Dead Man Falls (15 page)

I smiled in earnest this time. Mother had ordered me some real food! I had skipped the cake and frozen treats in favor of private time with Jerry, so I was a little on the hungry side and the fried chicken strips smelled heavenly. Say what you will about anything else around here, but the chicken baskets are, as my daddy always said, "fine eating."

"Your iced teas are in this bag," Shanna said, pointing to one of the sacks. "And I put in an extra cup of ice for you just like Miz Jackson asked."

Oh, wow, extra ice, too! To take with me! I smiled even wider and felt a little catch in my throat. "She’s something, isn’t she?"

Clerk Shanna’s ponytail bobbed cautiously. "She sure is."

Enough said. I took another twenty and a ten from my billfold then slid them across the counter to her. "Thanks for everything. I’m afraid there’s going to be a pretty big mess back there. I hope this will take care of it."

"Oh, gosh, you don’t have to do that, but yeah, that’d be great. My mom’s not real happy about me working here, but this’ll show her." She slipped the money in her pocket. "Don’t you worry about a thing."

I hate it when people tell me not to worry as it generally means I should. Something about the verbalization of that phrase causes all kinds of cosmic reactions for me and they are never the positive variety. But I’d known it was coming anyway. Even before the clerk had said the magic words, I’d already sensed more bad things in the works. The sense of impending doom is common for me when I’m here, so I’ve learned to ignore that level of angst. This was different. And I couldn’t pass off the gurgling in my stomach as just lust for chicken either. Something bad was going to happen. I could feel it.

Jerry held the door for me as I carried the sacks out into the thick hot air--not nearly as hot as July, but darned hot enough.

Deputy Max was behind us, trying to herd Mother out the door with only limited success.

I stopped in front of Jerry’s truck, still standing in the shade of the building, and watched the traffic on the highway for a minute. "I hope Leroy finds Russell."

Jerry pulled his keys from his pocket and jangled them. "Me, too, but I bet you have a more specific reason."

I shook my head. "No." Just a feeling. "He was gone from his house--and his father was worried about him--before I saw him at the falls. That doesn’t make sense."

"Maybe when Leroy gets back from talking to Mr. Clements, we’ll have more answers about that."

Somehow I doubted it.

Chapter 11

Sheriff Parker called in Cowboy Red’s license plate number from Mother’s kitchen phone and found out pretty quickly that the truck was registered to a Reddan White with a rural route address in Abilene. Red White. And blue? I still had to wonder if he’d made it up.

Jerry and I sat at the kitchen table while Mother supposedly rested in her room. I didn’t for a second think she was napping. More likely she was making a list of the people who hadn’t shown up at her party and would forever pay for the oversight. Deputy Max had been relegated to outside watchdog, likely a punishment of sorts for his part in the supermarket caper.

Whatever the reasons we were alone, I was grateful for a few more private moments with Jerry. I would have much preferred to be discussing where we were going for dinner rather than the details of an ongoing murder investigation, but Cowboy’s reappearance today raised some warning flags that I was trying hard to define.

"I think I know what it is about Red White that bothers me," I said. "Aside from his name, that is."

Jerry leaned back in the chair and managed to appear slightly interested. "And what would that be?"

"Well, for one, he doesn’t talk like a cowboy."

That got a little chuckle out of him. "Okay, Jolene, just what do cowboys talk like, and why doesn’t Red measure up?"

I couldn’t decide if he was being serious or sarcastic so I decided to play it straight. "Well, he doesn’t say much and he speaks in very short sentences. Okay, that’s not really it either. Maybe it’s more the way he said things. Not your regular good ol’ boy talk."

Jerry raised an eyebrow.

I rubbed my hands across my face. "Okay, I don’t know what it is exactly, but there’s something about him that’s not right. He’s just not completely who he seems to be. I’d bet on it."

"I’ll agree with that, but I think it’s more what he didn’t say than what he did. We know there’s something he’s not telling us."

"Several somethings, all of them suspicious, more so because he won’t answer direct questions."

Jerry nodded. "You may have picked his truck at random for the rope, but he was at the park for a reason, and it wasn’t to see the grand opening of the falls."

