Cursed to Death

by Bill Crider

  “So maybe Dr. Martin went there for some other reason, or maybe the van was driven there by someone else and left. We’ll find out. But we’ve got to look at more possibilities than those you gave me at first. Did your husband have any enemies?” Rhodes considered adding, “Besides the people he rented to?” but he thought better of it.

  Mrs. Martin answered promptly this time. “Of course not. He was a man who helped people, not someone who made enemies.”

  It wasn’t a statement that Paul Swan or Little Barnes would have agreed with, but Rhodes let it pass. He hated to ask his next question, but it had to be asked. Rhodes was in some ways a shy man, especially considering the kinds of situations his job often led him into, and there were certain areas of a person’s private life that he didn’t like to pry into.

  “Did your husband . . . did he ever . . . stay out late at night on other occasions?” he asked.

  Mrs. Martin looked at him sharply. The loose springs of hair vibrated. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

  Rhodes returned her look. “It means, did he ever spend time out of the house when he wasn’t on business.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Rhodes could tell he wasn’t going to get any help. In fact, he almost felt that Mrs. Martin was making things deliberately difficult. “Did he like to step out without you? With other women?”

  “Other women?” Mrs. Martin was clearly horrified. “Of course not! I don’t see how you could even ask such a question. Listen to me, Sheriff. My husband was a fine man. A credit to this community. A member of the Lion’s Club.”

  That cinches it, Rhodes thought. A member of the Lion’s Club would never run around on his wife.

  “He would never dream of looking at another woman. What I want—and I want it done at once—is for you to arrest that witch that cursed my husband and put her behind bars!”

  At least she didn’t mention knowing the commissioners again, Rhodes thought. He said, “We can’t prove that she’s done anything yet.”

  “You can prove that she cursed him. That should be enough.”

  “I’ll see what can be done about it,” Rhodes said, rising from the chair. It was like trying to get out of a marshmallow. “Meanwhile I’d like to ask you to do a few things for me.”

  “What things?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could call your husband’s office staff tomorrow and ask them to stay open for business as usual. Tell them not to cancel any of the appointments. I want to go by and talk to them again.”

  “Well . . . all right. But I don’t see why.”

  “You never know what might be important in cases like these,” Rhodes said. He had no idea what that meant, but it seemed to satisfy Mrs. Martin.

  “I see,” she said. “I’ll do it, then.”

  After Rhodes left and began his drive out to Milsby, he thought about something he’d heard somewhere, something about a lady who protested too much. It made him wonder about Dr. Samuel Martin and about the good doctor’s relationship with his wife.

  Ruth Grady had finished with the Suburban by the time Rhodes got back to Milsby. Ed and Tim Cook, still in their sport shirts and slacks, were watching her from a respectful distance. Rhodes waved to them, and they waved back.

  “Find anything?” he asked Ruth.

  “Not a thing. Whoever drove this van here must have wiped it down. Probably learned that from watching television. Did a good job, too. Or maybe the owner just kept it real clean. But even at that there should be prints on the door handles and the wheel. I couldn’t raise a thing.”

  “Did you search it?”

  Ruth shook her head. “Sure did. Another blank. I vacuumed it, too, but I don’t think we’ll turn up much of anything there, either.”

  “Well, we had to try.” Rhodes walked over to Ed and Tim. “You two did a fine job of watching,” he said. “I think it’d be all right for you to go on home now. Thanks for the help.”

  The two boys looked at one another, then stuck out their hands.

  Rhodes shook each hand.

  Ed and Tim turned without saying a word and started walking toward their house. Rhodes watched them go. Big-time crime really gets the kids excited, he thought.

  He walked back over to where Ruth Grady stood by the van. “We’ll take the keys and leave this here for a while. I’ll come back and get it later.”

  “Fine,” Ruth said. “Why don’t you fill me in on the whole story.”

  Rhodes told her about Martin, Betsy Higgins and the Curse, Phil Swan, and Little Barnes.

