by Bill Crider
“I was scared,” Rhodes said. “I don’t mind admitting it.”
“It doesn’t count to admit it after I’ve brought it up. Now it sounds almost as if you’re joking.”
Rhodes thought about the way he’d felt when the first bullet hit the tree, and about the way he’d felt when he’d jumped. About waiting behind the tree, shivering with cold and wondering if the shooter was going to come after him.
“I’m not joking,” he said.
Ivy picked up the salt shaker and looked at it as if examining it for cracks. Then she set it back where it had been. “I know you’re not joking,” she said finally. “It’s just that I don’t like it when something like this happens. You’re not always going to be so lucky, you know.”
“Luck?” Rhodes said. “Who said it was luck. It was skill and science, that’s what it was.”
“Now you really are joking about it.”
“I know it. Sometimes you just have to make light of things. It’s easier to deal with them that way.”
“Easier for you, maybe. I don’t like it, not even a little bit.”
While she was speaking, Yancey, who had gone away for a rest, came back into the room. He looked at Rhodes and bared his tiny teeth. Then he began to growl.
“Are we having a fight?” Rhodes asked.
“Are you talking to me or to Yancey?” Ivy asked.
“You. But I can tell that Yancey’s not exactly pleased with me, either.”
“And I don’t blame him a bit. But we’re not having a fight. I told you the other day that I knew what I was getting into when I married you. Maybe I was joking a little bit then about the ‘man of action’ part, but I didn’t think you’d be going around getting shot at and jumping out of trees and going swimming when it’s forty degrees outside. Anyway, I know what your job is, and I know you have to do it. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Yancey didn’t like it either. He was still growling.
“Would it do any good if I promised not to do it again?” Rhodes asked.
“No, because I know good and well you would do it again if you had to. And because you can’t promise that nobody’s going to be shooting at you anymore.”
“People don’t shoot at me often,” Rhodes said.
“And it’d a good thing too. Yancey and I don’t like it.”
Yancey continued a low growling, but his teeth were no longer bared. Rhodes took that as a good sign.
“I won’t get shot at this afternoon for sure,” Rhodes said.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to stay at home with you. Maybe we could watch a movie.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Popcorn?”
“I’ll make it myself.”
“Even better. And after the movie?”
“After the movie,” Rhodes said, “I’m going to church.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brother Alton sat straight in his chair. He was in his Sunday best, which wasn’t that much different from his everyday dress. The black suit, in fact, looked almost exactly the same, except that it might have been a little newer. The tie had a slightly different pattern, and the white shirt was cleaner.
“I’m working on my sermon for the evening,” he said when Rhodes came into the little office. “I don’t have much time to talk.”
“This won’t take long,” Rhodes said. “I’d like to know something about Kara West. She’s given quite a bit of money to your church, hasn’t she?”
“I don’t discuss the giving habits of my members,” Brother Alton said. “In fact, I don’t really keep up with what an individual gives. I don’t want to know things like that.”
“Who does keep up with it?” Rhodes asked.
“The church secretary. But that information is confidential.”
Rhodes didn’t really care. He already knew that Mrs. West had given money to the church. The amount didn’t particularly interest him.
“I don’t want to know about the money,” he said. “What I want to know has more to do with her marriage. And with her husband.”
Brother Alton pursed his lips. “I don’t gossip about my flock.”
“But does your flock gossip about its members?” Rhodes asked.
Brother Alton sat up a little straighter, if that was possible. He obviously didn’t like the question.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Mrs. West told me that someone from this church told her that her husband was fooling around with other women.”
“The church isn’t a place where perfect people come on Sunday to pass judgment on others,” Brother Alton said.
Rhodes didn’t quite get it. “You want to explain that?”
Brother Alton took off his glasses, closed his eyes, and pinched his nose where the glasses had left little red marks on either side. Then he put the glasses back on and looked at Rhodes as if he were a little dense.
“Church members are as likely to gossip about each other as the unchurched are,” Brother Alton said. “But I don’t think anyone would have said that about John West.”
Rhodes didn’t see why not.
“Because,” Brother Alton said, “my flock wouldn’t know about something like that.”
Rhodes must have smiled, because Brother Alton said, “I know what you’re thinking. And I know what I just said about church members being as inclined to gossip as anybody. But they wouldn’t know about John West fooling around because most of them don’t go to places where things like that go on.”
“The County Line?” Rhodes said.
The preacher looked at Rhodes as if Rhodes had just blasphemed in the sanctuary.
“I’ve heard of that place,” Brother Alton said. “My members don’t go there.”
Rhodes wasn’t so sure about that, but he said, “All right. But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have heard something from someone who did go.”
“They might have heard something, but it wouldn’t have been the truth. So I doubt that they would have repeated it.” He saw Rhodes’ look and continued, “Gossip is one thing. Malicious, untrue gossip is something else.”
Rhodes thought that Brother Alton was about as expert at splittin hairs as anyone he’d ever talked to.
“How do you know it wouldn’t have been true?” he asked.
