Half in Love with Artful Death (13 page)

“Germs don't count,” Hack said.

Before Lawton could object, Rhodes was out the door. He figured he'd escaped just in time to miss the fisticuffs.

 

Chapter 11

When Rhodes wanted to think things over, he generally went to his office in the courthouse. That was about the only time he went there, so nobody ever thought of looking for him when he was mulling things over. He liked the solemnity of the old building, with its wide corridors, high ceilings, and marble floors. The hallways were usually deserted on Saturdays, when the offices were closed and court wasn't in session. Probably only one or two people, if that many, were in the building besides Rhodes. Rhodes liked that, too.

The only door that was open was on the side of the building. It was down a short concrete staircase, and it opened into the basement. Rhodes wondered if it was a good idea to leave even one door open, but he supposed that if anyone wanted in badly enough, it would be easy to break a window anywhere on the ground floor in back of the building and get in that way. The burglar alarm system hadn't been updated in a long time.

He went into the basement, where only a few of the lights were on, just enough to allow him to see. He walked down the hallway, the squeak of his rubber-soled shoes echoing off the walls. In the not too distant past, Rhodes had always stopped and bought a Dr Pepper when he came to the courthouse, but he was still boycotting Dr Pepper. He hadn't yet been able to bring himself to switch to one of its imitators, so he wasn't drinking soft drinks. He'd lost a couple of pounds, and Ivy attributed it to the healthful diet she was trying to get him to stick to. Rhodes thought it was the lack of Dr Pepper that was doing it, but he didn't mention that.

He usually had himself a package of orange cheese crackers from the vending machine, too, but those were good only if eaten while drinking a Dr Pepper, so he didn't buy any cheese crackers, either. Maybe that accounted for some of the weight loss, though not much since Rhodes didn't come to the courthouse often.

He looked at one of the big round clocks on the hallway wall. It was a little past lunchtime, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd skipped lunch. In fact, as many lunches as he'd skipped, he thought he should have dropped a lot more than a couple of pounds. It didn't seem to work like that, however, and he thought the Dairy Queen Blizzards that he occasionally enjoyed might be a part of the problem.

Thinking about the Blizzards, Rhodes decided he'd walk up the wide stairs instead of taking the elevator. Maybe the exercise could help him work off some calories.

When he got to the second floor, he turned and looked down the hall toward his office. Someone was standing outside his door. The hall was too dark for Rhodes to see who it was, but he didn't bother to reach for the PF-9 in the ankle holster. He didn't think anybody would be lurking there to kill him, but it occurred to him that they really should consider locking that basement door.

He took a few steps forward and saw that he was right about having nothing to be afraid of. The lurker didn't pose him any physical danger, though he couldn't say she was completely harmless.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Jennifer Loam said. “I thought you might show up eventually.”

“I've been busy,” Rhodes said. “You could've looked for me at the jail.”

“I wanted to talk to you in private. Not that I have anything against those nice men who work at the jail, but it's hard to have a private conversation there.”

Truer words were never spoken, Rhodes thought.

“What if I hadn't shown up?” Rhodes asked. “You might have been waiting here all day.”

“I haven't been here long. I know you like to come over here now and then. If you hadn't, then I'd have gone and talked to someone else.”

It wasn't the first time she had tracked him down in the courthouse, but it was the first time she'd gotten there ahead of him. Rhodes thought she knew his habits too well, but he couldn't think of anywhere else to go when he needed privacy. Not that he was getting what he'd come for. He could suggest that she go on and talk to someone else right now, but he didn't think it would do him any good.

He unlocked the office, pushed the door open, and invited her in.

“I hope the furniture's not dusty,” he said when they'd entered and he'd turned on the lights.

“I don't mind if it is,” Jennifer said. “I won't take up much of your time. I just want to find out about Burt Collins. I know he was murdered.”

Rhodes gave her credit. She didn't scold him for avoiding the topic earlier that morning.

“What else do you know?” he asked.

