by Bill Crider
Chapter Five
“Do you think the two accidents are connected?” Ruth Grady asked.
Rhodes looked off into the trees to the south of the Burleson cabin. There was one that was filled with bright reddish-orange fruit. Persimmons, Rhodes thought. He hadn’t eaten a persimmon in years.
“I don’t much like coincidences,” he said. “Not that two accidents like these are necessarily a coincidence. People drown. People get killed by hit-and-run drivers.”
“Not very often,” Ruth said. “Not in Blacklin County, anyway.”
She had a point. Rhodes couldn’t remember the last hit-and-run he’d investigated before West’s death, and the last drowning had been years before.
“But the accidents weren’t anything alike,” he said. “A hit-and-run and a drowning. They couldn’t be more different.”
“It still bothers me,” Ruth said.
It bothered Rhodes, too.
Rhodes drove back to the jail to do the paperwork on Pep Yeldell. When he got there, Hack and Lawton, the jailor, were waiting for him, Hack at his desk and Lawton leaning on a broom, both of them wearing expectant looks.
Rhodes figured that they wanted him to tell them about Yeldell’s death, and he decided that he wouldn’t. Whenever they knew something, he had to drag it out of them like a man pulling a stump out of swampy ground that just didn’t want to let go. So he went to his desk, put on his reading glasses, and started to write.
“What you need,” Hack said after a while, “is a computer in your car.”
Rhodes didn’t say anything. Hack, who was somewhere in his seventies, probably the latter part of them, was the one who had complained for a long time before Rhodes was finally able to persuade the county commissioners get a computer for the department. But Hack still wasn’t satisfied.
“If you had one in the car,” Hack said, “you could enter your reports right there on the scene. Save ’em on a disk, and you’d have ’em ready to print out when you got back here to the office.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Lawton said.
The jailer was as old as Hack, but Hack had seniority in the department and didn’t like for Lawton to try to steer the conversations. Rhodes stayed quiet, waiting for Hack to ask about the body at the Old Settlers’ Grounds.
But Hack didn’t ask. He said, “I got a call while you were out there investigatin’.”
Rhodes sighed, took off his glasses, folded them, and slipped them in his pocket. He should have known. There could have been only two reasons why Hack wouldn’t have been asking about the body. One was that Hack already knew something, which was highly likely, especially if the ambulance crew had talked on the radio. And the other, even more likely, was that Hack knew something new, something that Rhodes didn’t know.
“Who called?” Rhodes asked, hoping for a quick answer but knowing that it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Friend of yours,” Lawton said.
Hack said, “I’m the one took the call.”
“I know it,” Lawton said. “I was just tryin’ to be helpful.”
Rhodes tried not to smile. The last thing that either of them wanted to be was helpful, at least not until they’d had their fun.
“A friend of mine?” he said.
“Preacher friend,” Lawton said.
Hack twisted in his chair to glare at him. “You didn’t take the call. I took it. I’m the one knows who called.”
“I didn’t say any different.”
“Who called?” Rhodes asked, trying to stall the argument.
Hack turned back to him. “Brother Sterling from the Freewill Church of the Lord Jesus is who called. You and him had a little round when you were foolin’ with that emu rustlin’ business.”
“I know Brother Sterling. What did he want?”
As soon as he’d said it, Rhodes knew he’d made a mistake. If he’d let Hack keep talking, the dispatcher might have let something slip. But now that Rhodes had asked a direct question, Hack would take even longer to get to the point.
“You know how those preachers are,” Hack said.
“Always messin’ in other people’s business,” Lawton added.
Hack twisted in the chair again.
“You don’t have to say it,” Lawton told him. “I didn’t take the call.”
“Durn right, you didn’t.” Hack faced Rhodes. “He was calling about something that has to do with the Old Settlers’ Grounds. I thought that was kinda interestin’, considerin’ where you were at the time.”
Rhodes was interested too, but he didn’t say anything. If he did, he might never find out what he wanted to know.
Hack looked over at his computer. “The ones that go in your car ain’t all that big, you know. They’re like the size of a notebook that you carry to school.”
“I don’t go to school,” Lawton said.
“Yeah, and you prob’ly never did,” Hack said. “You prob’ly stayed at home and —”
“We’re getting off the subject,” Rhodes said, taking a chance.
“I guess we are,” Hack said. “It’s Lawton’s fault, though. He never —”
“Just tell me about the phone call,” Rhodes said, his tone a little sharper than usual.
“All right, then,” Hack said. “You don’t have to get all huffed up about it. You and Ivy gettin’ along all right? You seem mighty cranky today.”
“Ivy and I are getting along fine. Tell me what Brother Sterling wanted.”
“OK, but I hope you and Ivy ain’t havin’ any trouble. A man who don’t keep regular hours and all can get out of touch at home if he’s not careful.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Rhodes said. “Now, about that phone call.”
“Yeah. Seems like Brother Sterling’s a little bit upset with the Sons and Daughters of Texas and their plans for the big celebration next summer.”
“Why?” Rhodes asked.
“Well, he says the word on the street is that there’s gonna be some unChristian goin’s-on there.”
