by Bill Crider
Chapter 20
Later that night, after they had carried Mrs. Ramsey to the jail and gotten Lawton to install her in the “good” cell, Ivy asked Rhodes, “What do you think really happened?”
They were sitting outside her house in the county car. Rhodes wasn’t feeling particularly romantic, and he sensed that Ivy wasn’t either. “I think she’s telling the truth, as she sees it,” he said. “I don’t know that we’ll ever find out exactly what happened.”
Ivy curled one leg up under her and turned to face him in the front seat. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not trying to hide anything,” Rhodes said. “It’s just that what she believes happened and what really happened may not be the same thing. I mean, she really thinks that it wasn’t her fault. It was Rapper’s fault. Or it was Wyneva’s fault. Failing all that, it was Bert’s fault. But it wasn’t her fault.”
“You mean that she can’t admit it to herself, even if it’s true that she went there with the intention of shooting him,” Ivy said.
“Maybe that’s what I mean,” Rhodes said. “I’m just a sheriff, not a psychologist. They have those in cities, but we don’t have one here.”
“You seem to do all right,” Ivy said.
“Yeah, but it’s no fun,” Rhodes said. “I’ll always wonder about a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why she gave me the story about the motorcycles. Had she really heard them? Why try to put the blame on Buster Cullens? He was a likely suspect, in a way, but would she have let him be arrested? And why wait until the next morning to report the murder? That’s the thing that the prosecutor will hammer into the jury, if she’s tried for murder.”
“ ‘If’?.”
“If. Somehow I doubt that anyone will want that. I imagine that she’ll go to trial on a reduced charge and get a light sentence. Probably probated.”
“And do you care?”
Rhodes wasn’t sure how to answer that. If he had known for sure what had happened that Saturday night when Mrs. Ramsey picked up the shotgun and walked out of her house, he could have answered with certainty. But he didn’t know, and he never would. “I care more about Rapper,” he said finally.
“I’m glad you care,” Ivy said. Then, after a minute, “At least one good thing came out of all this.”
“What?”
“You got yourself a dog.”
It got hot early the next morning. Rhodes went out to the back yard to check on the dog, who was already asleep under the shade tree. Rhodes put out some fresh food and water, but Speedo took very little interest. He had settled in, now, and he knew there would be food and water whenever he wanted it. Rhodes walked over and scratched the dog’s head, then drove to the jail.
Hack and Lawton were waiting expectantly when he walked in. That meant that there was something going on, but he was determined to go on the attack first. “How’s Mrs. Ramsey doing?” he asked.
“Fine, just fine,” Lawton said. “ ‘Course, that cot’s not near close to bein’ big enough for her, but she did all right. I think she spent most of the night readin’ one of those Gideon Bibles. Anyway, Ruth’s back there with her right now, seein’ that she’s comfortable. I put that Wyneva up on the second floor.”
“Judge ought to be settin’ bail for Miz Ramsey before too long,” Hack said. “I don’t expect she’ll be around by this afternoon.”
“She called a lawyer yet?” Rhodes asked. He wanted to be sure a lawyer was present when Mrs. Ramsey was informed of all her rights and while she gave her legal confession.
“Not yet,” Hack said. “You goin’ to ask the judge to appoint one?”
“I think I’ll get her to call Painter,” Rhodes said. “He’s a good one, and he’ll take the case, I think.”
“Good idea,” Hack said. The expectant look was back on his face.
OK, Rhodes thought, I might as well dive in. “Any calls this morning?” he asked.
It was what they had been waiting for. “Two,” Lawton said happily. Hack was quiet, letting Lawton have the only line he was likely to get in the conversation.
“Ah,” Rhodes said, dragging it out to see if he could avoid having to ask who had called.
“One of ‘em was from Clyde Ballinger,” Lawton said.
Hack clamped his teeth together, but he managed not to say anything. He was giving Lawton a lot of rope today.
“Clyde Ballinger?” Rhodes was actually surprised, and the question popped out before he thought. “What did he want?”
“Seems like after you and Ivy left the buryin’ the other afternoon, one of his helpers slipped and turned his ankle while he was fillin’ in the grave,” Hack said. “He wants to know if the county is insured for that sort of thing.”
Rhodes had been holding his breath. Now he let it out in a lengthy sigh. “I was afraid he’d found out something about those arms and legs that would change things around,” he said. “You can tell him that the county isn’t liable if he calls again, but don’t bother to call him. That little job was purely private enterprise, even if he was doing me a favor.”
