’t been resurfaced recently, if you defined recently as any time within the last thirty years. It was full of potholes that were several feet wide, though not too deep. In places the paving had almost disappeared.
The houses that lined both sides of the street were mostly wood-frame structures in various states of disrepair. Here and there would be one with a fairly fresh coat of white paint, standing out the more prominently because of the contrast with the neighbors, which often had patched or peeling walls, screens hanging loosely, and an old truck seat on the front porch for a lounge chair.
Rhodes stopped in front of 212. It was one of the better ones; Dr. Martin hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he’d fixed it up. The paint was no more than a year old, the screens were new, and there was even a sturdy cyclone fence.
The heater had just begun to warm Rhodes’s feet. He hated to get out and face the wind again, but he did, hurrying up a narrow cement walk that was also new to knock at the door.
He tried not to shiver as he waited for someone to come to the door. Looking down at the porch, he saw that several of the boards in it had been replaced, though it had not been repainted.
The inner door opened, and looking through the screen Rhodes saw a man so big he looked as if he’d have to step through the door sideways to get out.
“Yeah?” the man said. He had a bass voice that one of the Oak Ridge Boys would have envied.
“I’m Sheriff Dan Rhodes,” Rhodes said. “I’d like to talk to Betsy Higgins.”
“If it’s about that pansy dentist that took our TV, she ain’t got nothin’ to say.” The man’s voice rumbled up from the deep cavern of his chest, which seemed to act like his own private echo chamber.
