Gone Crazy (12 page)

She guffawed, horked up, and spat. “We didn’t talk to her, she didn’t talk to us. Besides, I wasn’t even born when she got married. She was a Collier, not a Craig, and that suited us fine.”

I kept going. Half of police work is just not giving up. “So when she came in to get her checks cashed, you didn’t talk?”

“Not much, no. Just hey, howya doin’.” Emmaline took a long drag, emitted smoke from both her nostrils. The impression was of an ailing dragon in a pink muumuu. “I didn’t care much about her one way or another.”

Okay, time for a different tack. Aunt Marge would have kittens if she knew I was inciting someone to gossip. “I can understand that,” I said neutrally. “With my family situation and all.”

She chuckled. Scrap the dragon, enter the creepy madwoman. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Funny thing about our jobs,” I said idly. “We see people differently. Me, they’re all arrest records. You, they’re checks. Doctors, they’re diseases. It’s funny how that works.”

“Not too funny,” replied Emmaline. “I don’t laugh much. But…‌Well, I tell you what, there’s times you just think to yourself there’s more secrets than people know. I can’t name names, you know that, but there’s this guy here in town? He gets a check cashed every month from some kind of fund, but as far as his wife knows, he only gets his paycheck. Y’see what I mean?” She nodded wisely.

“And I know who cheats on his wife when he says he’s just coming home late,” I lied. Sure enough, Boris’s tail went switch-swish. “So what did you know about Vera?”

“Like what?”

“Like who sent her money,” I said bluntly. Subtlety was wasted on Emmaline.

“That’s easy enough. Mama was always asking me.” She chuckled, dropped her cigarette, and ground it out with her flip-flopped toe. “She got her Social Security, and she got her pension check.”

Vera had worked twenty years as a secretary at the county courthouse, which was probably how she found out about Grenville going up for taxes, and was able to buy it cheap. Clever Vera.

“And that was it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh I’m sure,” said Emmaline, and gave me a yellowy stare. “Mama was always asking me. It got so I’d hate to go over on Sundays.”

I followed her back into the air conditioning. “Did Vera know you were checking out her checks?”

Emmaline shrugged heavily. “Sure, she saw me, so what? She bitched me out, I said I can’t help what my eyes see, that was that. Got to be like a routine with us.”

“So she didn’t get checks from anyone else?”

Behind her counter again, Emmaline settled onto a creaky old barstool. “Not that I saw, and she was a cash-only woman. She’d sooner pay me twenty bucks a month than trust a bank, that was sure. Look, you’re scaring people off here.”

I made it up by buying some cheese and crackers. Boris ate the cheese; I took the crackers. I didn’t even mind paying twice as much as they’d have been anywhere else. My gut told me Emmaline was right about Vera’s income. The next question was about her out-going expenses. Easy enough. The money-order place in Gilfoyle was a block away, at the other convenience store.

***^***

“Our best customer,” mourned Larry Teague. He was a chunky guy in his late twenties, wearing a t-shirt from one of the Star Wars prequels. I was guessing the Civic with the “Honk if you love hobbits” bumper sticker was his. “Most folks only use money orders now and then. Miz Collier was steady business.”

He adjusted some candy on its display rack. Boris sniffed along the baseboards in a way that told me this kid had mice or worse. Boris isn’t much on the outdoors, but a mouse in a house is his idea of a good time.

“I know you wouldn’t pry,” I said, glad Boris’s tail wouldn’t give me away. He was too busy pawing to get into the back room. I’d bet mice for sure, though I have seen Boris run off raccoons. “But who was she sending all that money to?”

“That’s easy. Her bills,” said Teague. He got behind his cash register, where his laptop was booted up and waiting. I got the feeling I’d interrupted some online gaming, and not the kind that involves poker. “Electric, phone, taxes when those were due, that kind of stuff.”

I thanked him, retrieved Boris, and strolled down the street to my shiny new cruiser. I saw Davis Collier standing outside his café, fussing with the placement of the two tiny round glass tables and their matching chairs. I waved. He didn’t wave back.

***^***

I got back to Crazy in time for the picnic. Let me tell you, a picnic is no fun for a vegetarian in our town. It was all barbecue and ribs and hamburgers, and those cloying potato and pasta salads that even the bugs avoid. I shared a tiny bag of chips with Boris, who drowsed under a table where it was a few degrees cooler but no less humid.