“Not much. I haven't tried to talk to his wife. No matter what you might think of me, I do try to avoid bothering family members when something like this happens.”

“Something like what?”

“Like a murder. I know that Burt Collins died from a blow to the head, but that's all I've found out.”

Rhodes wondered if she went to the Beauty Shack or to the funeral home for her information, not that it really mattered. It could be that she'd talked to Andy Shelby, but Rhodes wasn't going to ask her. He didn't tell his deputies not to talk to the press.

“Then you know as much as I do,” he said.

“You haven't made an arrest?”

“I think you'd know about it if I had.”

“True. So you haven't. Any suspects?”

“Not that I can talk about. I don't want to tip them off.”

“By ‘them' do you mean there might be more than one person involved?”

Rhodes grinned. “I mean there might be more than one suspect. That's really all I can tell you right now. The reason I came over here was to think things over and see what I could come up with.”

“And I'm interrupting you,” Jennifer said.

“I figure you'll leave eventually.”

“I will, but I'd like to have some kind of solid information to put on the Web site. People want to know about this kind of thing.”

“You can just say that the sheriff's department is investigating and that an arrest is expected shortly.”

“How many times have you read something like that?” Jennifer asked.

“Dozens,” Rhodes said. “Hundreds. It's a classic.”

“That's why I'm not using it. My Web site isn't going for the same old thing.” She paused. “You know that one of your deputies and I have been seeing each other?”

“So I've been told.”

“I want you to know that I'd never ask him for information that wasn't supposed to be public.”

That was a good sign for the relationship. “He might not tell you if you asked.”

Jennifer smiled. “I'll bet he would.”

She was probably right.

“Then I appreciate it that you won't ask him,” Rhodes said.

“You're welcome. Now, are you sure you don't have anything more you can tell me?”

“I'm sure, but you'll be the first to know when we make an arrest.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Jennifer said, “but now I'll leave you alone so you can do your thinking.”

Rhodes stood up, but Jennifer said she could see herself out. When she was gone, Rhodes sat back down and tried to get his thoughts in order.

As far as he could determine, nobody involved with Burt Collins had a solid alibi for the time of his death except possibly Ella Collins. Frances Bennett had vouched for the fact that Ella was with her, so Ella could be moved down to the bottom of the list of suspects.

Who were the suspects, anyway? Eric Stewart and Don McClaren each had a reason to be upset with Burt, but was it enough reason to kill him?

Rhodes had to grin at the thought. One thing he'd learned was that it didn't take much of a reason. Murder was a serious matter, but hardly anybody ever thought of it like that until it was far too late. A quick spurt of anger was all it took to drive some people to an impulsive action that they'd regret for the rest of their lives, whether they were punished for it or not.

It seemed to Rhodes that something like that must have been what happened in Burt's house the previous night. Someone said or did something, and the bust of Dale Earnhardt Junior was smashed against Burt's head. Whoever had done it didn't panic. He'd taken the head with him, or her, and disposed of it later, leaving Rhodes with no fingerprints and no murder weapon.

Marilyn Bradley had been even more upset than McClaren and Stewart, but she was from out of town. She didn't know Burt or where he lived.

Lonnie Wallace had tried to knock Burt down, or had fallen into him by accident, and that encounter hadn't ended well. Lonnie was also involved with the art gallery, so he had reason to be unhappy that the exhibit was ruined. Was that motive enough?

Rhodes had to remind himself that he hadn't proved that Burt had marked the paintings and sculpture. It was true that Burt had a history of using spray paint for vandalism, but that didn't mean he'd done it again. It was suggestive, but it wasn't proof.

Manish Patel had plenty of reason to dislike Burt, but the spray-painting of the hotel walls had been months ago, and Patel seemed to be over it. As far as Rhodes knew, there hadn't been any further trouble between the two men. That didn't mean that Patel hadn't held a grudge. He could be covering it up.

Who else? That seemed to cover things, and it certainly gave Rhodes plenty of suspects. He wished he could narrow it down, but as far as he could see nobody other than Ella had a good alibi. He'd have to talk to all of them.

