Shotgun Saturday Night

by Bill Crider

  “I think the place we’re in might’ve had something to do with it,” Ivy said. “Did you really bring me up here for a funeral, or did you have something else in mind?” She stepped over to Rhodes and took his arm, pressing it against her plaid shirt.

  Rhodes almost blushed, but not quite. “There’s really going to be a funeral,” he said. “If Ballinger doesn’t show up, I’m going to bury him. He’ll be here.”

  Sure enough, in a few minutes they saw Ballinger’s hearse, or one of them, driving along the road. Rhodes hadn’t really given the burial much thought, but trusted Ballinger to do it right, once he made up his mind to do it. Then Rhodes realized that there wasn’t a grave.

  The hearse stopped and Clyde Ballinger got out. He had been driving himself. There was another man inside, and Rhodes assumed there were others in the back.

  “Where’s the grave, Clyde?” Rhodes asked.

  “Don’t worry, Sheriff,” Ballinger said. “It’s dug and ready, back over behind the Walpole plot.” He started walking, and Rhodes and Ivy followed.

  The Walpole “plot” was by far the most elaborate area in the cemetery, the Walpoles having gotten rich in oil and being able to afford pretty much what they wanted in the way of final resting places. The area occupied by the graves was semicircular, with the outside of the semicircle being surrounded by Greek columns spaced ten feet apart. Rhodes could never remember just what kind of columns they were, though he’d had to learn in school to distinguish among Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. It wasn’t the kind of knowledge that tended to stick with a person. The various Walpoles were spaced around the area and located easily by the huge headstones, by a wide margin the largest and most elaborate and gaudy in the county. One was distinguished by five angels standing on it.

  Ballinger cut right through the plot. The grass in this plot had been watered all through the dry summer, and there were several flower beds that gave evidence of careful tending. “Walpoles hire all that work done,” Ballinger said, indicating the flower beds. “They have a man who comes out for a couple of hours twice a week.”

  At the back of the plot, at the apex of the semicircle, there was an archway, which Ballinger stepped through.

  It actually led nowhere, since the Walpoles had located their private burial area at the extreme north end of the cemetery. From this vantage point, Rhodes could see in the distance—about a quarter of a mile—the backs of the houses that faced a paved road leading from Clearview to a major highway. He could also see that there was an open grave.

  “Is this legal?” Ivy asked.

  “We have the sheriff with us, don’t we?” Ballinger said.

  “I think she means that it might not be strictly legal for a burial plot to be located right here,” Rhodes said.

  “I know that,” Ballinger said. “Just a little funeral director’s humor there. But it’s legal, all right. Strictly speaking, I guess that we shouldn’t be here, but I bought up this part of the cemetery years ago. It’s part of the cemetery land, all right. It’s just that the Walpole family didn’t want anybody to be buried behind them. They wanted the prime spot, right at the end of the line. Except that you’ll notice the land slopes down just a little bit, here, and they didn’t want to be on that slope. With all the money they had, they should have bought this part if they didn’t want company. But don’t worry, we won’t be putting up any headstones. We don’t even have any heads.” He laughed.

  “More funeral director’s humor?” Ivy asked.

  Ballinger wasn’t a bit bothered by her tone. “You might say so. I got one more. The Walpoles don’t have to worry, because there won’t be any body buried here. At least not this time.” He laughed again.

  Rhodes and Ivy didn’t laugh. They looked around for the hearse, which was making its way to them, having gone around on the road as far as it could and then cut across the grass.

  “You know,” Ballinger said, shaking his head, “I’m a little disappointed that all these arms and legs didn’t turn out to be part of a big case. I was reading a book the other day about this killer down in Houston, the Houston Hacker, they called him, and he was really a vicious guy—”

  “I don’t want to hear about him,” Ivy said.

  “Was this fact or fiction?” Rhodes said.

