by Jeff Abbott
Not the other way around.” I shrugged. “I figured that Beta Harcher was the proposed topic.” She laid her fork down, as though in surrender. Her eyes, dark with smoke, met mine and for the first time I felt a little afraid of her. She’d poured the margarita for me and now I wondered if it didn’t have the slightest lethally chemical taste. “ Touche. And I’m sorry I picked on your”-her mind searched for an appropriate term for Candace-“little friend.” “So what about Beta?”
I asked. “Who killed her?” “I don’t know. Who do you think did it?”
Ruth leaned forward. “Not you. I’m not saying that out of any sort of fear toward you.” “Gee, thanks. That’ll keep me from cutting your throat later.” Unexpectedly, she broke into raucous laughter. Other tables glanced our way, saw the empty pitcher, and lost interest. I couldn’t keep from smiling at her despite feeling that the joke just wasn’t funny. She poked my arm with short painted fingernails. “I like you, Jordy. You’re on the edge.” “Thanks. I think.” “I mean it, Jordy.
You’re so different from most people in Mirabeau. God, the entire town’s a bore.” I stiffened, the margarita glass halfway to my lips.
“You don’t like Mirabeau?” She made a dismissive noise. “I suppose there are worst places. But don’t you find it unbearable after the big city?” I finished the sip of margarita I’d started. Did I hate it here? Perhaps I had when I’d first come home; the shock of Mama’s illness, the tension between Sister and me, and the stress of taking over at the library hadn’t made Mirabeau seem congenial. But when I thought about it, Mirabeau was still home. You can take the boy out of the country, but not the country out of the boy. Coming home had been a rediscovery of sorts; that people waved and spoke to you on the street, even if they didn’t know you (and they weren’t begging or raving), that neighbors all knew each other, that you could sleep with a window open on a lovely spring night without fear. So what if we didn’t have a sushi bar? I’d just as soon use raw fish for bait down on the Colorado. I smiled thinly. “No, I like it here.” She flicked her tongue across her smile. “Maybe I am in trouble. Didn’t mean to bash sweet ol’ Mirabeau.” “Let’s get back to Beta. I didn’t mean to debate Mirabeau’s merits.” She lowered her eyes, staring at her empty glass. “Beta. Y’know, I’ve seen plenty of people die in my line of work. You avoid sympathy because you just can’t spend the energy. I’ve cried more over an unknown child that died in the emergency room than I ever will over Beta Harcher.” She shrugged, a slow uncoiling movement. “You didn’t have a cordial past with her,” I said. She sipped at her margarita, rolling the crushed ice and salt in her mouth, and studied me over the glass. “No, I didn’t. We didn’t agree about the library.” “And even less about the hospital.” Ruth’s nerves didn’t move, much less jump. She smiled. “So you know about that little stink she made.” “I have a distinct feeling that if she’d been poisoned last night, you’d be spending quality time with Junebug Moncrief right now.” “That whole incident was utterly ridiculous.
Crazy woman that she was, I almost felt sorry for her. Until she died.” “One item confuses me no end,” I said. “Why she didn’t raise this issue at some point in the censorship fight at the library? With you on my side and her against us, she would have vented full steam.
She sure in hell didn’t spare me, Eula Mae, or Matt Blalock.” I wasn’t certain that breath was still escaping from her lips. Her dark eyes traveled my face, as though looking for a crack. I blinked. I waited.
Finally she shrugged as if the question were unimportant. “It didn’t happen. I never, ever tried to poison her or harm her in any way. She made it up because she hated my guts.” “How did the hospital keep her from making-uh- unfounded accusations?” She straightened. “They know me there, and they knew her story was bullshit. The hospital told her they’d sue her for slander, libel, whatever if she claimed that I tried to hurt her. They meant it and she saw that. So she shut up.” “I should have tried that approach with her at the library. Got me an attorney.” Considering that the only attorney I knew was my uncle Bid, that was a wholly unappetizing prospect. Ruth laughed again. “We could have kept a whole firm litigating against her.” “So why did she make that charge against you, Ruth, if it was foundless? I’m curious as to her motive.” “What possessed that woman-no pun intended-anyhow, Jordy?
