Dead Soldiers (9 page)

While he ate, Burns thought over what Dean Partridge had said about Mary Mason. It was clear that the dean actively disliked the woman, but Burns could never quite get the reason. All that Partridge would say was that “the woman is capable of anything.“

“Then why did you invite her to the party?“ Burns had asked.

“Because I had to,“ Partridge said. “She’s one of HGC’s biggest boosters, and she’s also a big contributor. She would have been insulted if I hadn’t asked her.“

“Speaking of insulted,“ Burns said. “Why didn’t you invite any faculty?“

“I’m sorry about that,“ Partridge told him. “I should have, but I just couldn’t accommodate the crowd. And, after all, our students see the faculty every day, and the faculty sees them. But the people of the community, even our local board members, don’t have any real connection with students. I was trying to establish one.“

Burns accepted that explanation. Besides, his feelings hadn’t been hurt because he wasn’t invited. If he had been, he probably would have complained about having to go.

So he got back to Ms. Mason. “Can you tell me some of the things you think she’s capable of?“

“Anything. I’m sure she would have stolen my soldiers if she had the chance.“

“Any connection between her and Matthew Hart?“

“None that I know about, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were. Not that we’re talking about that, of course.“

Not unless you want to, Burns thought. He asked a few more questions, but he still couldn’t get to the bottom of Partridge’s dislike for Mason. After a while he dropped the subject.

“So what are you going to do next?“ Partridge asked.

“Go to softball practice.“

“Another joke. You must have your classes rolling in the aisles, Dr. Burns.“

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Besides, I’m not joking. I’m playing in the faculty-student game on Saturday.“

“Well, well. I never thought of you as the athletic type.“

“I have hidden depths.“

Partridge gave him an appraising look. “You surely do. Now, tell me your plan for investigating the theft of my soldiers.“

What Burns wanted to tell her was that he planned to go to practice, then go home and grade some papers. And after that, go to bed. He didn’t want to do anything about the soldiers, and he most certainly didn’t want to get involved in Boss Napier’s murder case.

What he said was, “I suppose I could talk to some of the people on your list, maybe tell them that the soldiers are missing and ask if they saw anything unusual or suspicious.“

“That might be a good way to start,“ Partridge said.

But so far Burns hadn’t started. For one thing, he was sure that Napier, who had a copy of Partridge’s list, would be questioning some of the people on it, and Burns didn’t want to follow along behind him. Napier wouldn’t like it, and neither would the people he’d been talking to.

Burns cleaned up the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and checked out the TV schedule. There was nothing on he wanted to see, which wasn’t unusual, so he began rereading Ross Thomas’s
Yellow Dog Contract
.

Burns sometimes felt guilty that he found reading and rereading mysteries much more relaxing than reading the kind of material he dealt with every day. But while Hemingway and Faulkner might have been the perfect comfort reading for some people, they just didn’t work for Burns.

He put the book down about ten-thirty and got ready for bed. He was almost asleep when the telephone rang. He picked it up and said, “Hello.“

“Burns!
 
Is that you, Burns?“

“Yes, Mal. It’s me. Who were you expecting?
 
Jeff Kent?“

“This is no time for jokes, Burns,“ Tomlin said. “You gotta get over to my house quick!
 
Some son-of-a-bitch just tried to kill me!“

B
urns threw on some clothes and drove over to Tomlin’s place as quickly as he could. When he arrived, every light in the house was on. He checked for police cars, but he didn’t see any. He parked at the curb and got out.

Going up the sidewalk to the front door, Burns looked around the neighborhood. Everything was quiet except for a couple of crickets cricketing off in the grass, and all the other houses were dark. It was just after eleven o’clock. People in Pecan City went to bed early.

Burns rang the doorbell, and after a few seconds the door opened a crack. An eyeball looked out at him.

“That you, Burns?“

“It’s me, Mal. What’s going on?“

“I told you what’s going on. Somebody tried to kill me.“
 
Tomlin opened the door. “Come on in, quick.“

Burns stepped lively, and Tomlin shut the door behind him. Then he threw the deadbolt and put on the chain. He was wearing a pair of shorts and an HGC T-shirt, and his hair was sticking out as if he’d run his hands through it several times and hadn’t smoothed it back down.

“Come on back to the kitchen,“ he said. “
Joynell
put some coffee on.“

Burns followed Tomlin to the back of the house.
Joynell
was sitting at the Formica-topped table drinking coffee from an insulated plastic cup.

“Hi, Carl,“ she said.

She had on a bulky yellow terry cloth robe that covered her ample body like a tent. Her usually stiffly-sprayed blonde hair was mashed flat on one side.

“Would you like some coffee?“ she asked.

The coffee smelled good, but Burns wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, so he declined. Tomlin poured a cup for himself and sat at the table opposite his wife.

“Sit down, Burns,“ he said. “I want to hear what you think about this.“

Burns sat at the table. “I think you should call the police.“

“That’s what I told him,“
Joynell
said. “But he never listens to me.“

“He should,“ Burns said, thinking about his earlier conversation with Boss Napier. “If someone tries to kill you, you call the police. You don’t call an English teacher.“

“I don’t like the police,“ Tomlin said. “That Boss Napier has it in for me. Every time someone gets killed around here, he arrests me.“

“That’s not true,“ Burns said. “You’ve never even been a suspect.“
 
He thought it over and realized that he was wrong. “Well, hardly ever.“

“Once is enough,“ Tomlin said. “Besides, it’s you who solves all the cops’ cases for them.“

Oh, boy, Burns thought. Boss Napier would really like to hear that.

