That Old Scoundrel Death

by Bill Crider

  “Wanda might need CPR,” Rhodes said, his voice mostly a rasping noise.

  “Got it,” the man said. “What about you?”

  “I’m fine,” Rhodes said, and he slumped to the hard ground and lost consciousness.

  * * *

  When Rhodes came to, he was lying on a gurney with an oxygen mask over his face. The scarf was gone, and he had a feeling the woman he’d taken it from would never get it back. His next thought was it was a good thing the EMTs had arrived. His third thought was about Wanda. He looked around as best he could for someone to ask, but no one was close by. She was lucky that she’d been lying on the floor. Maybe the smoke hadn’t gotten to her enough to be life-threatening.

  Rhodes decided that he was strong enough to get off the gurney and stand up, which he managed to do with only a little difficulty. He didn’t try to remove the mask.

  The reason no one was near him was that everyone was focused on the fire, which was by now an inferno. Firemen with hoses affixed to the pump trucks were pouring water on the flames, but it was far too late for the building. All they could do was douse the flames and keep cinders from blowing onto the roofs of houses that were in the vicinity, and that wouldn’t be too difficult, as there were no houses behind or on the sides of the school. Wanda’s house across the street was the only one in any danger, and the wind wasn’t blowing in that direction.

  Not too far away from where Rhodes stood, Wanda lay on her own gurney beside the red-and-white EMT ambulance. He hadn’t been able to see her when he was lying down, but it was easy enough now that he was standing. She wasn’t covered with a sheet, which Rhodes knew was a good sign. An EMT stood beside her. Rhodes took off the oxygen mask and tried breathing without it. He thought he was okay, and he walked over to where Wanda was. She’d been given a breathing tube and wasn’t breathing on her own.

  “Is she all right?” he asked the EMT.

  “No, and you won’t be, either, if you don’t behave yourself.”

  “I’m okay,” Rhodes said. His voice was stronger, and his throat didn’t hurt as much as it had. “I’ll put the oxygen mask back on if you’ll tell me how she’s doing.”

  “Not well. She might live; she might not. We’re about to load her up and take her to the hospital. You, too.”

  “Not me,” Rhodes said. “I have too much to do.”

  “You won’t get it done if you’re dead.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Then you’re just plain crazy, sheriff or not.”

  Rhodes nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  He went back to his gurney and put the oxygen mask back on. After a few deep breaths he took it off again. He saw Gary Parker, the Clearview fire chief, near one of the pump trucks and started in that direction, only to be accosted by Jennifer Loam. He might’ve known she’d be one of the first on the scene.

  “I was lucky enough to get here in time for some good video of you coming out of the building,” she said. “You’re going to be a bigger hero than ever by tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m no hero,” Rhodes said.

  “Maybe you don’t think so, but I know better, and so does everyone else in this county. Sage Barton is a sissy compared to you.” She gave Rhodes a thoughtful look. “Did you know that you have an uncanny resemblance to Smokey the Bear? All you need is the little hat.”

  Rhodes thought of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego again. As he recalled it, when they came out of the furnace, their hair wasn’t singed, their clothing wasn’t scorched, and they didn’t even smell of smoke. He had a feeling none of that was true in his case, but what really bothered him was Jennifer’s comment about Sage Barton.

  “I don’t wear hats,” he said, “and I wish you wouldn’t mention that name.”

  “What name?” Jennifer looked innocent. “Smokey the Bear?”

  “You know what name I meant,” Rhodes said.

  “Sage Barton?”

  “That’s the one,” Rhodes said.

  Sage Barton was a fictional character created by a couple of women named Claudia and Dolly who’d once attended a writing workshop in Blacklin County. They’d used their experience there to help them with their writing, and they’d become quite successful. They’d written a series of best-selling books about a sheriff named Sage Barton, who was everything Rhodes wasn’t: dashing, daring, a ladykiller, and a handy man with his Colt .45s. The books sold especially well in Blacklin County, where many people liked to think that Sage Barton was based on Rhodes because of his association with the authors.

