Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers] (45 page)

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“When I called down to Conroy this morning,” Sheriff Watson said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I was told that Mrs. Conroy was in Dallas and that Mr. Marty Conroy was out of town. Orlan spotted him in Red Rock and told him the news.”
“Hard to miss that shiny new Packard.” Orlan grinned cockily, pleased to have played such an important part.
“I wasn’t sneaking into town,” Marty said. “I came looking for the sheriff.”
“He has a paper, Dolan, from a judge in Colby County, Texas, that says Jay Conroy Dolan is to be placed in the custody of Martin Conroy, Jr. until a hearing can be held to determine permanent custody.”
Tom stopped his pacing and whirled around. “What the hell did you say?”
“I’m saying the judge down there wants to take your boy and put him in the care of Martin Conroy, Jr. He says that Mrs. Dolan’s mental condition renders her incapable of caring for the child and that she only got that way after you gave her child to another woman. He says that you are an unfit parent and a Catholic and that the child should be raised a Protestant.”
Tom was stunned into silence. Then with a roar of rage he sprang at Marty. Johnny and Grant acted in unison and grabbed him before he could reach the man who cowered behind the deputy.
“You slimy bastard! I’ll kill you before I let you take my son!”
“Like you killed Emmajean, after . . . you drove her crazy?” Marty snarled, braver now that Tom was under control.
“Sheriff, may I see the paper?” Grant asked.
“Aren’t you the road tramp that’s been hanging around here?” Orlan asked with a sneer
Grant ignored him. “Sheriff, I’m Tom’s lawyer. He hired me this morning.” Grant warned Tom by squeezing his arm.
“Lawyer,” Orlan scoffed, as he eyed the man in the worn high-top shoes and patched shirt.. “He ain’t any more a lawyer than I am.”
Grant took out his wallet, removed a card, and handed it to the sheriff.
“I’m a member of the Oklahoma bar, licensed to practice in the state of Oklahoma.”
“Shit! Anybody can get a card sayin’ anythin’.”
“Orlan, shut up!” Sheriff Watson snapped, and handed the card back to Grant. He lifted the flap on his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded document. “Take a look.”
Grant studied the paper carefully, then folded it and handed it back to the sheriff.
“The judge who issued this is an incompetent fool. What were you holding over his head, Conroy, to make him issue this summons? It isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.” When Marty began to sputter, Grant continued. “A first-year law student, much less a judge, would know that this writ is worthless.”
“Are you taking the word of a bum who says he’s a lawyer, Sheriff?” Marty asked.
“I may be only a hillbilly sheriff, Conroy, but even I know that a Texas judge has no jurisdiction in Oklahoma. What are you trying to pull here?”
“I’m trying to do right by my dead sister’s boy.”
“You didn’t know that she was dead until you got here . . . or did you?”
“Well . . . no, but I knew she was crazy.”
“Was Mr. Conroy’s will probated?” Grant asked.
“It was,” Marty snarled. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“It will be. I’ll send down for a copy. My client has the right to know what was in the will.”
“I don’t care what was in his damn will,” Tom snapped.
“Sheriff, it seems to me that Mr. Conroy came with his summons to get custody of the child because he knew that his sister was dead and that her inheritance from her father’s estate would go to her husband and her child. But if she was dead and the husband hanged for her murder, he would have control. It’s clear to me that you have a murder suspect with a motive.”
“You may be right. Where were you last night, Conroy?”
“Dammit to hell! Are you accusing me?”
“I’m asking you where you were last night.”
“I was in Wichita Falls.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the law firm of Shellenberger and Shellenberger—”
“—Can’t say that I have,” the sheriff said drily.
“You will. The Conroys have been valuable clients of that firm for over fifty years. They handle the Conroy trust. You’d better watch out, mister, or you’ll find yourself going up against a law firm that will eat you alive.”
“Is that so, Mr. Big-shot Conroy? Speaking of being eaten up alive. You’d better watch yourself or you’ll be sleepin’ on a cot in my fleahouse.”
“Are you going to honor the judge’s orders and let me have my nephew?”
“Hell, no. Are you deaf or something?”
“My mother doesn’t give up. We’ll get the boy after this murderer swings for killing my sister.”
“Get out of here, Conroy. You’re damn lucky I’m letting you go. I wouldn’t if I didn’t know where to find you when I want you.”
“The service for your sister will be held tomorrow,” Tom said. “If your mother wishes to come, we can delay it a day to give her time to get here.”
“She won’t be here,” Sheriff Watson said, when Marty walked away. “I called her in Dallas, and she said she didn’t have a daughter, so that’s that.”
“Godamighty!” Tom exclaimed.

 