You know how judgmental and demanding she was. She’d get into her head that you were a sinner and that she was going to get you good-before God had a chance.” Ruth’s eyes held mine for a long moment. “Crazy people don’t need motives.” “So she just made up that story about you trying to kill her? For no good reason?” “That’s right. Like I said, she was nuts.” “Odd. I always thought she knew exactly what she was doing.” “If she did it, it was because she didn’t like me. Maybe she was planning her censorship campaign then and knowing I’d side against her, she decided to smear me off the board. Look, Jordy,”-her voice imparted frustration-“she redefined pathetic, okay?” “I won’t argue with you on that point.” “You might want to save your arguments for the police.” Ruth frowned. “You said you didn’t know who killed her.
The police and that bumpkin D.A. asked me about you and Miss Harcher.
Like how bad did it get between the two of you at the board meetings.
They wanted to know if you threatened her at the meetings. Someone told Billy Ray that you said you could’ve killed Beta.” I kept from groaning. Who had been standing there after Ruth hustled Beta out?
Eula Mae, Tamma, and almost six other library regulars. I wished I’d bitten off my intemperate tongue. “Billy Ray asked me to confirm that when I told him I saw the fight between you and Beta, but I told him I hadn’t heard you say any such thing.” “Thanks. Billy Ray’s hot on my trail.” Ruth shook her head. “I already told you I don’t think you did it. Whoever killed that woman had to hate her from the get-go. It couldn’t have been a crime of passion; no one loved her.” “Passion can mean hate, too. And Matt sure seems to have hated her.” Ruth Wills drew back from the table, resting against the booth. She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe Matt could murder anyone.” It was an unexpected defense. “You should have seen him today. He hated her guts. I didn’t like her; neither did you or Eula Mae. I think she irritated Bob Don and the Hufnagels more than they’d admit. But Matt despised her.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know Matt very well, but he served his country and I don’t think he’d kill Beta.” “Then who?” She leaned forward. “It obviously had to be someone she knew.
She wouldn’t have been in the library with a stranger. She didn’t have a key.” “Tamma Hufnagel says Beta swiped Adam’s key,” I interjected.
Ruth snorted. “Whatever. Regardless of who had the key, she wouldn’t have been there, late at night, with someone she didn’t know. So why was she at the library?” “I don’t know.” “She was meeting someone there. Someone she couldn’t meet elsewhere because they needed privacy. If she had to meet with someone on the library board, why not at the deserted library?” She tapped fingertips on the table. “She could have met me at my place-I live alone. Same with Eula Mae. But not so with Matt, Bob Don, Janice Schneider, Reverend Hufnagel, or you. You all have keys and you all have families in your homes. Now I don’t think that you or Matt did it. Adam Hufnagel’s the biggest stuffed shirt I can imagine, but he is a preacher and I don’t think he’s a killer. Janice Schneider-pardon me, I know she’s kin to you-is a wimp. That just leaves Bob Don.” I opened my mouth and shut it again. I hadn’t given much thought to why Beta was at the library; I’d assumed she’d wanted to get rid of books she’d objected to. “So why would Bob Don want to kill her?” I asked. Ruth smirked. “I would pick him, when you start narrowing down the options.” “Why Bob Don?” I thought of Bob Don’s heartiness toward me, his seeming willingness to help me. And Tamma’s story of his arrival at Beta’s as she left, looking angry. “Something that happened last Saturday. I’ve been looking at buying a pickup truck and Bob Don
’d told me he’d give me a good price. I stopped by the dealership late Saturday after I got off my shift at the hospital. He’d told me he’d deal with me direct So I went back to his office.” Ruth fidgeted for a minute. “Beta was there.