"Exactly. And why did he slip away yesterday and then show up today, in Kickapoo where we were? Coincidence or planned?"

"That’s what we need to find out, Jolene. Rick’s got the information on him now, we’ll see what turns up."

"I don’t guess you could have just hauled him into Redwater for a little questioning." As soon as the words slipped out, I realized what it sounded like. "Hey, I’m not second-guessing what you did, or saying you should have done something differently, I’m just curious."

"Sure, I could have forced him to go to Redwater, but I didn’t see that it would help much. This way, I gave him a choice. I told him the detectives wanted to get his statement on what he remembered from the incident. Nothing fussy, just a simple statement. If he shows, we’ll get answers. If he doesn’t, it might be because he’s hiding something."

"In the meantime, he could leave town."

"He could," Jerry said, shrugging. "But if he was going to leave, why isn’t he already gone?"

"He’s probably hanging around just to toy with us. Don’t killers do that sometimes, stand on the sidelines and pretend to be helpful witnesses?"

Jerry rubbed his chin, probably to hide a chuckle, or so it appeared. "You think Red White’s our killer?"

"Don’t laugh, Jerry. Stranger things have happened."

"He’s connected to no one."

I crossed my arms rather smugly. "That we know of--yet."

Now, it hadn’t actually occurred to me that Red might really be the killer. I just thought he was weird and therefore suspect of something. But being of unsound mind and a hair-trigger imagination, I’d grabbed the loose cannon and run with it.

This human behavior stuff is not my thing, however, and trying to put the illogical into a logical framework was giving me a severe headache. Or maybe I was just hungry. I glanced over to the counter where the four carefully packed white sacks were practically jumping up and down to get my attention. "How about a chicken basket? Mother ordered one for you and Deputy Max too."

"Well, Jolene, that was very thoughtful of your mother." Before I could remind him who’d forked over the cash to pay for the thoughtfulness, he said, "And you too. I think I might have to take you out to dinner to make up for it."

A shiver zipped through me, but I tried to hide the fact that he could affect me so easily. The last dinner we’d shared had been almost orgasmic--speaking strictly of taste buds. The steak had been out of this world, to be sure, but the company might have been what pushed the evening to the edge of perfection. On the next outing I expected the whole enchilada, so to speak.

"I’ll hold you to that offer," I said, smiling. "I’ll go find Mother if you want to call Max. We’d better eat this stuff before it gets cold."

Mother declined to join us, and Deputy Max had taken his sack and hustled back outside, acting very stern and official--as if that might somehow make up for taking us cake shopping.

When we finished our meal, Jerry checked his watch. "I need to make another quick call and I’d rather not use the cell phone."

"Sure, help yourself." I figured that he’d prefer to make his call private, so I wandered into the living room.

After a few minutes he joined me, looking highly uncomfortable and maybe even nervous--and Jerry is never visibly nervous. He subtly worked his lips this way and that, but no words came out.

Leaping upon the worst scenario I could imagine at the moment, my thoughts went directly to the ex-wife and children. "Problems at home?"

"No, everyone’s fine." He paused for a moment, staring at me, then through me. "I don’t know where to start." He blinked a few times and smiled. "Nothing’s ever easy for us, is it?"

Well, no, but what was the specific problem this time?

"I’d like to think we could have a normal date at some point…"

I didn’t much like the way he’d left the sentence hanging there, with a huge unspoken "but" attached. "I’d like to think so too, Jerry, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me why that’s not going to happen."

Not any time soon, it seems."

Okay, enough with the bush beating. "Just tell me what the problem is, Jerry. Short concise declarative sentences would be good."

"I’m taking you to a hotel in Redwater."

"What!" The shriek was loud and piercing. Lucille Jackson appeared behind us, much like an apparition--a gasping outraged one. It was both a theatrical and hypocritical display, considering her own recent history. "Why, Jerry Don Parker! I can’t imagine you talking to my daughter like that."

He shook his head and came out of his daze enough to chuckle a little. "Let me rephrase. The Redwater Falls Police Department insists that I escort your daughter to the guarded hotel room they have arranged for her. Tonight."

