Dead Man Falls (19 page)

They both groaned, but I just ignored them and got on with the business at hand. After all, somebody had to come up with some good--or at least wild ass--theories. I pulled a sheet of paper from Jerry’s pad and snatched a pen from the desk in the corner. "Now then, since we basically have nothing for certain, let’s play out the Rhonda thread."

Jerry nodded to Rick and said, "Jolene thinks she invented the ‘what if’ game."

He could make fun of me if he wanted to, but my willingness to extrapolate things this way and that has helped me stumble upon important tidbits even if no one thought so at the time. "Did Rhonda plan to keep the baby?"

Jerry shrugged. "I guess I assumed she didn’t since she was going to Abilene to have it."

Abilene. Of course! I thumped the heel of my palm against my forehead. "Red White is from Abilene! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?" I looked at Rick. "What did Red White say when he came in and talked to you yesterday?"

Rick looked at Jerry, Jerry looked at Rick, and they both avoided looking at me. I sighed heavily. "He didn’t come in, did he? And now he’s gone."

Rick pushed away from the table and stomped to the desk. He called in to the station, confirmed that Red White never showed up and promptly put out an alert to look for the truck. When he sat back down at the table, he wasn’t happy. "All right, Jolene, you’ve got all the answers. Now what?"

I didn’t have any answers; all I had were questions. And if you think I was feeling smug about anything, I was not. Red White was involved in this thing somehow and he needed to be questioned. That he hadn’t shown up at the station as he said he would was nothing but bad news. Did that make him a murderer? "Red’s not the killer," I said, sort of out of the blue, and answering my own mental question. "He may know the killer and be helping him, but he didn’t do the job."

Jerry leaned back in the chair again and crossed his arms. I have learned to be wary of this pose. "And you know this how?"

I have learned not to volunteer that much of my conjecture and supposition comes from "feelings." "Red White’s not in the yearbook."

Rick nodded intently and Jerry sort of rolled his eyes.

I wrote "Abilene" on the paper then drew a line and wrote Red. I went back to Abilene and drew another line out and wrote Rhonda. From there I wrote my name, Jerry’s and Calvin’s and began connecting the dots. The result was a zigzagged mess. I snagged another sheet of paper and started over. Abilene to Red, Abilene to Rhonda. Rhonda to Jerry, Rhonda to me, me to Jerry, Calvin out to the side. I tapped the pen on the paper. "Hmm. Maybe Red’s the father of Rhonda’s baby. Or maybe he’s
her
father--or Calvin's father."

Rick and Jerry both looked at me unappreciatively.

Jerry stood up. "Will room service bring up beer?" he said, to no one in particular.

"Beer, Jerry? Are you nuts?" The tone of my voice clearly indicated that I’d already decided he was. "It’s ten-thirty in the morning."

"If you’re going to do this wild guessing thing, I’ve got to have a beer. Or whiskey. And I don’t even drink whiskey."

While Jerry paced the floor, I propped my elbows on the table, rested my chin in my hands and did some serious thinking. The Calvin-Red-Rhonda connection was a big leap, and even I didn’t think it was close, particularly since I couldn’t legitimately draw a line from Calvin to anyone. Still, there had to be some connection between Rhonda and Red through Abilene, but what? Or who? Was that how Calvin fit in? Not likely.

"Jerry, if Rhonda went down to Abilene to put her baby up for adoption then that baby can't be Harley Senior."

Rick rustled around for some papers, looking highly relieved to have something--a legitimate fact even--to add to the conversation. "No. Rhonda Davenport legally changed her name to Rhonda Danvers roughly twenty-three years ago, a few months before Harley Danvers was born. No record of marriage at any point so we don’t really know why she changed her name."

"Sure we do, Rick," I said. "Another unwed pregnancy."

Jerry stopped pacing and stared at me, presumably wondering if I was just being hateful, which I was not.

"You may be right, Jolene," he said. "But from everything we’ve come up with so far, Rhonda Danvers was a model citizen, not even a parking ticket to her name. She was on the PTA board when her son was in school and recently started helping out at her grandson’s preschool."

"Oh, geez, let me guess, she worked at a bank and taught Sunday school too."