He thought about Ella. Something that Frances Bennett had said had bothered him a bit. He'd have to ask her about it, and it might mean that Ella didn't have an alibi, either, except one that she'd made up.

Talking to people was usually the way an investigation went. Rhodes would poke around a little and ask questions and poke around some more. He'd come up with an answer sooner or later. It was usually the right one if he took his time. He didn't have the kind of crime-solving weapons that showed up on television, so he had to do things the old-fashioned way. If he had a medical examiner who could miraculously give him a time of death with just a cursory glance at a body or produce a DNA analysis in under a day, he'd buy himself a pair of sunglasses and come up with some snappy comments to make for Jennifer Loam's camera.

Unfortunately, Rhodes didn't have those things, not even the sunglasses. He'd had several pairs of sunglasses in the past, but he kept losing them. He figured there was a lesson in that, though he wasn't sure what it was.

Rhodes was still mulling things over when the phone rang. It was the old-fashioned kind, like the one in the Beauty Shack, with a loud, old-fashioned ring. It sat on the side of the desk, and the ring made Rhodes jump just a little.

He picked the receiver up, put it to his ear, and said, “Let me guess. An asteroid is headed for earth and it's going to hit right in the middle of Clearview.”

“How'd you know it was me?” Hack asked.

“Nobody else ever calls here. Tell me about the asteroid.”

“This ain't that kind of emergency.”

“What kind is it?”

“It's a Seepy Benton emergency.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, I knew that's what you'd say. He was mighty mysterious about the emergency. Wouldn't tell me what was going on.”

Hack sounded a bit huffy. He always wanted to have the lowdown on everything.

“What did he say, then?” Rhodes asked.

“He said to tell you to come back to the art gallery right now.”

That didn't sound to Rhodes like an emergency on the scale of an asteroid hitting the city, but he didn't think he should ignore it, either.

“He said it has something to do with Burt,” Hack added.

“I'm on my way,” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

The art gallery was open to the public for the day, and Rhodes saw that several townspeople were inside, taking a look at the artwork and having punch and snacks. Rhodes could use a snack himself, as it appeared that he wasn't going to get to slip away for a Blizzard.

Seepy Benton was waiting just outside the door. He was usually quite calm, but Rhodes saw that he was shifting his weight from foot to foot as if nervous.

“What's the problem?” Rhodes asked as he walked up to him.

Benton looked around to be sure no one was nearby. “You said something about a bust of Dale Earnhardt Junior, didn't you?”

“I did. What about it?”

“I think I found it.”

“Where?”

“I'll show you,” Seepy said. “Come on.”

Rhodes followed him inside the building. Don McClaren and Eric Stewart were talking to the visitors and pointing out the paintings. Marilyn Bradley was still there, and she was talking to two women and pointing to her painting. The women seemed to be sympathizing with her about the dark streak across it.

“This way,” Seepy said, leading Rhodes past the snacks without giving him time to stop and grab one. They passed some sculptures on pedestals and went to the doorway that led out of the gallery and into the antiques store.

The things in the store had always seemed to Rhodes more like a collection of junk than anything else. Where others saw treasures, he saw shelves of moldy books, old lamps, old furniture, shelves of glassware and china, old clothes, old toys, glass showcases that held jewelry and fishing lures and similar small items, a few boxes of old records, several boxes of VHS tapes, and many other assorted items like horseshoes, barbed wire, and jars. Rhodes supposed that someone interested in other people's cast-offs could spend a lot of time browsing. He wasn't interested.

Among all that stuff sat a big overstuffed armchair. The light in that part of the building was poor. It hadn't been improved in fifty years or so, and the air smelled musty. A floor lamp stood beside the chair. The previous owner of the store, Jeff Tyler, had liked to sit there and read or listen to music while he waited for a customer to show up. He'd lived in a little apartment in back. Lonnie Wallace had inherited the store from Tyler, and Eric Stewart lived in the apartment now. It was one of the perks that went with managing the store.