Between the Living and the Dead (24 page)

Rhodes finally caught on. “Mrs. Clement. She has a .38.”

“A Colt Detective Special,” Mika said.

Rhodes nodded. A little snubnose. Not much good for distance work, but not a bad weapon for personal defense.

“That whole family's licensed to carry,” Hack said. “Can't blame 'em. They live in one of the best houses in town, drive a big, fine car. Miz Clement has jewelry, too, and I wouldn't be surprised if they kept a good bit of cash in the house in case of emergency.”

“Like the zombie apocalypse,” Lawton said. “Gotta be ready for that.”

First ghosts, now zombies. It was time for Rhodes to go before it got to werewolves and vampires. He thanked Mika for the information and got out of there.

*   *   *

Once upon a time, long before Rhodes was born, Clearview had been a thriving town, a genuine boomtown, in fact, thanks to the discovery of oil. Most of the oil was long gone now, pumped out and refined and burned in cars long ago. There was some talk that a lot of oil was still under the ground and that modern techniques of drilling could extract it, but so far nothing had come of the talk.

The homes in the part of town where the Clements lived had been built during that boom era, and some of them had been well cared for ever since, including the Clements' big two-story house. The lawn was trimmed so neatly that it looked like someone had gone over it with scissors to be sure that no individual blade stuck up even a millimeter higher than another one. It was like a picture in a fancy magazine, or on the Internet, since magazines were part of the past, like Clearview's glory days. Rhodes didn't envy the Clements, but he did wish his lawn looked a little better. He wondered what their water bill must be and how much they paid their lawn-care service. He decided that he couldn't afford it unless the commissioners voted him a nice raise, which didn't seem too likely at the moment.

Fran Clement came to the door when Rhodes rang the bell. She was short, almost a foot shorter than Rhodes, with dark, smooth hair. It had been fluffier the last time Rhodes had seen her, and he thought it had been a little lighter color, too. He might have been misremembering, however.

“Well, well,” she said. “If it's not the sheriff. Have you come to accuse me of another murder?”

“I don't believe I ever accused you, Mrs. Clement,” Rhodes said.

“Please, Sheriff, call me Fran. I feel as if we're old friends. You know all my intimate secrets.”

What Rhodes knew was that her husband had been guilty of a bit of hanky-panky that had gotten him involved in a murder investigation, one that had also involved Mrs. Clement. Or Fran.

“Come on in, Sheriff,” she said. “No use standing out in the hot sun.”

He went inside, and Fran closed the door behind him. He followed her down a hallway to the same room where they'd had their previous little talk about murder. The tile floor was shiny, and the grout was clean. The flat-screen TV was still bigger than anything Rhodes had seen outside the electronics department at Walmart, and the couch covered with buttery leather was still just as comfortable. Rhodes sat on one end of it and Fran sat on the other. He hoped she'd keep her distance. Their last conversation had been awkward enough before she started making passes at him. Or what he'd interpreted as passes. Maybe he'd been doing her an injustice.

“My husband still doesn't understand me,” Fran said, inching a little way toward him on the couch.

Or maybe he hadn't done her an injustice after all.

“I don't suppose you care, though,” she said.

“It's not any of my business,” Rhodes said.

“What
is
your business, then?”

“Guns,” Rhodes said. “Murder. Little things like that.”

Fran stood up and walked over to the big glass sliding door. She looked out at her back lawn, which was every bit as green and perfect as the front.

“I thought maybe you'd just come to visit,” she said, not turning around.

“I don't have a lot of time for visiting,” Rhodes said. “I need to ask you about your revolver.”

Fran turned to look at him. “I have a CHL. I must admit that I didn't do too well on the target shooting, but I passed. The noise made me nervous, and I didn't care for the idea of shooting anything, even a target. I don't think I could shoot a person. I'd be shaking too much. You don't think I shot someone, do you?”

“It's not you I'm worried about,” Rhodes said. “It's your .38.”