  “She really put a curse on him?”

  “Right there in his office,” Rhodes said.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that to a dentist,” Ruth said.

  “If you ever do,” Rhodes said, “please don’t do it in this county.”

  It was late afternoon getting on toward evening when Rhodes pulled up in front of Ivy Daniel’s house. He sat in the car for a few minutes before getting out. He knew that she was expecting him to set a date for their marriage, though she’d never actually said a word about it, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t like to think of himself as a coward, and he wasn’t. Not about some things at least. Maybe he was, about this.

  He sighed and got out of the car.

  As usual Ivy seemed glad to see him, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. And Rhodes was glad to see her. Her neat figure, her short, graying hair, the way she smiled, all those things made him feel a really deep glow of pleasure.

  “Want to do some law-work?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “Who do you want me to arrest?”

  “It’s not quite that drastic. I just need a wheel man. Or person.”

  “I’m your man.” She laughed. ”Or person. Would you care to be more specific?”

  Rhodes told her the whole story, just as he’d told it to Ruth Grady.

  “Do you think he’s been kidnapped?” she asked.

  Rhodes had entertained several thoughts. Kidnapping hadn’t been one of them. “No note,” he said. “No phone calls. At first I thought he’d just gone out on a party, but now I don’t know. It’s pretty certain that he didn’t leave that van there, all wiped down.”

  “Then we can say that you suspect ‘foul play’?” She pretended to be writing notes on a nonexistent pad.

  “I don’t say things like that,” Rhodes told her.

  “I know. It’s part of your charm.”

  Rhodes didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think of himself as having any charm, and he thought maybe Ivy was kidding him.

  “How about some food?” she asked.

  Rhodes tried to think of the last time he’d eaten. He couldn’t remember. Maybe he wouldn’t need that stationary bike after all. He sneaked a look at his stomach. Was it any smaller? He couldn’t tell. “What do you have?” he asked.

  “I cooked a roast today. We could warm it up. I’ve got mashed potatoes, carrots, and English peas. I think I may even have some Dr Pepper in the refrigerator.”

  “I’ll just have water,” Rhodes said. “But the rest sounds great. Then we can go get the van.”

  “I’ll warm it up,” Ivy said. “It won’t take long.”

  It didn’t. The food was delicious and didn’t have the “warmed-up” taste that Rhodes always managed to achieve when he had leftovers. When he finished, his belt felt much tighter than it had felt earlier. Well, there was always the bike.

  On the way to Milsby, Rhodes turned on the radio to the local FM station, just as the disc jockey was announcing that he would play a number called “We Don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off to Have a Good Time.”

  “This one was a real biggie only a few months back,” the DJ said in his excited voice.

  Rhodes thought that he probably hadn’t heard the title correctly, or that the DJ was making some kind of joke. Then the song began. There was no joke.

  “Whate
ver happened to songs like ‘Be-Bop Baby’?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ivy said. “Do you think he’s right?”

  “Who?” Rhodes asked.

  “The man singing that song.”

  “I . . . uh . . . I . . .”

  Ivy laughed aloud. “Never mind,” she said.

  Rhodes turned off the radio. “Uh, I might get a call from Hack. Need to be able to hear it.”

  Ivy didn’t say anything, though Rhodes was pretty sure he heard her chuckle. When he looked over at her, her face was composed, the dim lights of the dash giving nothing away. He changed the subject by telling her more about Mrs. Martin.

  “And you think she really believes that the curse had something to do with her husband’s disappearance?” Ivy asked.

  “I don’t think so, not really. I think she’s just tired. She probably hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Maybe she’ll be able to think better if she can get some rest.”

  “But she wouldn’t let you send for a doctor.”

  “No, but I think she’ll sleep without help if she just lets her guard down for a few minutes. There was something funny about the way she acted, though. Something that didn’t have anything to do with the lack of sleep.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Rhodes told her about the ‘protesting too much’ business.