“Because I knew John West. He was a member of this church, and while he didn’t always attend, he was a good man.”
“He went to the County Line,” Rhodes said. “More than once.”
“If that’s true,” Brother Alton said, “It would only have been within the last year. That’s when his attendance started to drop off. His wife never was as regular as he was.”
Brother Alton might not be a gossip, but if you kept him talking for a while, sooner or later he’d let something interesting slip out.
Rhodes said, “He came to church alone, then?”
“Most of the time. Except for the last year or so when he barely came at all. But I’m sure he had a good reason.”
Probably a hangover, Rhodes thought. He said, “But his wife was never much of a church-goer?”
“Not that I know about,” Brother Alton said.
“I wonder why she’s been so generous to you lately, then.” Rhodes said.
“You’d have to ask her about that,” Brother Alton told him.
Rhodes left the church and drove over to the jail. Brother Alton had confirmed what Tuffy West had said some time earlier, that John West wasn’t a womanizer. And Yvonne Bilson hadn’t mentioned a woman being with West at the County Line.
Rhodes wondered who had told Kara West that her husband was seeing other women, and why. And if it hadn’t been someone from the church, why had she lied about it?
Of course the fact that Brother Alton insisted that it hadn’t been a church member didn’t really mean much. He’d admitted that they gossiped, which was certainly no surprise. And someone who gossips wasn’t likely to care very much whether
the gossip being passed along was absolutely true, no matter what Brother Alton thought. At any rate, it gave Rhodes one more thing to think about.
Hack and Lawton were arguing about Ma and Pa Kettle when Rhodes got to the jail, with Lawton maintaining that there were three Pa Kettles before the series ended. Hack insisted that there had been only two.
“Name ’em, then,” Hack said. “Go ahead. If you think there was three of ’em, you try to say who they were. I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t do it.”
“Gamblin’s against the law,” Lawton said with a glance in Rhodes’s direction. “I might get arrested.”
“I’ll go light on you,” Rhodes said, heading for his desk and hoping not to get involved.
“Go on, then,” Hack said. “You heard him. He’ll prob’ly let you off with just cleanin’ the cells good for a change.”
“You sayin’ I don’t clean ’em good now?”
“I’m saying there weren’t any three Pa Kettles, and you can’t name ’em.”
“Well, the best one was Percy Kilbride,” Lawton said. “I guess you won’t argue about that.”
“Course I won’t. But that’s just one. You still got two more to go.”
Lawton lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Well, there was that guy that I always get confused with some other guy.”
Hack snorted. “If that’s the best you can do, you might’s well pay me my dollar right now. I’m gonna get it in the end, anyway.”
“Arthur somethin’ or other,” Lawton said. “Kennedy?”
“I don’t know ’bout any Kennedy’s except Teddy and his brother John F.,” Hack said. “You give up?”
Lawton snapped his fingers. “Hunnicutt! Arthur Hunnicutt’s who it was.”
“That’s just two,” Hack said.
“Well, there was another one. I just can’t think of who it was.”
“That’s ’cause there wasn’t one. Pay up.”
Rhodes had his glasses on, and he was shuffling through a stack of reports, trying to look very busy. Lawton sidled up to his desk anyway.
“Sheriff,” Lawton said, “you know about old movies and stuff like this. Who was the other one?”
“Wasn’t any other one,” Hack said.
Rhodes sighed and took off his glasses. He rubbed his nose just like Brother Alton had done, putting it off as long as he could.
Finally he said, “Parker Fennelly.”
“There you go,” Lawton said. “I knew it. Percy Kilbride, Arthur Hunnicutt, and Parker … what’d you say his name was, Sheriff?”
“Fennelly,” Rhodes said. “Parker Fennelly.”
“Right,” Lawton said. “Parker Fennelly. One, two, three. I guess I’ll take my dollar now, Mr. Hack.”
He was reaching his hand toward Hack when Rhodes said, “But Arthur Hunnicutt didn’t play Pa.”
“Gotcha!” Hack said, slapping at Lawton’s hand. Then he said, “Are you sure about that, Sheriff? I’d hate to have to pay Lawton a dollar, but I thought I saw the one where that Arthur guy was Pa.”
“Yeah,” Lawton said. “That’s for certain. He was in the one about the moonshiners. It was just the other guy I was worried about thinkin’ of.”
“Parker Fennelly,” Rhodes said.
“Yeah, that’s the one. But Arthur Hunnicutt, that’s a seven for sure.”
“Not quite,” Rhodes said. “Arthur Hunnicutt played Ma’s brother-in-law.”
Hack laughed. “That settles it,” he said. “You can’t beat the sheriff when it comes to that stuff, Lawton. You might as well get that dollar out and hand it to me.”
Lawton tugged a worn leather billfold from his back pocket and took out a dollar. He handed it to Hack without another word.
“Look at this dollar,” Hack said, holding it up. “Looks like it’s been in there since about 1956.”
Lawton said, “I think I’ll go clean the cells real good.”
