Half in Love with Artful Death (19 page)

“If you're looking for more money,” Clement said, “you'd be better off talking to the county commissioners. The city makes its deal with them.”

“I'm not looking for money,” Rhodes told him. “I'm trying to explain something. Last night we had an armed robbery. Today we shut down a meth lab. Yesterday it was donkeys gone wild. Maybe tomorrow we'll find out who killed Burt Collins. Right now, we're doing what we can.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“A few,” Rhodes said, thinking of the bronze bust. “So far they haven't taken us anywhere.”

The mention of the bust triggered a thought, something that Rhodes hadn't considered before. He'd have to try to remember it later.

“So, then,” Clement said, “tonight can I say something like, ‘The sheriff tells me he has some solid leads in the case'?”

“Sure. Tell them that if you think it'll make them feel better. You can tell them to keep looking at Jennifer Loam's Web site for updates, too. Maybe they'll see the meth lab story. They'll see what a fine department we have.”

“Are you sure it'll be there?”

Rhodes thought about Andy Shelby's relationship with Jennifer Loam. He was surprised that Jennifer hadn't come to the jail while he was telling Hack and Lawton about the meth bust. She must have been working on something else, but by now she'd have talked to Andy and visited the jail to see Rhodes's report.

“The story will be on the Web site before long, if it's not already,” Rhodes said. “I'm about a hundred percent certain of that.”

“Well, that might help,” Clement said. He stood up. “I'm sorry if I seemed a little overwrought. It's just that I hate to see the town getting a bad reputation. You can understand.”

Rhodes stood, too. “I can, and I'll be doing all I can to find the killer.”

“All right, then. Thanks for coming by.”

“My pleasure,” Rhodes said, trying not to sound sarcastic. He thought he did a good job of it, but he didn't really care.

*   *   *

As Rhodes was starting the county car, Hack came on the radio.

“You got a lot of fans today,” Hack said. “Somebody else wants to see you.”

“Who?” Rhodes asked.

“Mr. Mikey Burns, your favorite county commissioner. He's at the county barn, provin' to the citizens that he even works on a Saturday.”

Rhodes didn't think any citizens would be impressed, because they wouldn't know. Hardly anybody ever dropped by the county barn even during the week, and Burns would be the only one there on Saturday. Even Mrs. Wilkie, his secretary, wouldn't be there.

“Are you sure he wants to see me today?”

“That's what he said.”

“Then I'll drive out there and see what he wants.”

“I bet you already know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Rhodes said. “He wants me to have Burt Collins's killer behind bars.”

“Nope,” Hack said.

“What, then?”

“You'll find out,” Hack said.

*   *   *

The door between Burns's office and the reception desk was open, so Rhodes walked right in. Burns sat behind his desk, but he wasn't wearing his usual brightly colored aloha shirt. The background of this one was dark blue, and it was covered with ukuleles of various sizes.

Burns didn't bother to stand up. He just motioned Rhodes to a chair and asked him how the investigation into Collins's death was coming.

“I've been busy,” Rhodes said, “but I have a few ideas.”

“Good,” Burns said. “That's good. Glad to hear it, but that's not really what I want to talk about. You know I wouldn't call you in on a Saturday afternoon unless it was about something big, I hope.”

“I know,” Rhodes said, though he didn't really know. He had no idea what Burns was talking about.

“You remember when I wanted to get us that M-16?” Burns asked.

“I was just thinking about that today, as a matter of fact,” Rhodes said.

“Good. That's good thinking, but this is even bigger than that.” Burns smiled. “Much bigger.”

Rhodes still didn't know what was going on. Burns must have noticed his puzzlement. He leaned forward and said, “Drones.”

“Drones?” Rhodes said.

Burns looked around. “Is there an echo in here?” He laughed at his own joke and said, “Not drones. I shouldn't have said that. I meant one drone.”

“Like a spy plane?”

“Exactly. I read about a sheriff's department in California that's going to get a government grant to get one. We wouldn't need one of the kind that can kill people, just something to watch them with. Not much bigger than the model planes I used to build when I was a kid. Weighs about four pounds, has a four-foot wingspan. You get somebody on a computer and fly it all over the county. Right over that meth house you busted a couple of hours ago, for instance.”