  The hearse arrived, and Ballinger directed it to a stopping place. Then he came back to answer Rhodes. “Fiction,” he said. “It had this weird cover on it, of a knife stabbing through a strawberry. Anyway—”

  “Never mind,” Rhodes said. If the Hacker wasn’t real, he wasn’t interested. For a minute there, he’d thought that there might be some far-fetched tie-in with Dr. Rawlings, but obviously there wasn’t. All he wanted to do now was to get what was in the hearse under the ground and forget about it, even if he couldn’t forget what had happened later.

  The driver of the hearse got out and opened the back door. Two men who had been riding inside stepped down, and the driver helped them slide a wooden casket box out the back.

  “Wood’s all Rawlings left enough to pay for,” Ballinger said.

  “But that isn’t even a coffin,” Ivy said. “It’s just a wooden box like they ship coffins in.”

  “I know that,” Ballinger said. “I don’t really think it’ll make a difference to anything that’s inside. You want to be the fourth pallbearer, Sheriff?”

  “Why not?” Rhodes said. He stepped over to help the other three men unload the plain white wooden box. It really wasn’t very heavy at all.

  They carried it over and set it on the muddy earth piled beside the grave. One of the men went back to the hearse and came back with two long ropes, which he laid across the open grave.

  “Nothing fancy here,” Ballinger said, “but it’ll get the job done.”

  Two of the men held the ends of the ropes while Rhodes and the other man maneuvered the box into place. Then the four of them lowered the box to its rest. “Sheriff,” Ballinger said, “do you think we ought to say any last words now?”

  Ballinger had gotten awfully pious all of a sudden, Rhodes thought, but maybe it was only a natural reaction. “May they rest in peace,” he said. A terrible pun about pieces occurred to him, but he suppressed it. Ballinger stood with his head bowed for a minute, then looked up.

  “I guess that does it,” Ballinger said. “Cover ‘em up, boys.” The three men went to the hearse and came back with shovels. While Ballinger, Rhodes and Ivy watched, the men began shoveling in the dirt.

  “Shouldn’t take them too long,” Ballinger said. “I hope you’re satisfied with this, Sheriff.”

  Rhodes shook his head. “I guess so. This whole thing has been a real problem, and it’s not one I’d like to have again. Who’d have guessed it would be so hard to get rid of a few legally amputated limbs?”

  “The law’s peculiar,” Ballinger said. “You of all people ought to know that.”

  “I guess I should have checked to make sure everything was in that box,” Rhodes said.

  “Trust me, Sheriff,” Ballinger said. “I wouldn’t make a mistake about something like that.”

  “Then that’s the end of that,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go, Ivy. See you later, Clyde.”

  Ballinger gave an idle wave as he watched the grave being filled in. Rhodes and Ivy cut back through the Walpole plot and walked to the pickup. The sun was going down, now, and there was a bright reddish glow in the western sky. The breeze felt almost cool, and except for a few insect sounds it was very quiet. Then, from far off to the north they heard a train whistle.

  “I guess it might not be so bad to be buried here,” Ivy said. “Even if you couldn’t hear the train whistle.”

  Rhodes thought about Claire, who had been buried in her home town. “Let’s not worry about that for a while,” he said.

  Ivy shivered slightly. “It was just a thought,” she said. “How about some supper?”

  “That’s a better thought,” Rhodes said. They got in the pickup and went to the Bluebonnet for a hambu
rger. They had left the Bluebonnet and were driving toward Ivy’s house when Rhodes worked himself up to asking the question. “When do you think we ought to get married?”

  Ivy laughed. Rhodes liked to hear it, even though he was pretty sure she was laughing at him. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d really asked me,” she said. “Or if you’d remember.”

  “I wouldn’t forget something like that,” Rhodes said, trying not to sound defensive. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He briefly brought her up to date on his activities.

  “I just hope you’re around long enough and stay in one piece long enough for us to have a wedding,” Ivy said. “Not a very big one,” she added after looking at Rhodes’s face. “Just you and me and the justice of the peace would be fine. And Kathy, naturally.”