Travis Murray had provided a couple of kegs to counteract the lemonade and iced tea the church ladies had brought. I took some iced tea and regretted it. I may be Virginia born and bred, but I never have learned to like my iced tea with roughly two tablespoons of sugar per glass. I dumped it on a bush hoping I wasn’t committing herbicide, and started patrolling the perimeter. Boris stayed in the shade. Smart kitty.

I’d expected to see Eddie Brady but Tom tipped me that Eddie and his buddies were drinking at home. That was one less problem. Then I saw Heather Shifflett with her backpack. If she didn’t end up in jail, she’d make a hell of a mural artist, but not today. I confiscated the cans of spray paint, reminded her that she needed to ask permission before she beautified property, and shooed her back to her dad and little brother. She went, sulking, until Darren Mitchell popped over to talk to her. I let her dad handle
that
.

The turnout was pretty good for such a miserably steamy day. Spottswood Park isn’t much‌—‌a few acres of wooded land with a rough grassy clearing, squished up between Spottswood Lane and Main where it turns into Madison Pike‌—‌but Elk Creek runs through it, and plenty of people were wading to take the edge off the heat. Across the road, the fire department was setting up for the fireworks. Hugh Rush, the VFD chief, only used the kind of fireworks you could buy at a roadside stand, but that man could do things with colored lights and a smoke machine that made the display seem a lot bigger than it was. Not too far from him I saw Tom and Kim manning the coolers of water and sports drinks. I saw Jack Littlepage, too, conversing awkwardly with Aunt Marge and Roger, as they stood in line at the condiments table. No sign of any Ellers unless you counted me. At a guess, I’d say two-thirds of the town was there.

That meant I had better cruise the streets to be sure the other third wasn’t up to something.

I tucked Boris carefully into his cat-seat once the air conditioning had kicked in, and eased on down Main Street. All quiet. I waved to a few people who were sitting on porches, but it looked like everyone not at the picnic had taken refuge indoors. I couldn’t blame them. We get heat, sure, but this was record-breaking. You could hear the asphalt melting.

I’d settled into my cruising mentality when I realized it was getting very dark. I checked my watch. Definitely not sunset. I checked the sky. Black and gray clouds, piling up fast. I hate those kinds of storms. They build up their strength, then jump the mountains. One minute, the thunder’s a distant rumble; the next, you’re running for it. I just hoped there wouldn’t be any hail until everyone got home. Pea-sized stings, but when it gets to about hickory-nut-sized, you’ll see some bruises.

It probably sounds foolish, but I sped back to the park. Elk Creek flash floods frequently, and turns parts of the park into a swamp, but that never stops people from being idiots. When I got there, I saw Hugh Rush and Tom were already sending people home. I reinforced the message by parking my cruiser by the little bridge and keeping my lights flashing. When I stepped out, careful to leave Boris safely in the car, I could hear a lot of angry mutters even over the distant thunder. Tom looked placid, but I could see he was irritated by his stance, and Hugh was plainly impatient.

“Anyone think to check the weather?” I asked Tom when I joined him.

“Mr. Love came over.” Thomas Love lived on Spottswood Lane. He was one of our favorite people. He never broke the law. “Radar looks pretty scary.”

I scowled. “They said only thirty-forty percent chance this morning.”

Tom’s smile slid sideways. “Things change. I guess that front’s coming through early.”

I had to physically drag Jack Shiflet out of the creek. He reeked of beer. Little Dylan Spivey decided to pitch a tantrum up a tree, so I had to climb up and get him for his mother, who was nearly crying from aggravation, and I pretended not to see when he got a swat on the behind for slapping her. Tom got into a shouting match with Joe Brady, who insisted he knew better than any old radar what kind of weather we’d get, and wouldn’t get up from the picnic table. Bobbi and Raj ambled off hand-in-hand, so sickly-syrupy in love that I was tempted to ask Hugh to give them a shot from the fire hose. Josie Shifflett fell three times on her way to her car, and I sent her home on foot, her husband Ron apologizing to me in between her curses.

All in all, business as usual.