“You know about that?” Rhodes asked.

“Hack told me. Anyway, if we had one of those drones cruising the county airspace, we could find places like that before they got started good. Then you could swoop in and shut them down.”

“If you had an armed one, you could just bomb the place.”

“Man, wouldn't that be a sight? Might be dangerous, though, blowing up a meth house. The explosion might kill whoever was inside, and we wouldn't want that. We couldn't handle all the lawsuits.”

“What about the lawsuits from people who think we're spying on them?”

“Nothing wrong with a little spying,” Burns said. “We have every right to do that.” He paused. “Don't we?”

“Some people think so,” Rhodes said. “Others, well, they wouldn't agree at all.”

“You mean they'd actually sue? Who'd do a thing like that?”

Rhodes thought about Able Terrell in his compound down in the south part of the county.

“Able Terrell,” Rhodes said. “He wouldn't sue, though. He'd just shoot down the drone.”

“Wouldn't that be illegal?”

“I don't know,” Rhodes said. “He could tie the county up in court for a long time if we tried to arrest him for it.”

Burns frowned. “Maybe we'd better hold off on the drone.”

“Not only that,” Rhodes said, “but you'd have to find someone qualified to pilot the drone from a computer console. Probably two people at least so they could work in shifts. That would be quite an expense, even if you could find someone with the expertise to do it.”

“What about that Benton fella? He did a good job helping with the county Web site.”

“As good as he thinks he is, I'm not sure he could handle something like a drone. Besides, he has a job already.”

“Yeah, I guess he does. I might better give this some more thought.”

“Probably a good idea,” Rhodes said.

“Drones are the coming thing, though,” Burns said. “People can fight it all they want to, but in ten years, every law enforcement group in the state will have drones. I don't want to be the last county to get one.”

“You could bring it up with some of the other commissioners, see what they think about it. Maybe start working on a grant proposal. Mrs. Wilkie would probably enjoy that.”

Rhodes had no idea if Mrs. Wilkie would enjoy it, but it would give her something to work on.

“That might be best,” Burns said. “It sure would be great to be able to watch what was going on all over the county, though, like they do in the big cities. Cameras on every corner.”

“The drone would be watching you, too,” Rhodes told him.

“I don't have anything to hide. I'm a law-abiding citizen.”

“That's good to know,” Rhodes said.

 

Chapter 17

Rhodes didn't bother to go by the jail again. It was late afternoon and time to go home. He parked in his driveway and went around back to see Speedo, the border collie, who had his own private Styrofoam igloo to live in. Speedo came bounding up to greet him. The collie was always glad to see Rhodes, any time of the day or night, which was more than Rhodes could say for most humans he knew, especially humans like Clifford Clement.

Speedo was eager to play, but Rhodes knew that he couldn't neglect Yancey, who was barking at the screen door and asking to be let outside. Rhodes started for the door, but he'd only taken a couple of steps before Ivy opened it. Yancey hopped down the two concrete steps and out into the yard, where he proceeded to harass Speedo, circling him and yipping.

Ivy followed Yancey outside and sat on the top step. “Those two have more energy than I do,” she said.

“More than I do, too,” Rhodes said, looking around for the rubber squeaky toy the dogs liked to play with.

“You look a little raggedy,” Ivy said. “Rough afternoon?”

Rhodes had known Ivy would notice his clothes.

“Just the usual gun battle with meth cookers,” he said. “The good guys won.”

“You know I worry about you, don't you? All the time?”

“Comes with the territory.”

“The gun battles or the worry?”

“Both,” Rhodes said. “It wasn't much of a battle. Three of them and two of us. They didn't stand a chance.”

Ivy sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do. Did you get Vicki taken care of?”

“Yes, Ruth took her home. She's coming back on Monday to file charges against Neil Foshee.”

“Good,” Rhodes said. “I have her purse at the jail. She'll need it.”

“She's had a bad time since her divorce,” Ivy said. “She made a big mistake with that Neil.”