Rick’s blue eyes widened and the tips of his ears turned red beneath his blond curls. "Yeah. Teller of the Year three years running at Community National and she taught the teen class at Sunrise Baptist."

Now, why did that news piss me off? Because I knew it was a lie--all of it. "Let me guess, you got your information from her son."

"Yes, but it’s all checked out so far," Rick said. "Looks like she turned herself around."

"Well, Saint Rhonda had a little slip yesterday in the grocery store. So did sonny boy. They both looked ready to kill me right then and there." Before I let myself get all worked up again, I said, "What’s the story on her son?"

"Harley Roy Danvers was born in Redwater Falls," Rick said. "Father was listed as a Roy Lee Danvers, deceased."

The name was made up, so there was no point dwelling on that. "Is Harley in the military?"

Rick shuffled some more papers and nodded. "Was. He just received an honorable discharge from the army. Didn’t reenlist because he wanted to be closer to his son. Harley Junior’s mother died in childbirth about a year ago. Rhonda had been taking care of the boy ever since."

This was not the Rhonda I knew or the one I’d seen this morning in the United Supermarket. And frankly, learning about the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes version was making me a little ill. I stumbled back over to the chair and started to sit down when it hit me what was wrong--or at least part of what was wrong.

"Wait a minute!" I said, rushing back to the table and spinning the yearbook back toward me. "Rhonda’s picture wasn’t circled, was it?" Jerry and Rick both shook their heads.

I turned to the senior class photos and found hers, then flipped the page backward. "Look!" Rhonda Davenport’s oval picture fell almost exactly on the flip side of Russell Clements’. "So, it wasn’t Russell’s face that was circled, it was Rhonda’s?"

Jerry and Rick both checked the pages for themselves.

"The paper was wet," Rick said. "But it sure looked like the mark was on the side with Clements. I guess it’s possible it could have bled through. We don’t have a lab report back yet." He hurried to the phone again and made another call.

Jerry and I waited while Rick tried to get the lab people on the phone. No one was available and he wound up leaving messages at several desks to try to get some of our immediate questions answered.

There were several ways to look at this situation. If Rhonda had been the one marked for murder then Russell should theoretically be safe--only he was missing. Or, if Rhonda actually hadn’t been circled, and it really had been Russell with the red mark around him, then our killer wasn’t necessarily working on the X’s and O’s program and anyone on any page was a potential target. There were likely other possibilities as well, but nothing that pointed to any kind of clear logic. I sat back down at the table and relayed my theories to Jerry and Rick.

Neither seemed to find my summation a major revelation so I paged over to my own senior photo, then turned it to check the other side. Only white space and lines of text graced the same area. Jerry’s page was the same way. "No question about those circles," I muttered. "Let’s try the teachers’ page."

Jerry put his thumb to a dog-eared page and flipped it over. Willard Pollock’s cocky grinning pose took up the top half of the page; the school superintendent--who’d been there when dirt was invented--scowled out from the bottom. That was one we could scratch off the list as he’d died a few years after I graduated. "There were no marks on these pages, right, Rick?"

"Right," Rick said then looked at me suspiciously. "Any of these teachers have histories I should know about?"

Rick was getting to know me a little too well, I feared, and it did not escape my notice that he’d backed way off on the playful flirting thing. Kind of hurt my feelings.

As much as I preferred not to, I gave Rick the condensed versions of my problems with Pollock and Sharon Addleman. When I casually mentioned that I’d also run into Ms. Addleman in the grocery store, both Rick and Jerry very nearly fell out of their chairs.

The grilling that ensued was neither interesting nor pleasant, particularly for me. And if anything enlightening came of it, I surely missed it.

Jerry did jog my memory on the photography club thing, but I’d never come up with anything concrete that might pertain to murder. Now, however, there was a small connection in that everyone in that club photo, except Bud-the-underclassman, had either accosted me in the grocery store or was dead. Rhonda got checks in both boxes. And all these incidents meant what?

Nobody seemed to have a clue, least of all me. After swearing under oath that I hadn’t forgotten to tell them anything else, Rick gathered up his papers and took off back to his office. I suspected that Sharon Addleman would be the subject of a prompt investigation.