“That’s what I thought,” Hack said. “I’ll tell him. He said it reminded him of somethin’ out of a book, but I can’t recall what he said the name of it was.”
“Never mind,” Rhodes said. He looked at Hack. He knew they were saving the second call for the last because it was the best. It was always like that.
This time they out-waited him. “All right,” he said after a minute or two, “who was the other call from?”
“The preacher,” Lawton said.
There were more churches in Blacklin County than there were people, someone had once said. That made for a lot of preachers, too. “Which one?” Rhodes asked.
“Where the demonstration was,” Hack said.
“The Reverend Funk,” Rhodes said. “And there wasn’t a demonstration.”
“That’s the one,” Hack said.
“Fine,” Rhodes said. “What did the reverend want today? I hope there hasn’t been another disturbance.”
“Not exactly,” said Ruth Grady as she stepped through the door leading to the cell block. “But it’s pretty close.”
“Good morning, Ruth,” Rhodes said. “I hope you aren’t getting like these two old reprobates.”
Ruth Grady smiled. “Well, they’ve been letting me hang around a little. Hack’s been teaching me about the radio.”
“She’s pickin’ it up pretty dern quick, too,” Hack said. “Before long, she’ll know near about as much as I do.”
“Now, Hack, you know better than that,” Ruth said.
She winked at Rhodes over Hack’s head. Rhodes had to smile.
“Don’t you laugh, Sheriff,” Hack said. “I know you don’t think much of how smart some women can be, but some of us are more. . uh, liberated, than you are.”
“I guess that’s right,” Rhodes said. “But I’m trying to improve myself. Now, back to Reverend Funk.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hack said. “Seems he had a crowd on the church parkin’ lot last night and this mornin’. He called to complain about it and asked for a little help. I told him that the sheriff’d have to deal with it.”
“First time I ever heard a preacher complain about a crowd,” Rhodes said. “But you say this one stayed all night?”
“All night,” Hack said. “Messed up that parkin’ lot somethin’ awful.”
“Messed it up how?”
Hack looked at Ruth Grady, who was standing with a very straight face. “Well, they messed it up,” he said. Rhodes didn’t get it. He looked at Ruth, too.
To keep from laughing, Ruth said, “It was cows, Sheriff. The crowd was a herd of cows. They spent the night on the church parking lot.”
“Oh,” Rhodes said.
“That preacher’s hoppin’ mad,” Lawton said.
“Mad ain’t the word,” Hack said. “They call it ‘wrath’ in the Bible.”
“Same thing,” Lawton said.
“He’s kidding,” Rhodes said.
“I don’t think so,” Ruth said.
“You’re the sheriff,” Hack said.
“Seems like I’ve heard that one before,” Rhodes said.
That evening Rhodes and Ivy were eating supper at the Bluebonnet-hamburgers and Dr Peppers, Rhodes’s favorite. Ivy wanted to know how his day had been.
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Rhodes said.
“Considering the things I’ve seen, heard, and done in the last few days just being around you, I’d believe just about anything,” Ivy said.
“Speaking of that, you never did tell me about learning to ride a motorcycle,” Rhodes said. He thought fleetingly of Ivy’s legs and how they had looked when she hiked up her skirt. He looked down at his Dr Pepper in case he was blushing.
“I told you, my brother taught me,” Ivy said. “He had a bike when we were teenagers, and I wanted to learn to ride. We had to go out to an old field on the far side of town so my mother wouldn’t catch us. She’d have died if she had known.”
Rhodes looked wistful. “I always sort of wanted to own a motorcycle,” he said.
“It’s fun, but it’s dangerous,” Ivy said. “And look at the kind of people it can get you involved with.”
“That’s the truth,” Rhodes said.
“Now, about your day,” Ivy said.
Rhodes told her.
Ivy laughed. “Do you get any extra pay for that?” she asked.
Rhodes shook his head. “I even had to provide my own shovel,” he said.
“Maybe your job isn’t as glamorous and exciting as I thought,” Ivy said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhodes said. “Tomorrow, two government guys are going to show me how to burn a whole field of marijuana.”
“Now that does sound exciting,” Ivy said.
Rhodes shook his head again. “No,” he said biting into the last chunk of his hamburger. “It’s the same thing. We just won’t be using a shovel.” He wadded up the paper the hamburger had been wrapped in and threw it at the trash can.
Ivy stood up and took his hand. Then he drove her home.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-711955-b752-794a-ca9c-c14e-246f-e15c61
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Document creation date: 21.09.2013
Created using: calibre 1.3.0, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Bill Crider
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