“‘The word on the street’?”
“That’s what they say on those cop shows on TV,” Lawton said. “What it means is —”
“Never mind,” Rhodes said. “I know what it means. What kind of unChristian goings-on is Brother Sterling worried about?”
“Indian dances,” Hack said.
“Indian dances?”
“Native American dances,” Lawton said. “See, Columbus thought he was goin’ to India, and —”
“I guess you did go to school, after all,” Hack said. “I guess you’re gonna show off your education now and tell us all about how the Indians got their name, and —”
“Forget it,” Rhodes said. “Just tell me about the dances.”
Hack looked at Lawton. “See what I mean? Cranky.”
Lawton nodded and opened his mouth to say something.
Rhodes gave him a warning look. “Don’t say it. Just let Hack get back to the point.”
Lawton closed his mouth and shook his head.
Hack said, “Downright cranky. Anyway, it seems like Ty Berry’s been in touch with some tribe of Indians from over in East Texas. They’re gonna come in and do some of their dances at the Old Settlers’ Days. Brother Sterling says that’s paganism and a ’bomination in the sight of the Lord. Least that’s what I think he said.”
“And what does he expect me to do about it?” Rhodes asked.
“He didn’t tell me that. But he said that you’re the sheriff and that if you don’t stop that dancin’ at the Old Settlers’ Grounds, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“There’s already been trouble,” Rhodes said. “There was a dead man out there this morning.”
“Yeah,” Hack said. “You think the preacher killed him?”
“It’s a thought,” Rhodes said.
Chapter Six
Like the Old Settlers’ Grounds, The Free Will Church of the Lord Jesus was in better shape these days than it had been on Rhodes’s
last visit. The sign in front of the building had been repainted, as had the building itself. The windows all had glass in them, and the glass was clean. The roof had new shingles, and there was even a new doorknob on the door to the little room that jutted out to the side of the church and served as Brother Alton’s office.
The inside of the office had also undergone some renovation and improvement. Someone had stripped the old dark varnish off Brother Alton’s desk and put on a new coat of a lighter color. The windows had been washed and thin white curtains had been hung over them. Formerly, all the light in the room had come through the windows, but now there was an electric light fixture on the ceiling.
“Your church seems to be prospering,” Rhodes said.
“The Lord has blessed us,” Brother Alton said. “To a certain extent.”
The preacher was lean and lanky and, unlike his church, hadn’t changed a bit since his last encounter with Rhodes. He was wearing what appeared to be the very same black suit, the same wide black tie, and the same white shirt. He sat rigid and unsmiling behind his desk, and his rimless glasses reflected the light from the ceiling fixture.
“Fresh paint,” Rhodes said. “Electricity in the office. A new roof. It all looks good.”
“It is good,” Brother Alton said. “Except for the roof.”
“What’s wrong with the roof?”
“It is a sham and a fraud. It mocks the Lord.”
Rhodes wasn’t sure how a roof could mock the Lord, but Brother Alton was glad to enlighten him.
“It leaks,” the preacher said. “In ten places.”
“That’s not good,” Rhodes agreed.
“It’s a crime,” Brother Alton said. “And I want the culprit arrested at once.”
Rhodes was confused. “I thought you called about the Indian dancers.”
Brother Alton sighed the sigh of a man who had to confront so much evil that it was hard to know where to begin describing it.
“I did call about that,” he said. “But since that time I’ve had a conversation with Mr. Randall Overton. The dancers are an evil that is not yet present in our community, and we can stop them later. Right now we have to deal with the devil that lives among us. I have his address right here.”
Brother Alton rummaged through the papers that covered his newly varnished desk and finally located a page that looked as if it had been torn from a legal pad. He pulled the page from under a large leather-covered Bible and handed it to Rhodes.
“I want to charge Mr. Overton with fraud,” Brother Alton said.
Rhodes looked at the paper. “What fraud would that be?”
“He promised to fix our roof,” Brother Alton said. “Fool that I am, I believed him. I even paid him in advance.”
“Big mistake,” Rhodes said.
“Amen,” Brother Alton responded. “Oh, he did put shingles on the roof, but they don’t do any good at all. In fact, they made things even worse than they were before he put them on. Now, if it so much as drizzles, water pours into the sanctuary. It can be very distracting to a congregation when water is streaming over them during the sermon.”
“Might keep them awake,” Rhodes said.
Brother Alton stared at him with no trace of a smile.
“Just a little joke,” Rhodes said. “Not a very good one, I guess.”
Another joke suddenly occurred to him, something about baptism, but he repressed it. He didn’t think Brother Alton would appreciate that one, either.
Confirming Rhodes’s suspicion, Brother Alton said, “The work of the Lord is nothing to joke about.”
“I know,” Rhodes said. “And I apologize. But I’m afraid you can’t have Overton arrested for fraud.”
“I have a contract,” Brother Alton said. He opened a desk drawer and began to dig around in it. “It’s right in here somewhere.”
“It won’t matter,” Rhodes said. “Why did you suddenly decide that having Overton arrested was so urgent?”