“Her husband was no prize, either, not if she was telling the truth about him.”

“I heard that story, too,” Ivy said. “I believe it. Vicki needs someone to keep her on the straight and narrow.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“I'm thinking it over,” Ivy said.

Rhodes found the squeaky toy, a green and yellow frog, lying in the grass near the steps. He picked it up and mashed it, making it squeal. Yancey and Speedo bounded over and stood a couple of feet away from Rhodes, watching him with wary anticipation.

With a flick of his wrist Rhodes sent the frog spinning across the yard a few feet above Speedo's head. The dogs turned and went after it. It wasn't possible for Yancey to keep up with Speedo, but Yancey never seemed to catch on to that fact. He always charged headlong toward the frog as if he knew, just
knew,
that this time it was going to be different. This time for sure, somehow or other, he was going to get to the frog first.

He didn't, but as Speedo scooped it up in his mouth and turned back to Rhodes, Yancey made his play, leaping up and grabbing one of the frog's legs in his mouth. Speedo shook his head, and Yancey fell to the grass. Speedo didn't even look at him but instead ran back to Rhodes. He didn't give up the frog at first. He made Rhodes work for it, and when Rhodes had it in his hand, Speedo waited for the next toss.

Yancey, meanwhile, was lying low in the grass back where the frog had hit the ground the first time. He couldn't outrun Speedo, but he could outsmart him if only Rhodes would cooperate.

Rhodes did. He spun the frog in Yancey's direction, and the little Pomeranian pounced on it with doggish glee as soon as it hit the grass. Instead of bringing it back to Rhodes for another round, he took off around the yard with Speedo tearing after him.

When Speedo caught up, Yancey hunkered down and growled at him through teeth clenched on the frog.

“It takes so little to keep them happy,” Ivy said.

“You say the same thing about me,” Rhodes told her.

“Only because it's true. Except I can tell that you're worried today.”

“Worried about Burt Collins,” Rhodes admitted. “His killer, that is. I think I may have missed something.”

“Do you know what?”

“I have an idea or two. I need to make a phone call. You keep the dogs entertained.”

“They don't like the way I throw the frog.”

“You may never have to throw it,” Rhodes said. “I don't think Yancey's going to give it up. I'll be right back.”

He went past Ivy and into the house. He could've called from his cell phone, but he didn't like cell phones. He preferred a landline when he could get to one.

The two cats were sleeping peacefully in the kitchen. They didn't need entertainment as long as they had a good place to sleep. They were even easier to keep happy than the dogs. Sam opened one eye and looked at Rhodes. When he saw who it was, he closed the eye.

Rhodes sneezed as he picked up the phone.

Seepy Benton answered Rhodes's call on the first ring.

“What's up, Sheriff?” he asked. “Any crimes you want solved? Any rowdies you want me to subdue?”

“Nothing that hard,” Rhodes said.

“Subduing the rowdies wasn't hard. You just have to know how to use the pressure points. It's not tricky. I could show you how it's done if you want me to. I was Professor Lansdale's star pupil.”

“Never mind that. What I want to know is the time of the closing ceremonies for the art conference tonight.”

“Seven o'clock. Why?”

“I'm invited, I suppose.”

“It's open to the public, so that would include you. It won't be as good as it could be because of the damage to some of the work, but we hope a few people show up. We might have a good crowd because of the extra added attraction.”

Rhodes didn't like the way that sounded.

“We're going to have live entertainment,” Benton said. “People like live entertainment while they're looking at art.”

“I wouldn't know about that.” Rhodes almost hated to ask his next question. “What kind of entertainment will there be?”

“I'm going to sing.”

Worst fears realized. Benton had been singing his own compositions and accompanying himself on guitar at a barbecue restaurant on Saturday evenings, but the owner, Max Schwartz, had decided to try something new, or that was the way Benton had explained it to Rhodes. Schwartz had replaced Benton with a barbershop quartet called the Next Edition. Rhodes had seen one of their videos on YouTube, a barbershop version of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” that he thought was a bit better than Benton's warblings.