  Rhodes lived in fear of what might happen after the next book was published, since in preparation for writing it, Claudia and Dolly had dropped by to question him about his sex life. Their publisher had been worried about sales and wanted them to do something to spice up the books. Giving Sage Barton a more vigorous sex life was the answer they’d come up with. Rhodes wasn’t sure why anybody would think he could tell them anything about the sex life of a lawman, but since Hack had overheard the conversation, the whole town would know about it. The whole town would also believe that Rhodes’s sex life was exactly like Sage Barton’s. Rhodes was uncomfortable just thinking about it.

  “I’ll try to remember not to mention Sage Barton again,” Jennifer said. “You’re much more heroic than that Sage character anyway, and you’re real instead of just a character in a book.”

  “Sure,” Rhodes said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put any video on your site until I have time to get home and explain things to my wife. I don’t want her to be upset.”

  “That’s easy enough. It won’t go up until morning, I promise.”

  “Thanks,” Rhodes said. “I need to talk to Chief Parker now.”

  “He gave a good interview about you,” Jennifer said, “but he thinks you were crazy to go into that burning building.”

  “I agree with him a hundred percent,” Rhodes said.

  * * *

  Chief Parker was a big man, taller and wider than Rhodes, and he was an imposing figure in the light of the fire. Rhodes walked up to him and said, “So you think I’m crazy?”

  The chief looked at him. “I sure do, but you saved that woman’s life. Maybe it’s okay to be a little crazy now and then.”

  “What about the fire? Any ideas about how it might’ve started?”

  “I don’t like to prejudge. Could’ve been electrical. That old building had wiring from almost a century ago. That’s never good.”

  “I don’t like to prejudge, either,” Rhodes said, “but the fire sure did spread fast to have been caused by an electrical problem.”

  The chief grimaced. “I know where you’re going with this, and it does look like it might’ve been an arson fire. I’m not saying it is, though. The state fire marshal will send an investigator; he’s the one who’ll make the determination.”

  “That might take a while.”

  “It will, but we have to go through the process. I’ve been asked to do a little poking around by the Thurston volunteer chief, but nothing I find will be official.”

  “You’ll let me know, though.”

  “Sure.” Parker looked around. “It’s going to be hard to keep people away from here. Just putting some tape up won’t do the job. People are too curious, and they can make a real mess of a scene.”

  “No question about that,” Rhodes said. “You call me if you get any ideas about the cause.”

  Rhodes turned to go to his car and heard the siren of the ambulance as it took Wanda away. He was glad the EMTs had decided not to hunt him down, strap him to the gurney, and take him along, too.

  On the other hand, now he had to go home and face Ivy, who wasn’t going to be the least bit happy with him.

  He might have been better off if he’d turned himself over to the EMTs, but it was too late for that now. Maybe Ivy would let him off easy. He could only hope.

  Chapter 18

  For once Yancey didn’t yip and dance around Rhodes’s ankles w
hen he got home. He gave the ankles a couple of quick sniffs and ran off. He sat at a distance and looked at Rhodes with what seemed to be a sad and pitying look. Rhodes couldn’t tell if the pity and sadness were for Rhodes’s appearance or for the dressing down Rhodes was getting from Ivy.

  “Let me be sure I have this right,” Ivy said, after Rhodes had explained things. She looked Rhodes up and down. “You ran into a burning building without any kind of protection, and you didn’t even know for sure there was anybody inside.”

  “I had some protection,” Rhodes said. “I forgot to mention the scarf I had tied around my face.”

  “That’s about as much protection as a … I don’t know what,” Ivy said, “and you know it.”

  Rhodes did know it, but he thought the scarf had helped a good deal, not that he was going to say so. He and Ivy were in the little back porch area because Rhodes didn’t want to go inside in his sooty clothes. Speedo was outside the screen door, looking in. He didn’t appear to be filled with sadness or pity. Rhodes thought he might be laughing, though.