“Because of what he said when I spoke to him just now. He said that he’d done all he could, that he’d spent all the money we paid him on materials for the job, and that he wasn’t going to do anything more, no matter how much the roof leaked. When I asked to see the receipts for materials, he actually laughed at me. Then he hung up.”
“He’s a crook, all right,” Rhodes said. “Or a con man. But you can’t get him for fraud. Now deceptive business practices, that’s something else again. You might get him on that. It’s not a felony, though.”
“I want that man in jail and out of circulation. He’s a menace to the community.”
“I agree with you, but probably the best you can hope for is to get a judgment against him for the money.”
“God will provide a judgment for him if the law of man can’t.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of judgment,” Rhodes said.
“I know. But the kind of judgment you’re talking about is a joke. He’ll never pay it. He’ll laugh about it.”
Brother Alton was probably right, Rhodes thought. It was too bad there was no good way to get a con man like Overton off the streets. Rhodes would have a little talk with him. He might not be able to arrest him, but he could discourage him from cheating anyone else.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he told Brother Alton. “But I came here to talk about something different.”
“All right, we can talk about my call. I know you understand why I can’t sit still and allow a pagan dance at a celebration of the people who settled this county. It’s not right. It’s an abomination before the Lord.”
“The dance might not be one that’s part of any religious ceremony,” Rhodes said.
“It’s still a pagan dance. I won’t sit still for it.”
“Do you ever go out to the Old Settlers’ Grounds?” Rhodes asked.
Brother Alton didn’t seem to understand the relevance of the question. “What?”
“Do you ever pay a visit to the grounds, just to look around or see what’s been done?”
Brother Alton turned to look out the window, apparently realized that the new curtains, though thin, obscured the view, and turned back to Rhodes.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious.”
“I may have been out there a time or two,” Brother Alton said. “I’m interested in our county’s history.”
Rhodes wondered about that. There was always the chance that Brother Alton had been out at the Grounds for less honorable reasons.
“Did you ever climb a tree while you were there?” he asked.
Brother Alton looked even more confused than he had earlier. “I’m not sure I follow you, sheriff. Why would I want to climb a tree?”
To tie a rope in it, Rhodes thought, but he said, “Do you know a man named Pep Yeldell?”
Brother Alton gave it a moment’s thought. “He’s not a member of my congregation” he said, as if anyone else wasn’t really worth knowing. “Why are you asking these questions? They don’t have anything to do with my call.”
“Yeldell drowned this morning, out at the Old Settlers’ Grounds.”
Brother Alton sat up straighter. “In one of the swimming pools?”
“Yes,” Rhodes said. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t know. It was only a guess. Where else would he drown? The river? No one would swim in the river. Those pools are a menace. They should be drained and covered over.”
“The river feeds them,” Rhodes said. “There’s not really any easy way to drain them. Ty Berry has already suggested it.”
“There might be another tragedy, then,” Brother Alton said. “I think the grounds themselves should be closed to prevent the possibility.”
“That would solve your problem with the dancers, wouldn’t it?”
Brother Alton sat back. “I don’t think I like the way you said that, Sheriff.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Rhodes said, but of course he had.
“The Lord works i
n mysterious ways,” Brother Alton said. “It may be that the death of this unfortunate man — what did you say his name was?”
“Pep Yeldell.”
“It may be that the death of Pep Yeldell is the Lord’s way of telling us that the Old Settlers’ Grounds are unsafe and that there should be no celebrations there.”
“It may be that Mr. Yeldell was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. There won’t be any liquor served at the celebration.”
“And thank the Lord for that,” Brother Alton said. “But there will be liquor there, you can be sure of that. People will bring it in themselves if they can’t buy it. There are always those who try to get around the law.”
“My deputies and I will do our best to see no one gets around it during the celebration.”
“And I’ll do my best to help you,” Brother Alton said.
Rhodes wondered just what he meant by that.
Chapter Seven
It was nearly noon when Rhodes left Brother Alton’s office, so he decided to go by the insurance office where Ivy worked and see if she wanted some lunch.
When he opened the door of the office, he thought about how different it looked from his own offices, the one at the jail and the one at the courthouse. The insurance office had pictures on the freshly painted walls, practically new carpet on the floor, and green plants that Rhodes couldn’t begin to identify growing in pots on wrought-iron stands and in baskets that hung from the ceiling.
Ivy looked up and saw him.
“What a surprise,” she said, and smiled. “A nice one, of course.”
Rhodes liked her smile, her short, graying hair, and just about everything else about her.
“I thought you might like to go to lunch with me,” he said.
Ivy closed the notebook she was writing in and stood up. “I sure would. When was the last time we had lunch together?”
Rhodes couldn’t remember. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had lunch, period. In his job, he didn’t always get to stop work just because the noon hour had arrived.
Before he’d married Ivy, he had sometimes managed to slip home for a bologna sandwich, but Ivy had convinced him that bologna and Miracle Whip on white bread wasn’t exactly the best combination for someone who was worried about his waistline, which Rhodes was. When he had time to think about it, that is.