I heard her voice even before I was at the door. She was screaming at him, telling him he was nothing but a lousy lying sinner. I opened the door-I actually thought something violent was going on. Beta and Bob Don were in there, all right And Bob Don looked like I’d just kept him from committing murder. His face was all bloated and red, he was so mad. Beta had spit on her chin and she was waving that damned old Bible of hers in his face. The tension, the hatred in that room.” She shivered. All news to me. “My God! What happened?” I asked. She drained the last of her margarita. “I muttered something about how they were yelling loud enough to raise the dead. I thought Bob Don was going to have a stroke. He’s got one of those pulsy veins in his forehead that jitter when he’s mad. Beta gave me one of those triumphant little sneers. She told Bob Don to remember what she said, ‘or you know who’ll pay. You don’t want ’em hurt, do you?’ I can’t forget the words, because she said them with such contempt. She threatened him, with me right there. I was speechless. She called me a name-I believe hussy was her new vocabulary word- then she pushed past me and left.” “I saw Bob Don today. Junebug and Billy Ray paid him a visit.” Ruth nodded. “They saw me at the hospital this morning. I told them where I’d been last night. That was their first question, and then I told them about Bob Don and Beta.” “So where were you last night?” She didn’t seem to mind the question. “On duty at the hospital. I worked a double shift ’cause I’m taking off some time later this month.” “So did Bob Don say anything to you after Beta left?” “Like I said, I was ready to call the cops. I thought his aorta was about to conk out. He just sank into his chair and looked up at me like he’d never seen me before.” Ruth fell silent as a smiling, talkative waiter cleared the table of the empty pitcher and plates.
After he hustled away, she continued: “I asked him if he was okay, and he didn’t even answer me the first time. He finally said he’d be fine, so I left. It was weird. I’ve seen a look like that in my work. When somebody hears a loved one has died, or that they’re terminally ill.”
Bob Don. He’d been hearty, not shaken, when I was in his office. From Ruth’s account you might have thought he’d weep in relief when I told him Beta was dead. He’d acted like he was hardly affected. What had she done to him? Who were the they she threatened to hurt? I was still thinking when she propositioned me. I almost didn’t hear her. “What?”
I said, thinking she’d misspoken. “I said, let’s go back to my place.
We’ve both had rotten days, Jordy. Maybe we can help each other relax.” Her voice already felt like hands gently massaging my shoulders. A red fingernail idly traced the hair on my wrist. Now I grew up a hick, but that awkwardness was long past me. I’d been a big boy for a while and could handle a sexually aggressive and confident woman. God knows I was attracted to her. The yes half-formed on my tongue till I thought of Beta’s allegations against her and Eula Mae’s warning to be careful. I liked Ruth, but I wasn’t sure I trusted her.
And I was suddenly far too tired. Not that Candace did not influence my decision in any way. Remotely. “No, thanks, Ruth. I appreciate the offer, but it’s been a long and stressful day. I need to get on home.”
She smiled a smile she didn’t mean. I saw her eyes crinkle in anger for a bare moment; she wasn’t accustomed to refusal and she didn’t like it. The crinkle faded. “I understand. Why don’t you call me when you’re feeling more up to par?” I nodded, wondering if she was challenging my potency with that last remark. I walked her out to her car. It was a red Miata. “Cool wheels,” I said. She patted it. “My vice,” she said. “I know it’s an indulgence, but nurses don’t get many chances to spoil themselves. I got an inheritance from my aunt in Corpus and decided to splurge.” She opened the door and slid inside.