The storm popped over the mountain maybe five minutes later. I drove carefully along Main, keeping my lights flashing and my spotlight on to help people see through the sudden downpour. Lightning danced all along the mountaintops. Thunder boomed so close that Boris scrambled into my lap and then under my seat. I slowed the cruiser even more, wincing as a tree branch whipped past my windshield. At Bare Road, I turned around and slipped back down Main at a crawl. I finally made it to the office, and sat in the parking lot watching pea-sized hail bounce off the hood. Boris emerged from hiding, huddling on my lap like a kitten. I yawned and settled in for a quick nap. If I knew Crazy, everyone would flock back to the park for fireworks the moment the sky cleared. I’d better rest while I could.

A hard thump on the car woke me. I blinked and stretched, gave myself a good shake. The rain had subsided to a drizzle, and mist was curling up from the pavement, along the treetops. It reminded me of stories Aunt Marge would tell me when I was small, about storm-wraiths and rain-fairies. But what really held my attention was the shotgun in Jeff Collier’s hands.

12.

Y
ou want a wake-up call, seeing the wrong end of a shotgun will do it. It’s also a good incentive to move to a state with gun ownership laws a hell of a lot stricter than Virginia’s. Maybe another country, even.

In the movies and on TV, someone shows up to save the day. Or the hero of the story pulls some improbable trick. Too bad real life isn’t like TV and the movies. I just sat there. My fingers were frozen in Boris’s fur. I had one good clear thought: If this guy killed my cat, I’d haunt his ass till the end of time.

Then Jeff Collier peered closer, and his shoulders relaxed, and he put the shotgun on the hood of my car, turning it so the barrel faced him.

I still don’t remember getting out of the car, or how I got him in handcuffs. I just know one minute, I’m in the car, and the next, he’s facedown in a mud puddle. Spitting out dirty water and tiny gravel. “I thought you were county!” he said wetly.

For that insult, I let my knee stay in the small of his back a couple seconds longer. “Wrong,” I snarled, and hauled him up. Adrenaline’s fabulous at times like that. I felt like Superman as I marched him into the office and read him his rights. When Tom walked in a few moments later, and saw Jeff Collier in a cell, his jaw dropped. “Where’d he come from?”

I kept scrubbing myself dry with paper towels. “I’m gonna find out. The park flooded?”

“Yeah, but Hugh says they can do the fireworks over at the elementary school parking lot.” Tom fidgeted, eyes going from Jeff to me to the shotgun on my desk. “You okay? You got all mud on you.”

“I’m fine,” I said, and hid my shaking by grabbing the phone. “I’ll let Aunt Marge know about the fireworks, she’ll see everyone hears.”

“What about him?” asked Tom.

I took a deep breath. I had a lot of questions for Jeff Collier, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ask them. “He can wait. Give him some scrubs. I’ll tell Kim’s mom to bring over some food for him.”

I turned my back to make the phone call to Aunt Marge. I was thinking a lot of things, but mostly I was trying to figure out why Jeff Collier looked so happy to be in my jail.

***^***

The fireworks went off without a hitch, and finished up about ten minutes before another storm rolled through. The rain was a blessing. It kept the drunks inside, so I could go home. I dragged myself to bed and slept so hard that even Boris demanding breakfast couldn’t wake me up. It took Aunt Marge spritzing me with water from her plant mister. Even then, I was moving at about the speed of snail. Lucky for me it was Sunday. Nobody would be up to see that I wasn’t.

Tom was waiting when I finally got to the office around eight. He’d spent the night, and looked more rumpled than Jeff Collier. They were finishing up the hard-boiled eggs and biscuits Kim’s mother had dropped off, and talking about fishing.

Normally we interviewed people in the lunchroom, but I wasn’t feeling all that motivated. I pulled a chair over and sat down with my notepad on my knee. Boris finished his morning butt-wash and jumped onto the chair Tom meant for himself. Resigned, Tom got a third chair and straddled it.

“Jeff,” I said, “I gotta tell you, I am worn out. So let’s start simple. Why’d you run?”

Jeff looked relieved I hadn’t started with something harder. “Got scared. I was taking out the trash, and all I see is Colliers in handcuffs.” He shrugged, and turned red. “I freaked out. Took off up the mountain.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “You been up on the mountains this whole time?”

I shifted so I could see Boris’s tail. It stayed curved along his body.

“Pretty much,” said Jeff. “I got back in the house to get some food, but I’ve been roughing it. Then yesterday, I mean day before yesterday, I snuck on home, and I saw all my brothers and all back home again like nothing was wrong.” His hands moved strangely in mid-air. “I figured by now you’d know which one killed Mama.”