Rhodes and Hack both laughed, and Rhodes wondered just what there was about the conversation that bothered him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
There was no pressing business at the jail, other than settling more arguments about old movies. This time the subject was Francis the Talking Mule and whether Donald O’Connor had been in all the movies. Rhodes didn’t want to get into any more of that. He stayed for a few minutes to look over some arrest reports and then drove home.
It was getting late, but there was still a little daylight left, so he and Ivy took Yancey outside to introduce him to Speedo.
Speedo didn’t seem impressed. Neither did Yancey. They sniffed each other for a while, though Yancey couldn’t really get close to the places he wanted to sniff the most, and after that they went to separate sides of the yard. Speedo seemed interested mainly in guarding his toy frog in case Yancey tried to make off with it.
“I think I’ll take Yancey for his walk before it gets dark,” Ivy said. “Want to come along?”
“I’m going to go inside and try to think,” Rhodes said. “I know there’s something I’ve heard about those accidents that ought to mean something to me, but I don’t know what it is.”
“I’m not surprised. Getting shot at can take your mind off the less important things.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Rhodes said. “Maybe I just need to relax and forget about it for a few hours.”
“I can help,” Ivy said. “But not until after I take Yancey for a walk.”
“I should never have given you that dog,” Rhodes said. “He’s going to monopolize your time.”
“Jealous?”
“Maybe a little.”
“That’s good,” Ivy said. “I like that in a man.”
Later that night Ivy asked Rhodes if he’d remembered what he’d been trying to recall when they were in the yard.
“No,” he said. “It’s there, but it just won’t come to the front.”
“What are you thinking about then?”
“The Edsel,” he said.
She punched him lightly in the arm. “That’s not very flattering.”
“Well, I was thinking about the accidents, too. I was sure all along that they were more than just accidents, and the fact that someone took a few shots at me is pretty good evidence that I was right.”
“Or that somebody really doesn’t like you very much.”
“There’s that,” Rhodes said. “We could haul in half the county for questioning if that was the case.”
“I was only kidding,” Ivy said.
“So was I. Sort of.”
“Like you were kidding about thinking of the Edsel?”
“I wasn’t entirely kidding about that. I still haven’t talked to Bull Lowery about Yeldell. He worked for Bull, but from what Ruth Grady tells me, Bull didn’t like him. And Bull had some dealings with Overton, too. Overton took him pretty good.”
“I don’t see what all that has to do with the Edsel.”
“Bull runs a body shop. I can go by there tomorrow morning and see what he’d charge me for fixing it up.”
“And while you’re there you can always get in a few subtle questions about whether he happened to kill Pep Yeldell and Randall Overton.”
“Not to mention whether he took a few shots at me today.”
“You’d better be pretty subtle when you get to that part,” Ivy said. “Do you really think he might be the one?”
“That’s what I’m going to try to find out,” Rhodes told her.
Rhodes went by the jail first thing the next morning. A Pacific front had followed the norther into town, and the beautiful weather of the previous day had deteriorated rapidly. The sky was solid gray from horizon to horizon, and the air was filled with a cold mist. Patchy ground fog swirled around Rhodes’s legs when he got out of the car, and the jail looked a little like one of the sets from Castle of Frankenstein.
Rhodes went inside and had a few words with Ruth Grady, who was about to go on patrol.
“Tell me again about Bull Lowery,” he said.
> She repeated what she had told him earlier, and Rhodes listened closely, trying to determine if there was anything he’d missed the first time. There wasn’t.
“And you’re sure he said Pep abused his wife?”
“I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that, too. Since no charges were filed, do you think maybe Bull took it on himself to straighten Pep out?”
“I think it’s possible,” Rhodes said. “And he might have had it in for Overton, too. That could explain two of the victims, but it doesn’t explain West.”
“West sold auto parts. Maybe there were some bad business dealings there that we don’t know about.”
“That could be. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Ruth said. “Bull Lowery could have handled them easily. And I don’t mean one at a time. He could have handled all three of them at once.”
“He could handle all three of ’em and you could throw in a couple more their size to boot,” Hack said. He’d been pretending not to listen to their conversation, but he obviously couldn’t resist breaking in. “Bull’s got a neck that must go nineteen inches around, and that’s when he’s been on a diet. I hear he hammers out most of the fender dents with his bare fist.”
“Want me to go along for back-up?” Ruth asked Rhodes.
“Thanks for the offer,” Rhodes said. “But I don’t think I’ll need any help. If Bull did anything wrong, I’ll bring him in myself.”
“You’re gonna get in trouble with that lone wolf stuff one of these days,” Hack said.
Ruth turned to look at him. “Get in trouble? Where have you been for the last year or two?”
“I won’t get in trouble,” Rhodes said.
He didn’t think this would be a good time to bring up what had happened to him at the Old Settlers’ Grounds. Ruth and Hack might try to make more of it than the situation warranted. Bring Ivy in, and they could have a high old time telling him about his casual disregard for his own health and safety.
“Bull Lowery could break your neck with one hand,” Hack said. “Less than that. Two fingers, prob’ly. Wouldn’t even work up a sweat while he was at it, either.”