As Jerry locked the flip latch behind Rick, I stood and stretched. "Gosh, it’s almost eleven. Want me to buy you a burger somewhere? This room is getting awfully stuffy."

Jerry narrowed his eyes at me. "It’s going to get a whole lot stuffier before you step a foot out of it." And he didn’t say it nicely either.

"Now, Jerry--"

"Save it, Jolene. You’re going nowhere."

In an unusual move, I decided to keep my mouth shut. If I wanted to leave I darn well would--somehow--but I knew better than to announce that fact to Sheriff Parker. Without a word, I grabbed another Dr Pepper and marched myself back to my own little room.

One look around told me that the fancy furniture and plush carpet wouldn’t keep me entertained for very long. I don’t much care for television, but other than reading the hotel guide or the Gideon’s gift, it was all I had. No, not all I had. There was the telephone. And I did need to check in on my mother.

I walked over to the desk and dialed my mother’s number. On the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up. I hung up and redialed. "Hello?" she said, sounding a little breathless.

"How’s it going?"

"What? Oh, Jolene. Why, everything is just fine out here. Are you just now getting up? Do you know what time it is?"

Oh, yes, I knew. I also knew she was turning the questions back to me to avoid answering any herself, not that I was going to ask much. "I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay." Even though I found another body last night. "No need to worry about me." Not that you are.

"Well, that’s good. I knew you’d be all right with that fine sheriff guarding you. Bowman County sure does have some top-notch officers."

Oh, please. Two months-as well as two days--ago she was calling them goons and thugs. I rolled my eyes and took a different approach. "Sounds like everything is going pretty good out there. You and Deputy Harper must have settled your differences and come to some sort of mutual understanding about things."

"Why, yes, we did. Everything’s just fine. No problems at all. Now, you’re sure everything’s okay with you?" she asked, remembering to throw in a little motherly concern to confuse things. "You’re not in any trouble, are you?"

She didn’t fool me for a second, but I played along with her pretense of concern. "I’m fine. Jerry’s fine too. He’s staying in the room next door. We’re being very good little children. We’re all just safe and sound as can be." Rhonda-the-slut’s dead and I found her, but not to worry. "Well, glad things are going well out there. I’ll check with you tomorrow."

Lucille muttered some obligatory thing that made it sound like she semi-cared what I’d said.

And yes, it did peeve me just a tad that my mother could have a man walk in off the street and fall right at her feet whereas I, well, my pathetic situation was fairly obvious. "Have a good time, Mother," I said, cringing as she giggled. I also said good-bye, but I think she’d already hung up.

I muttered a little as I grabbed the TV remote and turned the thing on. I took all the pillows from both beds and made myself a nice little backrest, flopped down and started changing channels. Samantha the witch stopped me, but I only got to see the last nose twitch and Darrin’s obligatory kiss before the credits rolled.

The shows from that time period are comforting to me, turning back the clock to a more innocent time. I was singing along with the theme song to
Gilligan’s Island
when Jerry walked in. I didn’t stop. "The weather started getting rough," I chirped, loudly and off-key. "The tiny ship was tossed--"

"I guess getting chewed out for an hour by two law enforcement officers doesn’t faze you."

"Nah, I’m tough. Besides, this is the beauty contest episode."

"You hate beauty contests."

"Yeah, but in this one the monkey wins. And rightfully so." I pulled out a pillow from behind my back and threw it at him. "Have a seat. Ginger really pours it on in this one. You’ll like it."

He tossed the pillow back on the bed. "Don’t ever forget to tell me about things like this ever again. Okay?"

"I didn’t deliberately not tell you about Sharon Addleman, I really just didn’t think about it after my Rhonda trauma. Now, I will admit to deliberately withholding information on Harley, but you weren’t so very happy with me at the time and I didn’t want to make it worse."

"Beside the point. I don’t care how mad you think I am--"

"I got it. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Jerry."

He did not smile, just marched over to the desk in the corner of my room, pulled out the chair and sat down.

I proceeded to be intensely interested in Gilligan’s goofiness. "Tell me the truth, Jerry, who do you like best, Mary Ann or Ginger?"

He thought for a minute then said, "Ginger was every boy’s fantasy, but Mary Ann’s the one you’d take home to meet your mother."