  “I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want,” Rhodes said. “I mean. . . .”

  “I know what you mean,” Ivy said. “You mean you’re really not sure about this. Well, I’m not either.”

  Rhodes started to say something, but she stopped him. “You’re sure about the important things. So am I. But you’re thinking about Claire and what happened to her, just like I think about Cal and what happened to him. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. I wouldn’t want to lose you, too.”

  Rhodes sighed and relaxed. Ivy had put into words the thoughts that had been running around in his head without expression for the last few days. He knew exactly what she meant, and more important, he knew for the first time exactly what he’d been thinking. Or trying to think about, and not succeeding.

  “I don’t want to do it right away,” Ivy said. “We could both use a little more time to think, don’t you agree?” Rhodes nodded his head affirmatively.

  “Good. How about December? I’ve always liked the Christmas season, and I’m sure we could both take a few days off around that time.”

  Rhodes started to tell her the Christmas season was definitely not a time of peace on earth, that in fact it was a time of high crime statistics, a time of shoplifting, theft, burglary, and sometimes even suicide. But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “It sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Chapter 17

  Buddy caught up with Rhodes just as he and Ivy arrived at her house. Leaning out of the window of the county car, Buddy looked like anything but a deputy. He was thin and bony, with a head much too large for the broom-straw neck it sat on. His upper torso stuck so far out the window that Rhodes wondered how he was able to sit upright in the car seat when he pulled himself back in. His almost comical appearance sometimes fooled people. Buddy was a good lawman.

  “Got a call from Hack,” Buddy said. “He’s tryin’ to locate you.”

  “What’s the message?” Rhodes asked.

  “He says that Miz Ramsey telephoned a few minutes ago. She thinks someone’s messin’ around in Bert Ramsey’s house. Says she saw lights movin’ around in there. He thought you might want to be the one who goes out to check, seein’ as how you’ve got a personal interest.”

  “He’s right about that,” Rhodes said.

  “He said to tell you to take a backup this time.”

  Rhodes laughed. “I will. We’ll go out together. Just give me a minute to see Ivy to the door.” He and Ivy got out and walked to the house.

  “Be careful,” Ivy said.

  “Don’t worry,” Rhodes told her. “Buddy can take care of me.”

  “Maybe,” Ivy said, giving him a light kiss on the cheek and going inside.

  Rhodes got in the car with Buddy, who radioed their destination to Hack. Hack said that he would telephone Mrs. Ramsey to let her know they were on their way.

  When they got to within a half mile of Ramsey’s house, Rhodes had Buddy cut the lights and slow down. They eased up to the yard at a crawl, as silently as it was possible for the car to travel. Buddy let the car drift to a stop without putting on the brakes.

  The two men sat in the car looking around at the house and yard. There wasn’t much of a moon in the sky, and the mercury vapor lamp in the yard wasn’t burning. Either the electricity was off or the lamp had burned out. Or someone had deliberately put it out. There were no motorcycles to be seen, and there were no lights in the house.

  “Reckon we ought to go in,” Buddy said. “Otherwise we ain’t never going to find out what’s in there. If there’s anything in there at all.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Rhodes said. “Front or back?”

  “I always favored the back door, myself,” Buddy said. “It’s closer to the kitchen.”

  “That’s as good a reason as any,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go.”

  They got out of the car, Buddy’s gangling limbs making it a somewhat complicated exit. Running low, they reached the wall of the house, skirting the sides below the window level until they came to the back door. There was a screen door set in front of a wooden door. Both were closed, with no signs of a forced entry to be seen in the dim light.

  “Who goes first?” Rhodes asked.

  “You’re the sheriff,” Buddy said.

  “So?”

  “So you get to pick.”

  “I’ll go first, then. You be ready.” The screen door opened outward, and Rhodes pulled on it gently. It wasn’t locked. He stood up, Buddy behind him, and tried the doorknob of the inner door. It turned easily.