Was he serious? Yes, he was definitely serious and the look on his face did not scream "romantic rendezvous at the Hilton." Great, just great.

"Truth is, Miz Jackson," Jerry continued, quite professionally, "The detectives on this case don’t have much to go on. The best chance they have of catching the killer is finding out the connections behind the people circled on those yearbook pages and working from there. One of the other people who might be a target is missing, so right now, Jolene and I are all they’ve got and they want to keep us safe."

"They’re getting you a room at the hotel too?" Lucille said, not missing a beat. "Next to Jolene’s, no doubt."

Huh? I, in my shock, had not made this obvious extrapolation, but Mother-Dearest’s mind is a steel trap when it comes to certain topics. Unfortunately, I had a strong feeling that this was not destined to be a personal Jerry and Jolene moment.

"I won’t know the final arrangements until we get there," Jerry said. "Safety is the first concern, but the detectives want to talk with us both tonight. We’ll have a deputy here with you, of course. There’s also a tow truck on the way to move Jolene’s car."

Car? Tow truck? Taking my car--my ever-ready wheels to freedom? "Now, wait a minute. I want my car with me."

"It’ll be taken care of, Jolene. You'll get a new tire and they'll put the car in the impound lot. We don’t want anyone tracking you through the Tahoe. Next time they might hit more than rubber."

I was still mulling that over when Mother chimed in with her own two cents’ worth.

"All right," Lucille said crisply. "I suppose I’ll go along with this little scheme of yours, but don’t be thinking you’re going to pull a fast one on me. No, sir." Lucille shook a long-nailed finger at Jerry. "I know what you’re up to."

Jerry looked at me, then back at Mother. "I’m not up to anything, Miz Jackson."

"You can’t fool me," Lucille said, still wagging the purple nail at him. "I know good and well it’s time for Max to go off shift." She shook her head and tapped her foot. "Either you pay him overtime to stay with me or you send somebody else decent. I don’t want those Harper boys out here ever again. I’m not listening to Leroy. Or feeding him. Same goes for that ill-mannered brother of his. That Larry won’t be spitting his nasty tobacco juice in my grass ever again, and he’s surely not bringing his slobbering self into my house!"

Jerry nodded, his features relaxing perceptibly. "Yes, Ma’am. Leroy’s off duty tonight and Larry’s not working for us right now anyway. He got a job gauging."

Being a gauger is a plum job, driving from one oil patch to the next, dipping a pole down into a holding tank and seeing where the oil hits on the stick. A real thinker like Larry Harper might remember to both write down the oil level and remove the stick from the tank a good seven out of ten times on average.

"Now, Jerry Don," Lucille said, jabbing a finger at him again for emphasis. "I want to know who you’re planning on sending out here to stay with me."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Mother glanced at Jerry, her eyes narrowing. Jerry headed toward the door, but not fast enough. Lucille darted around him and grabbed the latch.

The door creaked open.

Mother screamed.

I didn’t have a clear view to see who was standing outside the door, and reflexively, I glanced around the room for Mother’s purse. I have found that knowing its whereabouts comes in handy in situations rife with fear and shrieking. Not seeing the black bag, I was torn between rushing into the fray or calling the sheriff’s office for help.

"Fritz Harper!" Lucille choked out. "Fritz Harper is a deputy!" She’d recovered her voice and it was escalating in both volume and speed. "You sent
him
out here to guard me?"

The name definitely rang a bell. I think everybody in the school knew the name of the Harper boys’ father for one reason or another. I knew because Fritz always put ads in the football programs and yearbooks to support the school. Other people knew because they had to call him when Leroy or Larry did something stupid, which was often.

Since this was obviously not the crisis Lucille had made it out to be, I flipped off my panic switch and wandered up to get a firsthand view of the confrontation.

Lucille stood with her nose pressed against the outer storm door, her eyes narrowed into mean little slits. She huffed and puffed, fogging the glass with every snort.

Jerry wedged an arm between Lucille and the glass door. "Now, Miz Jackson, Fritz is a fine deputy. He’s done us a good job. You know he sold his farm a while back, and, well, he wanted something to keep him busy so he went to work for us. He’s a good man, as good a man as I’ve ever known."