  “I was told Wanda Wilkins was in there,” Rhodes said. His voice was still a little husky. “I couldn’t just leave her to die.”

  “So you had to be the hero again.”

  “I didn’t do it to be a hero, and I sure don’t feel heroic. I feel tired and dirty, and I’m covered with soot and ashes.”

  “So now you’re Cinderella?”

  When Ivy said that, Rhodes knew that things were all right.

  “I don’t feel like Cinderella,” he said, “but I could use a fairy godmother to wave her magic wand and say ‘Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.’”

  “You want to ride in a pumpkin?”

  “No, I want to get out of these clothes and take a shower.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ivy said. “You’d better take your shoes and clothes off out here. Even if you do, you’re going to track up the house.”

  “I’ll be as careful as I can,” Rhodes said.

  Ivy gave him a stern look. “You’d better,” she said.

  * * *

  The shower was a mess when Rhodes was finished, but cleaning it could wait. What he wanted to do was go to sleep. He told Ivy good night, got into bed, and was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillowcase.

  He had bad dreams, most of which he didn’t remember the next morning other than that they were all about fire and about being trapped in a burning building with no way out. He was glad when he woke up, but he didn’t feel rested. What he did feel was surprise when he looked at the clock. He got up and got dressed as quickly as he could.

  “You let me oversleep,” he told Ivy as he walked into the kitchen with Yancey dancing around his ankles.

  “I thought you needed the rest,” she said. “Sit down and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  Rhodes was about to say that the kind of rest he’d had wasn’t the kind he needed and that he didn’t want any breakfast, but he changed his mind on both counts, mainly because he smelled bacon and realized that he did want breakfast, after all. The bacon was turkey bacon, admittedly, but it was better than no bacon at all. Eaten with toast and scrambled eggs, it wasn’t terrible.

  “I need to call the hospital,” Rhodes said. His voice, he was glad to hear, was back to normal. “I want to ask about Wanda Wilkins.”

  “Go ahead,” Ivy said. “Breakfast will be ready by the time you find out how she is.”

  Rhodes made the call and got some good news. Wanda would be fine, although her complete recovery would take a while. Rhodes had hoped she might be recovered enough by now to talk to him, but that wasn’t the case. He’d have to check back that afternoon when she might be recovered enough to talk.

  Rhodes called the jail next so he could let Hack know he wouldn’t be coming in.

  “Figgers,” Hack said. “That woman you brought in is giving us trouble. I thought maybe you could calm her down.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Claims the cell is dirty. That made Lawton mad. Said she’s a victim of police brutality. Says she never even been to the Pac-a-Sak and it’s a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Tell Ruth to counsel with her,” Rhodes said.

  “Can she slap her around a little?”

  “Wouldn’t be prudent at this time,” Rhodes said.

  “Too bad,” Hack said, and hung up.

  Rhodes grinned, knowing that Hack was kidding. He told Ivy the news about Wanda and added, “Somebody’s going to have to take care of Leroy.”

  “Who’s Leroy?” Ivy asked, setting a plate of eggs and bacon on the table.

  Rhodes sat down. “Wanda’s cat.” He started to eat. Even the bacon tasted good.

  Ivy sat down across from him and gave him a direct look. “We both know who’s going to take care of the cat, don’t we.”

  “I’ll have to do it,” Rhodes said. “There’s nobody else.”

  “You do what you have to do. Just don’t bring Leroy here. He wouldn’t adjust well to our menagerie.”

  Rhodes knew she was right. He’d see about food and water for Leroy and if he could find someone to take over the job. He already had somebody in mind.

  When he’d finished his breakfast, which didn’t take long, he told Ivy that he wouldn’t have time to give Yancey and Speedo their exercise, so it was up to her.

  “I think I’ll have time,” she said, “but they prefer you.”

  “Tell them I’ll do it tomorrow,” Rhodes said. “I have a murder and a near-murder to solve.”

  “You sound like Sage Barton,” Ivy said.