  “Reckon Miz Ramsey’d leave that door unlocked?” Buddy whispered.

  Rhodes shook his head, no. He knew what was in that house: the ovens, the TV set, the VCR. It was all worth too much money to be left behind an unlocked door. Unless, of course, Mrs. Ramsey was very careless. He didn’t think she was careless. He pulled out his pistol. Buddy followed suit. He gave the door a gentle push and watched it swing open.

  There was no movement from inside the house. All the blinds had been drawn shut, and it was very dark. How had Mrs. Ramsey seen lights moving around? Something was wrong. Rhodes was just about to tell Buddy to radio Hack to send Ruth Grady out when he heard Rapper’s voice behind them.

  “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be showing up, Sheriff,” Rapper said. “Don’t bother to turn around. I’m holding a gun on you. Your own gun, as a matter of fact. Why don’t you and your deputy just step on inside and we can get this over with.” Rhodes started to move. “Lay the guns down first,” Rapper said. “Right there on the ground will be fine. Do it!”

  Whereas Rapper’s voice had seemed calm at first, the last two words ripped through the night with vicious intent. Rhodes and Buddy lay down their pistols and stepped inside the house. Rapper followed closely behind them.

  “Get the shades up,” Rapper said. Rhodes heard rummaging around in the darkness, then the sounds of shades flapping up. There was a little more light in the room, though not much, and he could make out the forms of Nellie and Wyneva. There were two wooden chairs from Ramsey’s table in the middle of the room.

  “You two can just sit in those chairs,” Rapper said.

  Buddy and Rhodes did as they were told. While Rapper held the pistol on them, Nellie tied their hands and feet with nylon cord. Their arms were tied behind them, but they were not tied to the backs of the chairs.

  “Now then, Sheriff,” Rapper said after they were tied and Nellie had stepped away. “I want you to know that I’m going to enjoy this. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, and we heard tonight that Jayse talked. So I guess you know what’s growing down behind this house. Well, I won’t be getting it now, but that’s not what’s bothering me. Not really. What’s bothering me is the way you’ve been on my case. I don’t like to have to run, not from you or anybody else. But you’ve caught me with my pants down twice. Now I’ve caught you. And you’re going to hurt a lot more than I have.”

  “What about my deputy?” Rhodes asked. “He’s never even seen you before.”

  “Tough luck,” Rapper said, laughing a little. “He ought to keep better company.”

  Rhodes figured it was no use to make idle threats. Hack knew where they were,
but it was doubtful that he would send anybody in time to help them. He would never guess that they were dumb enough to have fallen into a trap. And it wouldn’t do any good to mention Cox and Malvin; it appeared likely that Rapper didn’t know about them. But if he didn’t, then why had Cullens been killed? Maybe he had died before he could tell anything, or maybe he had been well trained. Rhodes decided to ask. He didn’t have anything to lose.

  “Are you going to kill us like you did Buster Cullens?” he asked.

  Rapper laughed again. It wasn’t a pleasant sound in the dark house. “Cullens was sticking his nose in. He got what he deserved. I didn’t do it, though. Me and the boys found him like that.”

  “Sure you did,” Rhodes said. “That’s why Jayse had that axe handle in his hands.”

  Rapper stepped up and slapped Rhodes across the face with the back of his hand, almost knocking Rhodes out of the chair. “It’s time for the first lesson, Sheriff,” Rapper said, as casually as if he were talking to a clerk in the supermarket. “You don’t crack wise with me. Not when I feel about you the way I do. Now, let’s start over. Me and the boys found Cullens like that.”

  Rhodes thought about it. There was something behind Rapper’s words, but Rhodes couldn’t quite figure out what it was. “You know who killed him, though.”

  “That’s better,” Rapper said. “That’s a lot better. A little respect, Sheriff, that’s all I want.”

  The man was definitely a major lunatic, Rhodes thought. Unfortunately, he was a major lunatic with the upper hand. “So I guess you’re going to do my job for me and tell me who it was.”