  “Hamlet,” Ivy said. “That’s from Hamlet. Hamlet says it about his mother, that she protests too much.”

  Rhodes tried to remember if he’d ever read Hamlet. Probably not. “Must be something I picked up from Kathy,” he said.

  “So you think maybe his wife had something to do with his disappearance?”

  “I don’t know what I think right now. I can’t see any reason why she would have. But maybe I ought to talk to their insurance agent tomorrow.”

  “You completely discount the curse?”

  “Now don’t tell me that you believe in curses.”

  “You never know,” Ivy said. “Some women have strange powers.”

  Rhodes looked at her again. He still couldn’t tell whether she was kidding.

  Ivy followed the county car back to the jail. They parked the van in the rear of the old structure and Rhodes took the keys inside. Ivy went in with him.

  “Hello, Hack,” she said.

  Hack got out of his chair by the radio. He always got up when Ivy visited the jail.” Evenin’, Miz Daniel,” he said.

  “Keep your seat, Hack,” Rhodes said. “We won’t be staying. Any new customers?”

  “Nope,” Hack said. “But it won’t be long. Closer it gets to Christmas, the more customers we’ll get. Just like every year.”

  “Why is that?” Ivy asked.

  Hack shook his head. He hadn’t sat back down. “People who can’t afford presents. They’ll rob somebody or steal somethin’. Have to spend Christmas in the jailhouse. Makes it sad for the whole family.”

  Ivy looked around the room, at the gun rack, the flyers on various desperate criminals, the untidy desks. “You don’t have a Christmas tree,” she said. Rhodes could sense the accusation in her tone.

  “We never have had one,” Hack said. “It might not be a bad idea, though.”

  “Where do you spend Christmas, Hack? You and Lawton?” Ivy asked.

  “Right here,” Hack said. “Sheriff usually comes in and we have a sandwich or somethin’.”

  Rhodes felt an obscure need to defend himself. “Now you know that we had turkey and dressing last year, Hack.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Miz Stutts sent over too much, so we got the extra.”

  Miz Stutts was the woman who had a contract to feed the prisoners. She did such a good job that Rhodes would not have been surprised if some of the Christmas Day prisoners hadn’t gotten themselves jailed on purpose.

  “It was good anyway,” Rhodes said.

  “Sure was,” Hack said. “I hope she sends too much this year. Sure would beat them sandwiches we usually get.”

  “I’m going to bring in a Christmas tree,” Ivy said. “And I’ll fix the Christmas dinner.”

  Rhodes opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

  “That sounds mighty nice,” Hack said. “You sure you want to do that?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Everybody deserves a Christmas dinner. And everybody ought to have a Christmas tree, too.”

  “I guess so,” Hack said. “What do you think, Sheriff?”

  “Sounds fine to me, too,” Rhodes said.

  “Then that’s settled,” Ivy said. “I think there’s plenty of room for a tree in here.”

  “Long as it don’t have those needles that drop off on the floor,” Lawton said, coming in from the cellblock area. “I purely do hate to have to sweep up those needles. I remember once we had one of those trees at home, and those needles got in the vacuum cleaner and like to have burned up the motor before we figured out what was stuck in there.”

  “We can cut a cedar tree,” Ivy said. “There’s plenty of them around here. And they don’t have needles.”

  “Good,” Lawton said. Then he looked at Rhodes. “Uh, Sheriff, I was wonderin’ if I could have a word with you.”

  “Sure,” Rhodes said, wondering what was up. He followed Lawton out the door and up the stairs to the cells on the second floor.

  “Is there something wrong with the cells?” Rhodes asked.

  “Naw, nothin’ like that,” Lawton said. “It’s just that me and Hack’ve been talkin’ about this here curse business.”

  “So?”

  “So we been thinkin’ maybe there’s somethin’ to it. I mean, not really, but like in the case of the mind influencin’ the body. You know what I mean?”

  “Not exactly,” Rhodes said. “Maybe you better tell me.”

