Family Thang (5 page)

“Has the family received this money yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not sure how it works. I guess the money won’t be doled out until we find out who murdered Daddy.”

Sheriff Bledsoe shook his head. “You’re thinking insurance money. As long as your father was of sound mind when he made out his will and had three witnesses, he determines the whenever and to whomever his estate is to be issued. Who’s the executor of your father’s will?”

“I don’t know.”

“The name of the beneficiaries?”

“Mother, Ruth Ann, Shirley, Robert Earl and me.”

“Have you seen the will?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Hmmm. Do you often fly home for family barbecues?”

“No. The barbecue was planned as an early celebration of my parent’s golden wedding anniversary. Shirley and Ruth Ann scheduled it to accommodate my vacation week.”

“I see. Anyone you know, friend or family member, who held a grudge against your father?”

Leonard stared at the floor, concentrating. “Daddy aggravat
ed people. Snide comments, name-
calling, insults. He’d raise holy hell if you didn’t pay his money back. If he borrowed from you, he got amnesia, then got testy if you insisted reciprocation. One time Daddy took a rather nasty whooping over an unpaid debt.”

“From who?”

“Joe Hill. A long time ago, and after Joe whooped Daddy, Mother paid him. I doubt Joe still holding a grudge.”

“You sure it was Joe? I know Joe, he’s not the fighting type.”

“Borrow thirty dollars from Joe and don’t pay him back, then tell me what he won’t do. I was there when he ran to the house, smoke blowing out his nostrils.”

“Joe Hill whooped your daddy at your daddy’s house?”

“Not inside the house. When I yelled, ‘Joe’s coming,’ Daddy ran out the back door. Joe caught him in the backyard.”

“Anyone else whom your father disagreed over money.”

“There was a tiff between Daddy and Robert Earl, but Daddy didn’t owe Robert Earl money.”

“A tiff? A disagreement or a fight?”

“I wasn’t there. Shirley told me about it. According to her, Robert Earl went to Daddy and asked for an advance on his share of the money, fifty thousand dollars, if I’m not mistaken. Daddy, as usual, feigned amnesia, told Robert Earl he’d lost his one and only marble. Robert Earl called Daddy a tightwad. They pushed and shoved each other, but it didn’t get dirty.”

“Sounds to me Robert Earl needs money in a bad way. He’s having financial problems?”

“No more than anyone else. You see, Robert Earl dreams of opening a combination snake farm and gas station.”

Sheriff Bledsoe arched an eyebrow. “Snakes?”

“I’m afraid so,” wondering if Sheriff Bledsoe thought his entire family was insane.

“Here in Dawson?”

“Yes.” Leonard sighed. “Right here. Robert Earl stopped at a gas station displaying snakes when he was in Arizona. It definitely made an impression on him; he’s been talking about it for years.”

“Has Robert Earl--”

Leonard cut him short. “Robert Earl is not a murderer. He’s a snake lover, a blowhard, a coward, a nut--he’s
not
a murderer. He’s also a homophobe, though I’m sure you wouldn’t hold that against him.”

Sheriff Bledsoe ignored the slight. “I didn’t say he was a murderer. Money brings out the worst in people, good and bad people.” He paused and looked Leonard straight in the eye. “I have to ask you this. Did you murder your father?”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again. I did not murder my father.”

“You willing to take a polygraph?”

“Yes,” Leonard snapped. “Day or night.”

“When were you planning to return to Chicago?”

“Today, just as soon as I leave here.”

Sheriff Bledsoe shook his head. “Uh-uh. I prefer you didn’t, not until we clear this up.”

“I can’t stay!” Leonard said, raising his voice. “I have a job, a life, in Chicago.”

“Your father was murdered during a family gathering. And not only were you there, you threatened him.”

“I didn’t threaten him. Who said I threatened him? Who?” He waited…Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond. “No way can you construe what I told my father as a threat. Please! I just told you we, Victor and myself, arrived late. Everybody knows that. This is a waste of time!”

“I’ve got plenty of time, Mr. Harris.” Leonard stood abruptly. “If you leave town prematurely, Mr. Harris, I will issue a warrant for your arrest.”

Leonard stared at him. He wanted to say high cholesterol makes rational thinking difficult, doesn’t it? Instead: “This is ridiculous!”

“Maybe so. Here in the country we treat murder seriously.”

“How long will it take you to complete your investigation?”

Three creases appeared on Sheriff Bledsoe’s forehead. “Not too long,” he said, and Leonard detected a tinge of doubt.

“I heard a murder investigation runs cold if the perpetrator isn’t caught within the first forty-eight hours. My father’s murder is, what, four-days-old? You’re not sure how long this investigation will take, are you?”

Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond.