“We can call the police in a minute, I suppose,“ he said. “Now, tell me what happened.“

“I told him not to go outside,“
Joynell
said. “But he wouldn’t listen.“

Burns was beginning to see a pattern in her remarks, but he knew there was a good reason for it. Mal wasn’t the type to listen to anybody.

“Here’s the deal,“ Mal said. “I went outside to take Melinda for a walk, and that’s when it happened.“

Melinda was the
Tomlins’s
dog. She was one of the largest basset hounds that Burns had ever seen, and her favorite pastime was eating. When Tomlin and
Joynell
left the house they had to jam a chair under the handle of the refrigerator door to brace it shut, or Melinda would help herself to whatever was inside.

Melinda had long ago discovered that the refrigerator was a good source of food (a particular favorite of hers was butter), and shortly after that she had figured out how to get the door open. Tomlin told Burns that he had come home one hot afternoon to find Melinda lounging on the floor, cool and comfortable in the flow of air from the open refrigerator door, with the remains of a chuck roast resting between her front paws and a nearly empty butter tub off to the side.

“I can see that Melinda might need a little exercise,“ Burns said.

“Right,“ Tomlin agreed. “So I take her out every night after the news on Channel 8. We always walk up the street a couple of blocks, then circle the old hospital and come back home.“

The old hospital was a ruin that should have been razed long ago in
Burns’s
opinion. The mortar between the bricks was loose and crumbly, and the basement was full of water that half the third floor had already fallen into.

“Melinda likes to visit the hospital,“ Tomlin went on. “We usually make a stop on the grounds for her to water the steps, and that’s where he took a shot at me.“

“Someone tried to shoot you?“ Burns said.

“That’s what I told you on the phone,“ Tomlin said.

Technically speaking, Burns thought, Mal hadn’t said that anyone had tried to shoot him. He’d just said that someone tried to kill him. But it wasn’t a point worth arguing about.

“Did you get a look at him?“

“Hell, no. It was dark, and I was scared. Wouldn’t you be scared if someone took a shot at you?“

“Yes, I would. Did you hear the shot?“

“Sure. It was kind of a snapping sound. And it took a hunk out of the bricks in the wall.“

“I told him to call the police,“
Joynell
put in. “But he never listens.“

“What could the cops do?“ Mal asked. “Whoever shot at me would’ve been long gone by the time they got there.“

“He took just one shot?“ Burns asked.

“Yeah. You know how there’s a doorway under those old stairs out in front of the hospital?“

“I don’t go there often,“ Burns said.

“Well, you can take my word for it. There’s a doorway there. I ducked back under the stairs and dragged Melinda with me. And if you think that was easy, you’re wrong.“

“I can imagine.“

“Yeah. Like dragging a hippo. Anyway, I got back under there and hunkered down, but there weren’t any more shots. After a little while, I came out and came on back home.“

“I thought he’d been hit by a car or something,“
Joynell
said. “He never stays gone for long, but this time he was gone for nearly an hour.“

“OK, so I hunkered down for more than a little while. Anyway, I’m all right.“

“How about Melinda?“ Burns asked.

“She’s fine. She didn’t like the dragging part, but aside from that she didn’t even know anything had happened. She’s snoring away in the utility room right now.“

“You’re sure somebody shot at you?
 
It wasn’t just some truck backfiring?“

“I told you the bullet took a hunk out of the wall, right?
 
Look here.“
 
Tomlin pointed to his right cheek. “See those little scratches?
 
That’s where the brick chips hit me.“

Burns tried to think of some reason why a brick might explode by accident. He couldn’t come up with anything.

“I’m going to call Boss Napier,“ he said.

“Aw, geez,“ Tomlin whined. “He’ll just try to figure out some way to blame me for what happened. He’ll call it a failed suicide attempt or something.“

“I don’t think so,“ Burns said. “Matthew Hart was killed yesterday, and now someone’s tried to kill you. Napier takes things like that very seriously.“

“All right, you can call him. But remember: I didn’t want you to.“

“I told him to call the police,“
Joynell
said, “but—“

“He never listens,“ Burns and Tomlin said together.

“Well,“
Joynell
said, “you don’t.“

B
urns called the police station and spoke to the dispatcher, who said that Boss Napier was indeed in the building, or he had been until a few minutes previously. Maybe he still was.

Burns asked the dispatcher to ring Napier’s office and see if he was there. The dispatcher said, “Hold, please,“ and the line went quiet.

“What kind of guy works this late at night?“ Tomlin asked.

“He might not do it every night,“ Burns said. “Or he might have been called in for some reason. Police don’t have regular hours like English teachers. Or like English teachers are supposed to have. Anyway, I don’t have his home number.“

“It’s probably listed,“
Joynell
said. “Pecan City’s not so big that people have unlisted numbers, not even police chiefs.“

Napier’s voice came on the line. It was not filled with delight.

“Burns?
 
What the hell are you calling me for at this time of night?“

“Somebody tried to kill Mal Tomlin.“

There was a long pause, and then Napier sighed. “I knew it wouldn’t do any good to tell you to stay out of it. I knew that no matter what I said, you’d be right in the middle of things. I don’t know why I even tried.“

“I didn’t plan to get involved,“ Burns said. “But Mal called me.“

Napier sighed again. “I won’t even ask why he didn’t call us. I probably don’t want to know.“

Burns resisted the urge to say that calling an English teacher in the event of a crime seemed to be the first thought HGC employees had. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, and for once he managed to do it.