“Cliff bought it for me. We thought it was a good idea for me to have something for protection in this big old house. I haven't used it or even looked at it since the CHL class. I haven't even thought about it, really. Why are you worried about it?”

“Neil Foshee was killed with a .38. I'm sure you've heard all about it.”

“Cliff and Wade told me he was killed, but they didn't mention a .38. Wade has a Glock, and he took it to the jail for you to test.” She paused. “I don't see why you needed it if a .38 was involved.”

“I didn't know it was a .38 that killed him at the time I asked for Wade's gun,” Rhodes said, “and I wanted to be sure Wade was in the clear.”

Fran ran a hand over her hair. “Then I don't understand why you're here.”

Rhodes stood up. “I'm here because it's not impossible that somebody used your .38 to kill Neil Foshee. I'd like to take a look at it, if you don't mind.”

Rhodes hoped she didn't ask for a warrant, because he didn't have one and didn't want to have to get one. He was sure he could get the judge to issue one, but that would take time, and Rhodes didn't want to wait.

“It's in the gun safe,” Fran said. “In the bedroom.”

“Why don't we take a look.”

Fran hesitated, but not for long. “Why not? The bedroom's upstairs.”

She walked past Rhodes and back to the hallway where the staircase was located. He followed her up to the second floor, and she led him into a large bedroom with a king-size bed, a walnut dresser, an armoire, and a large jewelry cabinet. She opened the closet, which impressed Rhodes with its organization and neatness. He wouldn't want anybody to look in his closet.

“The gun safe's on the shelf,” Fran said. “Now where's that stool?”

She reached behind some blouses hanging from a low bar and pulled out a small stool. Standing on it, she punched the combination keys of the gun safe. Nothing happened.

“It's been a while since I opened this thing,” she said.

Rhodes waited, and after another few seconds of thought, Fran keyed the combination into the safe. She opened it and reached inside.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

“What's the matter?” Rhodes asked.

“My gun's not here,” she said.

 

Chapter 18

Fran searched the closet with Rhodes watching, but the revolver wasn't there. Rhodes didn't think it would be. It couldn't have gotten out of the safe without the help of someone who knew the correct combination for the keypad, and if Fran hadn't taken it, the list of suspects was very short.

“Clifford must have taken it,” Fran said, naming one of them. “I don't know why he'd have wanted it.”

“You don't have the combination written down anywhere, do you?” Rhodes asked.

“Well,” Fran said. “That's an embarrassing question.”

“You want to answer it?”

“You saw that I had trouble remembering the combination. It's not like I open the safe often. So, yes, I have it written down.”

“Where?” Rhodes asked.

“It's on a piece of paper in my dresser drawer,” she said.

She came out of the closet and into the bedroom. She went to the dresser, pulled open one of the top drawers, and brought out a piece of paper.

“Here it is,” she said, and handed the paper to Rhodes.

Rhodes took the paper but handed it back without looking to see what was written on it. He didn't doubt that the combination was there. If Wade knew the .38 was in the gun safe, he wouldn't have had any trouble locating the combination.

“You know where Wade and your husband are right now?” he asked.

“Cliff said he was going to his office at the city hall,” Fran said. “I don't know about Wade. He borrowed my car and didn't say where he was going.”

Fran didn't drive an SUV like her husband. She had a more modest Lexus, the smaller ES model. It was black, like the SUV. It would be easy to spot, but it would have to be where someone could see it.

“He didn't even give you a hint?” Rhodes asked.

“He's Cliff's nephew, not mine. He comes here and visits, and it's like he's on his own. Cliff doesn't tell him what to do, and I don't think it's my place to do it. If he wants to borrow a car, I give him the keys and send him on his way. It's the middle of the afternoon. How much trouble could he get into?”

“If he has a gun?” Rhodes said. “Plenty.”

*   *   *

Rhodes wished he'd stopped in Thurston for that hamburger as Louie had suggested, because now it seemed as if he might miss lunch, an all too frequent occurrence. Nevertheless, he had to try to find Wade Clement.