  “Please,” Rhodes said. “Don’t mention that name.”

  Ivy was still laughing when he left.

  * * *

  Clyde Ballinger was considerably more jovial than he’d been the last time Rhodes had seen him. There were no funerals that day, and Clyde was in his living quarters behind the funeral home. The little two-story brick building had been the home of the servants when the funeral parlor had been a private mansion, and Clyde had taken it over when he’d bought the place. He’d once told Rhodes that it was just right for a single man and that he didn’t want to have to take care of anything bigger.

  “Nice job at the fire last night,” Clyde said when he’d welcomed Rhodes into the downstairs room he used for an office, “but if you’re not more careful, you’re going to wind up being one of my clients.”

  “I’m not planning on that,” Rhodes said. “Not anytime soon, anyway.”

  “Well, you be more careful, then,” Clyde said. “You want the autopsy report, I guess, since you never make social calls. I have the report for you right here.”

  He went to his desk and opened the middle drawer. He took out a large envelope and handed it to Rhodes.

  “Have a seat while you look it over,” Clyde said, and Rhodes did.

  He didn’t expect to find anything in the report that would help him, and he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. What he did find was just what he’d expected. Lawrence Gates had died between the hours of eight and ten from a gunshot wound to the head. A small-caliber bullet had been recovered, but it was impossible to say just what the caliber was. The bullet was too deformed. Dr. White had weighed it, however, and he suggested that Rhodes could compare the weight to that of standard bullets. Maybe that would provide an answer.

  Rhodes remembered the .25 caliber pistols that Kenny and Noble had, and he also remembered that Kenny had lied to him about being in Thurston on the night Lawrence was killed. Seeing Kenny was at the top of Rhodes’s to-do list for the day.

  Rhodes slipped the report back into the envelope and asked Clyde if he had the bullet. Clyde opened the desk drawer again and handed Rhodes a plastic bag.

  “Thanks,” Rhodes said. “Read any good books lately?”

  “I have,” Clyde said. “I found an Eighty-Seventh Precinct book I hadn’t read. You know that series. I’ve told you about it before. By a guy named Ed McBain.”

  “Not his real name,” R
hodes said. “I remember.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I thought I’d read them all, but I hadn’t. It was nice to find the one I skipped somehow. McBain’s dead now and won’t be writing anymore. I might just start rereading the rest of them. Those boys at the Eight-Seven know how to solve murders. They’d take care of your case in record time.”

  Rhodes stood up. “If you run into them, send them along. I can use all the help I can get.”

  “Too bad they aren’t real,” Clyde said.

  “Durn tootin’,” Rhodes said.

  * * *

  Curtis Lambert was sitting on his porch and smoking a cigarette when Rhodes arrived at his house. It was almost as if he hadn’t moved since the last time Rhodes had been there. Curtis gave a little salute, which Rhodes didn’t return. He didn’t see Betsy anywhere, so he sat in the Charger and waited. After about a minute, Curtis got up and whistled. Betsy came sprinting up from somewhere in back of the house, and Curtis chained her up. Rhodes got out of the car.

  “You sure got back here in a hurry,” Curtis said. “You must like me and Betsy a lot.”

  “Sure,” Rhodes said, “but who I really came to see is Kenny.”

  “Good luck with that,” Curtis said. “I ain’t got any idea where the devil he is. He came by yesterday after he got sprung from jail and said he was gonna be gone for a few days. I got the idea that he was scared of something, but I don’t know what it could be. Maybe it’s you, Sheriff.”

  Rhodes looked at Betsy, who growled at him. “I don’t think anybody’s scared of me.”

  “You might be surprised, Sheriff,” Curtis said. “Dogs might not be scared of you but some people in this county are.”

  “Kenny included?”

  “Could be.”

  “But you don’t have any idea where he is.”

  “Not a one. He went off with Noble Truelove, though; I know that much. You might try talking to Noble’s mother, see if she knows. If she does, she didn’t tell me. But that might be because I didn’t ask.”