Leonard crossed his arms and scrunched up his nose. “I’ll stick around for as long as it takes. I’m not the litigious sort, but if I lose my job before you realize I did not murder my father…well, as the old saying goes--”

“I will see you in court,” Sheriff Bledsoe finished for him. “You’re free to go, Mr. Harris.”

Leonard walked to the door, opened it and then stopped. “Have you ever lost a family member to murder?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response. “Words can’t describe it. Numb, anguish, pain--don’t even come close. Then to be suspected--”

A black truck drove by, a rebel flag in the back window. Leonard lost his train of thought. “Have a good day, Sheriff,” and stepped out into the afternoon’s heat. 

Chapter 4

Along Highway 10, two miles east of Dawson’s city limits, a mile or so short of a vacant lot where Robert Earl planned to build a gas station and exotic snake farm, stood the Blinky Motel. The only building before a ten-mile stretch to the next town, Hamburg, it lit up the sky for miles around.

A full moon hovered above. A large neon sign in front flashed INKY, missing the first two letters. Along the edge of the roof, red Christmas lights blinked intermittently from one end to the other.

Nine rooms comprised the single-level building, one inhabited by the manager, an Iranian who boasted American citizenship; thus the sign American Owned and Operated in the office window.

Three cars were parked in front on the gravel lot. In back, a late-model Chevrolet S10 truck hid among a copse of pine trees. Its owner, Eric Barnes, sat on a bed in room number seven, watching a video,
Deep Throat.

Mesmerized by Linda Lovelace’s oral resuscitations, Eric didn’t hear the soft knock at the door.

“Eric?” a woman whispered, followed by a tap on the window. “Eric!” This time he heard and hastily took out the video and changed the channel,
The Cartoon Network
.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Eric opened the door and Ruth Ann, wrapped in a trench coat, stepped in.

“I’ve been out there a long time,” she said, looking around the room. “What you doing you didn’t hear the door?”

“I musta dozed off.” Ruth Ann brushed past him and sat on the bed. He wondered why she wore a coat in the middle of July. “Something wrong?”

She stared at the television; a petite woman slammed Johnny Bravo on his head. “The funeral, my father, everything, really…” She shook her head.

He sat beside her and ran his hand through her hair. “What you talking about, baby?” She pushed his hand away. “What’s the matter? Don’t you still love me?”

“Eric, my daddy was murdered. Somebody poisoned him. His funeral was just yesterday.”

“He was murdered! Damn! Ain’t that a bitch! Take your clothes off, let’s get busy.”

Ruth Ann shot him a cold look. “For your information, Daddy and I were real close. You wouldn’t understand.” She covered her eyes and started crying. “I miss him so much!”

“I miss him, too,” tugging on the trench coat. Good girl, he thought as he slid the coat down her shoulders.

To his surprise, Ruth Ann sported a blue skin-tight jumpsuit underneath the coat; crying loudly now, her sobs drowning out Johnny Bravo begging for a date. Even in her distress, he wanted her.

Ruth Ann was an attractive woman. Coal-black hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Brown eyes below pencil-thin eyebrows slanted upward, giving her a slightly Asian appearance. Her complexion resembled liquid caramel, creamy smooth. Figure curved in all the right places, especially in the rear.

What mostly fascinated Eric was her mouth. Lips full and sensuous, almost always sporting a sparkling cherry sheen. When she talked her lips barely moved, concealing her t
eeth, straight and snow white.

He hugged her. “It’s going to be all right, baby. I’m here.” He palmed her breast and she pushed his hand away.

She stopped crying and said, “I’ve been doing some thinking, some serious thinking.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, I have. Daddy’s death triggered my conscience. I’ve allowed my moral compass to shift to depravity and self-gratification.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, not having a clue what the hell she was talking about. “Me, too.”

“Really? You feel the same way?”

“Yeah, hell yeah! I feel the same way you do. Now let’s get naked.” He pulled her to him and started kissing her neck, then tried to push her onto the bed.

“Stop!” Ruth Ann shouted, pulling free.

“What’s the matter, baby? We don’t have much time. I took two Levitras and rented this room for an hour.”

“Didn’t you just say you felt the same as I do, guilty and ashamed? Morally depleted?”

“I did?”
When did I say all that?
“No, I didn’t!”

Ruth Ann got up and went into the bathroom. Eric kicked off his sandals, hopped out of his baggy short pants and snatched off his V-neck T-shirt. He lay on the bed stark naked, his erection pointing north.

Ruth Ann stepped out, drying her face with a washcloth. She glanced at Eric, then sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“C’mon, baby,” Eric said, patting the bed. “I’ll make you feel better, all tingly inside.”

“Eric, you’re not listening. I can’t do this anymore. My sister, your son’s mother--I can’t do this anymore, not in good conscience. It’s wrong. It was wrong from the start. This should not have happened. I can’t do this anymore.”