The first thing Rhodes did was to call Hack and have him alert the deputies on patrol to look for Fran's car.

“Why?” Hack asked. “She gone missing?”

“Wade Clement's driving it. He's the one I'm looking for. He might be armed, so be sure to mention that.”

“You think he's dangerous?”

“I'm not sure. Just tell them to be careful.”

When he had to, Hack could be serious and do his job. He didn't try to get Rhodes into a discussion. He just said he'd take care of things.

Rhodes signed off and drove by the city hall. He saw Clement's SUV parked in his allotted space by the side of the building, but there was no sign of Fran's ES. Rhodes parked and went to the mayor's office.

“Well, well,” Alice King said when he got to the door. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon, Sheriff. I'll bet you didn't come to see me, though. You're probably here on business.”

“I'm always happy to see you,” Rhodes said, “but I admit that I'm looking for the mayor.”

“Then you're in luck, because he's here, doing the will of the people.”

Clement came to the door of his office before Rhodes could ask what the will of the people was today. He scowled at Rhodes, making it clear that he wasn't feeling nearly as perky as Alice and that he wasn't nearly as happy to see Rhodes as she seemed to be. Sometimes Rhodes thought she was only pretending, but maybe she really was happy to see him. Not Clement. He wasn't pretending. He wasn't happy in the least to see Rhodes standing there.

“You again,” Clement said. “What's the problem now?”

“I'm looking for your nephew,” Rhodes said.

“He's a grown man. I don't keep up with him.”

“What about your wife's .38? Do you keep up with that?”

Clement glanced at Alice, who was trying to look as if she couldn't hear a word that was being said. She wasn't very successful at it, but Rhodes had to give her credit for trying.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Clement said.

“The gun's missing, and so is Wade,” Rhodes told him.

Clement was no longer scowling. He looked puzzled instead. “I don't understand,” he said.

Rhodes laid it out for him. “Wade didn't mind bringing in his Glock, and it's no wonder. I found out that Foshee was killed with a .38. Your wife has a .38, but it's missing. So is Wade. If you don't have the .38, then I think he does.”

Clement's scowl deepened. “That doesn't sound good.”

“It's
not
good,” Rhodes said. “That's why I'm looking for him. Did he say anything today that might give me a hint as to where he's gone?”

“He hasn't said a lot since you talked to him yesterday.” Clement shook his head. “I can't believe he has Fran's gun. He had his own gun. Why not use that one?”

“If you're going to shoot somebody,” Rhodes said, “it's a good idea not to use a gun that can be traced to you, especially if there's another one handy. He could use your wife's gun, put it back in the safe, and who'd be the wiser?”

“You're telling me he didn't put it back, though,” Clement said. “Do you think he's crazy?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It seems as if he might have killed Neil Foshee with Fran's gun. Isn't that what you're saying? He must think he's some vigilante in the movies, shooting down drug dealers to clean up the city.”

Clement was getting carried away. Rhodes started to give him another little lecture on implying and referring, but the time didn't seem right for it.

“We don't know that he's killed anybody,” Rhodes said. “I just want to find out about that gun.”

“There's something else you should know,” Clement said. “The only thing he's mentioned since yesterday also sounds crazy. He told me that just being outside the Moore house gave him the creeps. It was like he was being watched.”

“There's nothing crazy about that,” Rhodes said, trying not to sound defensive. “Anybody might get a feeling like that.”

Clement looked doubtful. “I don't know. Sounds crazy to me.” He scratched his beard. “You think he might have gone back to that house?”

Rhodes hadn't considered it, but it made sense in a way, especially if Wade had experienced the same sensation that Rhodes had. He might have thought someone had seen him with Foshee and hoped to find some kind of clue in the house. He wouldn't, however. Rhodes was sure that he and Ruth and Andy had found anything that was there to be found.

“Maybe that's where he went,” Rhodes said. “I'll go take a look.”

“Are you going to arrest him?”