  “It’s like that voodoo stuff,” Lawton said. The cell area was not very well lighted, but Rhodes could see well enough to be able to tell that Lawton was absolutely serious.

  “Voodoo?” he said.

  “Yeah, like when somebody puts a curse on you or sticks pins in them voodoo dolls and you die, or at least get sick because you know you’re supposed to. The mind influences the body.

  “Like the guy that died of the rattlesnake bite,” Rhodes said.

  “Right!” Lawton said. They both remembered the story well because the host of a TV wildlife program had told it so often. Both Lawton and Rhodes had been faithful viewers of the show. “Everybody told him to watch out for snakes, so he was out one day and backed into that whatchamacallit—”

  “We always called it a Devil’s Claw,” Rhodes said.

  “—that Devil’s Claw. And when the two points of that thing stuck him, the seeds in the pod rattled together and sounded to him like a snake. The poor sucker died before they could get him to a hospital because he thought he’d been snake bit.”

  “But Dr. Martin’s teeth didn’t fall out,” Rhodes said. “He disappeared.”

  “Same thing,” Lawton said.

  First Mrs. Martin, now Lawton and Hack. “Where do you think his mind influenced him to go?” Rhodes asked.

  “How should I know?” Lawton said. “You’re the sheriff, not me.”

  “OK,” Rhodes told him. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good,” Lawton said. “You can go on back down now. I got to work on one of the bunks up here. Leg needs straightenin’.”

  Rhodes went back downstairs, and he and Ivy left. As they walked to the car she asked, “What did Lawton want?”

  “Well, you might say he was giving me his theory of the Martin disappearance.”

  “Which is?”

  “A case of the mind influencing the body.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Like voodoo.”

  “Oh.”

  “So what were you and Hack discussing while I was gone? Decorations for the tree?”

  “Not exactly. He was telling me that he’d seen where a famous scientist had discovered Atlantis.”

  First voodoo, n
ow Atlantis, Rhodes thought. “Where did he see that?” he asked.

  “In one of those tabloids. He read the front page while he was in the checkout line at Wal-Mart.”

  “I knew he was getting too much time off,” Rhodes said. “He and Lawton together will believe just about anything.”

  “And of course you don’t hold with curses at all.”

  “Not much,” Rhodes said.

  He didn’t change his mind, even though Mrs. Martin was murdered that night.

  Chapter 7

  Rhodes was the one who found her.

  He called twice to remind her about letting the office staff know to keep the office open all day, but he got no answer. Then he called the office staff, who hadn’t heard either. So Rhodes asked them himself to stay open even though the doctor didn’t show up and to cancel the appointments only when the patients arrived. Then he drove to the Martins’ house.

  He knocked and rang the bell.

  No answer. Thinking that maybe Mrs. Martin had taken a sleeping pill, he started walking around the house. He got only as far as the garage, where he noticed that the door leading into the house was ajar.

  He walked past the cars and opened the door, calling Mrs. Martin’s name. Still no answer.

  He went into the house, continuing to call out. He was in the kitchen, a kitchen such as he had never seen before, filled with every imaginable gadget—under-the-cabinet coffee maker and can opener, microwave, trash compactor, refrigerator that would give you ice cubes in a glass through an opening in the door, food processor, juicer, blender, and several things Rhodes couldn’t even put a name to.

  But no sign of Mrs. Martin.

  She wasn’t far, however. Rhodes found her in the next room, right beside the couch where she had sat the previous day to talk to him. She was still wearing the same robe. The main difference was that her still stiff hair was stained a dark black by blood.

  Rhodes looked around the room. The place looked as if it had been systematically searched. The desk drawers were open, and papers had been spilled on the floor. The presents under the tree had been opened, too, though the contents of the boxes—sweaters, shirts, slacks—had apparently been left there. The books had been removed from the shelving and were lying on the floor. The VCR was missing from the home entertainment center, along with the TV set.