Chapter Twenty-four
In order not to draw undo attention, because of the gossip about her and Tom, Henry Ann did not attend the burial service for Tom’s wife. Karen, Grant, Johnny, Jay, and Tom arrived to find more than fifty curious onlookers gathered around the burial place. Reverend Wesson conducted the graveside service and Karen sang a hymn. When it came time to lower the casket into the grave, Mr. Austin stepped up to help Grant, Johnny, and the Reverend Wesson man the ropes. Jay, confused as to what was happening, clung to Karen’s skirts.
Karen and Grant left the cemetery with Karen’s father. Tom and Jay left with Johnny driving Tom’s car. The crowd was quiet until Tom was getting into his car, then someone yelled.
“Murderer!”
“Why’d ya kill ’er?”
“Ya ain’t fit ter live!”
Johnny drove slowly by the crowd that lined the road.
“I’m thinkin’ the fellers doin’ the yellin’ were brought here in that ‘Jelly-Bean’ car over there.” Johnny pointed to the Packard parked on the other side of a row of honeysuckle bushes.
“A man who’d not come to his sister’s burial is about as low as he can get,” Tom remarked as they drove out of town. “But I guess a mother who disowns her daughter because she has a sick mind is lower.”
“Hen Ann make me new shirt,” Jay said, trying to get his father’s attention.
“You look very nice, son.”
Tom’s mind was on how he was going to pay the undertaker and for the lot in the cemetery. He would either sell the car or his cows. If it were not for Henry Ann, he would take his son and leave the place where he had had so much grief and more happiness than he thought possible. Grant had assured him that the Conroys didn’t have a chance of getting Jay as long as he stayed out of Texas and away from their crooked judge.
Henry Ann, oh, my love. I could no more leave you than I could stop breathing. I never dreamed that there was a love like the one I have for you. It hurts, oh God, it hurts, to have people shun you because of me. I pray that Jay and I and our love for you’ll be enough to make up for that.
* * *
Sheriff Watson observed the burial service from a distance. Damn stupid people. Imagine being curious enough to come out to the graveyard and stand in the hot sun to watch a poor murdered woman being buried. That brother of hers showed his true colors by not showing up at the gravesite. A blind man would be able to spot that car he was trying to hide in the bushes.
Last night at the Phillips’s house Sheriff Watson had had a long talk with his old friend over a large cut of Mrs. Phillips’s “pee-con” pie. Phil had filled him in on the story behind Grant Gifford. He was much taken with the young lawyer and was inclined to go along with him when he said Tom Dolan could not have killed his wife and set fire to the house.
Phillips, who acted as part-time county attorney, was looking into the business of Conroy’s will, and he believed young Conroy had a motive for killing his sister—a two-thousand-five-hundred-dollar-a-year motive. He knew of the firm of Shellenberger and Shellenberger and said he was sure they would not be part of a scheme by Marty Conroy to take Tom’s son away from him.
The sheriff waited until the crowd at the cemetery began to disperse before he got in his car and headed for Mud Creek.
* * *
When Pete rode his lathered horse into the yard, he recognized the sheriff’s car. Orlan Nelson had come out late last night to tell him the sheriff would be out to question him. Hardy had been paying Orlan off for the better part of a year to keep quiet about their thriving bootlegging business.
Pete had just come from the Hastings place and had found it boarded up. There wasn’t a sign of Opal or the old man. The chickens, the cow, and even the dog were gone. It puzzled Pete that they had left so suddenly. If someone had threatened Opal and scared her off, they would hear from him.
Pete unsaddled his horse and carefully wiped him down before he turned him into the corral. After he had carried a bucket of fresh water and set it inside the railed fence, he went to the house. The sheriff was sitting on the porch with Hardy and Jude.
“’Lo, Sheriff.”
“’Lo, Pete.”
“What brings you out our way?”
“I think you know.”
“Yeah. News travels fast. Too bad about Dolan’s wife.” Pete took off his hat, reached for a dipper in the bucket of water on the porch, and poured water over his head. “It’s a hell of a way to die.”
“Folks tell me you had a party here the other night.”
“It was more like a wake.”
“I heard that you were madder than hell about gettin’ kicked out of the marathon.”
“Yeah, I was. You’d have been mad, too, if you’d planned on something for months, then got kicked out the first day.”
“You made threats against Miss Henry ’cause you thought she had turned your partner in for being underage.”
“You got it right, Sheriff. When I get mad it unhinges my jaws, and I’m liable to say anything. Ask Hardy.”
“I already did.”
“I guess that settles it.”
“Not quite. Isabel told me the night I took her off the dance floor that you said you’d get even with Tom Dolan for fooling around with Miss Henry—him being married and all and her being a virgin lady.”
“I might of said something like that. He was married and had no business foolin’ around with a nice woman like Henry Ann and ruinin’ her good name.”
“Don’t reckon you ever fooled around with a married woman,” the sheriff said drily.
“None that had a good name and didn’t want to be fooled with.” Pete grinned.
“Why’er ya askin’ Pete these questions?” Hardy had been watching the sheriff and was afraid that he had something on his mind that he wasn’t going to like.
“It’s my business to ask questions. Where were you that night, Pete?”
“Here at the wake.” He grinned again.
“All night?”
“Think so. I was pretty drunk.”
“Some of your relatives say you saddled up and pulled out about dark.”
“Who said that?” Hardy’s voice boomed so loud the dogs began to bark. “Who in the hell said Pete wasn’t here?”
“A couple of folks. They didn’t know why I was asking the questions about who was here and how long they stayed.”
“Well, he was here. Goddamnit! He was here. Wasn’t he Jude?”
“I wasn’t here, Hardy. I didn’t get back until midnight. Everyone was gone by then.”
“Where did you go?” Sheriff turned his sharp gaze on Jude, who sat on the end of the porch whittling on a stick.
“Mrs. Powell’s. She and Mr. Powell are tutoring me so I can pass the college exam.”
“That’ll be easy enough to check out. Now back to you, Pete. Where did you go?”
“I rode over to the Hastings’s place.”
“Who was there?”
“The old man. Opal had gone off with Chris Austin.”
“You know where they went?”
“No.”
“They went to Wichita Falls and got married.”
Pete said nothing for several seconds; then a quick smile flashed across Pete’s face.
“He married her? Well, now, don’t that just take the cake? I never thought he had brains or guts enough to latch on to a girl like Opal. So that’s why the place was boarded up; they married, left Mud Creek, and took the old man with them.”
“She wasn’t one of your women?”
“Not ’cause I didn’t try.” Pete smiled again.

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