Elegantly. I fought back a sudden fantasy of checking myself into the hospital and letting Ruth give me a sponge bath. “How’s your mom?” she asked unexpectedly. “Best as could be expected.” “Must be hard on you,” she said, thoughtfully. “Emotionally and financially.” “Yes, it is. On both counts.” She gave me a speculative smile and cranked her engine. I promised to call her later and watched her drive off. I walked to my Blazer, thinking what an idiot I was. Here was a gorgeous woman who was practically throwing herself at me and here I was, too tired, antsy, and distrusting for even a roll in the hay. Lord knows my sex life had evaporated since I’d moved back to Mirabeau. Maybe I’d entirely lost my drive. My pants felt tight and I decided that wasn’t my problem. I liked Ruth, but I didn’t particularly relish bedding anyone on Beta’s list. There were too many unanswered questions, and I wasn’t entirely sure I believed Ruth’s disclaimers about Beta’s lies.
I pushed in the Blazer’s cigarette lighter and fished a pack out of my glove compartment. I’d stuck them there last week, vowing to quit. If Ruth could have her Miata, I could have my vice, too. As a smoking spot, the Blazer was a damn poor substitute for Ruth Wills’s bed.
7
I got home, relieved to see that I wasn’t going to be policed, either by Junebug or Candace. The carport was empty. Inside, Mark sat close to the TV as Arnold Schwarzenegger shot his way through a group of extras in one of the Terminator films. The gunfire whispered with the sound turned low. Mama watched the movie, a sure sign of her illness. She’d never have countenanced one of those bloodfests before she got sick. “Hey. How are y’all?” I asked. Mark glared up at me from the couch. “Well, despite that I didn’t get to go to Randy’s house tonight, I’m trying to have just a little fun-” Mark started snidely, but I held up a hand. “Listen, Mark. Listen real good. Since you’re about to hit puberty, you’ll soon realize life isn’t fair. And you’ll realize that life is too short to listen to whiners. You’ve got about one-twentieth of the problems of everyone else in this house, so having to forfeit one evening isn’t going to kill you. Your grandmother’s sick, your mom’s busting her ass at that crappy truck stop to clothe and feed you, and I’m trying to figure out who really killed Beta Harcher so I don’t end up in jail. So, my dear nephew, just shut up.” His jaw fell as if the hinge had vanished. Mama certainly wouldn’t have cottoned to me chastising her adored grandbaby, but she wasn’t sure who Mark was. His eyes flashed again and then went back to the TV. I went into the kitchen and brewed some decaf. Leaning over the sink, I rinsed out my mouth with tap water, trying to clean out the sting of lime and tequila. I was buzzed from the drinks, yet I was too hyper to go to bed and plop down. Too many fingers pointing blame. Tamma pointing at Bob Don. Bob Don pointing at Tamma. Matt pointing at me. Eula Mae pointing at Ruth. Hally pointing at Eula Mae. Ruth pointing at Bob Don, giving him the early lead. And worst of all, Billy Ray pointing at me with the finger he’d chiseled off the statue of blind justice over at the county courthouse. I poured my coffee, then stirred in milk and some Sweet’N Low. None of that he-man black coffee for me; I’d rather chew barbed wire. I went past the onscreen carnage in the living room, wished Mama and a blissfully silent Mark goodnight, and took my coffee upstairs. In my room, I slid a Mary-Chapin Carpenter CD into the player and let her wistful lyrics croon in my ear. Country music has sure improved in the last couple of years, even bringing back fans like me who didn’t know there were other kinds of music until we were teenagers (when we jumped over to other parts of the jukebox). Most of my CD collection remains jazz and classical (I’d fallen for both in college), but the country stack kept growing with folks like Mary-Chapin, Lyle Lovett, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Tish Hinojosa, and Rosanne Cash putting out beautiful, intelligent albums. I needed to put my thoughts in order. I wrote down the names of everyone on Beta’s list. It was the key to the mystery, I was sure. I also wrote down what questions remained, as far as I could see. I wrote steadily, trying not to lapse into the bad habit of chewing on my pen. I
fought back the craving for a cigarette while I sat and thought over the day’s events. Mary-Chapin finished her songs and I replaced her with Lyle Lovett’s dryly witty mix of jazz, blues, and country. I made three trips downstairs for coffee.
