Half in Love with Artful Death (23 page)

“I'll do my best,” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

He was at the convenience store within five minutes of Hack's call, and maybe within ten minutes of when things had started, but ten minutes can be a long time when guns are involved. That didn't mean Rhodes could rush into things. He parked in front of the store, got his sidearm in his hand, and went inside to talk to Chris, who was shaken up even more than he'd been the previous night. The sight of Rhodes's pistol didn't calm him down.

“What happened?” Rhodes asked, slipping the pistol into his back pocket.

“Man came in with a gun, said give him the money.”

“Same man?”

“Same one, stocking over his head, same funny-looking gun.”

“Where was Oscar?”

“He was lurking around behind the chips counter. He came running out while I was giving the guy the money. The man grabbed the money and took off.”

“Does Oscar have a gun?”

“Yeah. It's a big one, but it's legal. He has a concealed-carry license.” Chris looked thoughful. “Maybe I oughta get a license, too. Get me a big gun like Oscar's.”

Rhodes thought Chris would be a menace with a handgun, so he didn't encourage him. Instead he asked what happened next.

“Oscar ran out after the robber,” Chris said, “and I heard a shot.”

“I'll go check on Oscar,” Rhodes said. “You stay here.”

“I can't go home?”

“Better not. We might need you later.”

“What if I get killed?” Chris's voice was shaky.

“I'll try not to let that happen,” Rhodes told him.

Rhodes left Chris there, not looking very happy, and went outside. He took his pistol out of his back pocket. The parking lot was well lit, but it was very dark in the trees in back of the store. Rhodes got his flashlight, a big Maglite, from the trunk of the county car. He also slipped into his Kevlar vest.

Rhodes wished that Oscar hadn't gone running out after the robber. He wished that Oscar hadn't been lurking around the store, and he wished that Oscar hadn't brought his gun with him. He wished that once in a while his wishes would come true.

When he got to the rear of the store, he called out, “Oscar, you all right?”

He didn't get an answer. He didn't like the idea of going to look for Oscar, considering the fact that Oscar might think he was the robber and shoot him. Sure, he had on the vest, but Oscar would probably shoot for his chest and hit him in the head. You just couldn't trust an amateur in this kind of situation. Rhodes could see Jennifer Loam's headline now: “Sheriff Shot by Panicked Store Owner.” Things like this never happened to Sage Barton, but then Sage Barton would probably have had a flamethrower and burned down any trees that got in his way. Any humans, too. Nobody messed with Sage Barton.

Unfortunately, as Rhodes kept telling anybody who'd listen, he wasn't Sage Barton, and he didn't have a flamethrower. He could ask Mikey Burns to buy one for the county. Burns would probably go for it.

“Oscar?” Rhodes called again. “You hear me?”

If Oscar heard, he wasn't answering. Rhodes didn't have much choice other than to go after him.

Rhodes turned on the flashlight, holding it at arm's length from his body, and entered the trees. He didn't call out again and made as little noise as possible, not knowing who might be in there.

The night was overcast, and though the trees had lost a lot of their leaves, hardly any light filtered through them. Rhodes walked a few yards, stopped, and shined the light around. Not seeing anything other than trees, he went a bit farther and stopped again. This time he stayed put. He turned off the flashlight and listened for a couple of minutes. There was never complete silence in a copse of trees even on a windless night. Small animals moved around; birds rustled the leaves in the trees. Cars passed on the nearby roads. Rhodes had thought he might hear some other sound among those, some indication that Oscar was chasing the robber. He didn't hear anything like that.

Rhodes's eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness, so he left the flashlight off and moved on into the trees and brush. He wasn't sure exactly how much area the trees covered, but it was several square blocks. Plenty of room for someone to hide in.

Rhodes had thought he might hear Oscar thrashing around, but maybe the chase was over. If that was the case, where was Oscar? Had he gone after the robber on foot? Had the robber kidnapped him?

There were a couple of other possibilities, neither of them pleasant. Rhodes would rather think that Oscar had caught the robber on the other side of the trees and was even now frog-marching him down the street and back to the store. It wasn't likely that things had happened that way, however.

Rhodes walked right into a low-hanging tree branch. It scraped across his forehead, and he could feel the blood pop out. Just a scratch, but he'd have to be more careful. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, held the flashlight away from his body, and turned it on again.

The beam landed right on Oscar Henderson, who was lying near a tree. His pistol, a Glock 9 mm, lay not far away. Oscar's legs were spread, his head turned to the side. Rhodes turned off the flashlight and ducked behind a tree, just in case the robber was hanging around waiting to take a shot at him.

“Oscar,” Rhodes said.

Oscar didn't answer, and Rhodes took a quick look around the trunk of the tree. He thought he saw a foot twitch. He called Oscar's name again, louder. Oscar still didn't answer.

Rhodes turned on the flashlight, stuck it out beside the tree and started reciting some lines from a poem his father had often quoted when Rhodes was a boy. Rhodes couldn't remember much of it, but he did his best and used his loudest voice:

The boy stood on the burning deck,

his feet were full of blisters,

he didn't have any underpants,

and so he wore his sister's.

Rhodes's father hadn't had much better taste in poetry than Rhodes did, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the robber would surely have taken a shot at the light if for no better reason than to shut Rhodes up. It didn't happen, so Rhodes concluded that the robber had fled the scene, as Buddy would have said.

Rhodes hoped that was what had happened. He left the shelter of the tree trunk and picked up the Glock, which he stuck in his waistband. Then he went to kneel beside Oscar. He put his flashlight on the ground and touched Oscar's neck. He was glad to feel a strong pulse. He picked up the light and played it over Oscar. He didn't see any blood on the clothing, but he did see a large knot on Oscar's forehead.

Rhodes looked around. He saw no flashlight on the ground, so Oscar had been running through the trees practically blind.

Leaving Oscar where he was, Rhodes stood up. Sure enough, a thick branch stuck out from a tree at just about the level of Oscar's forehead. Rhodes thought about his own little scratch. Oscar hadn't been quite so lucky.

On the other hand, Oscar hadn't been shot, which was good news for everybody, including the robber.

Rhodes knelt back down and shook Oscar's shoulder. “Oscar, wake up.”

Oscar stirred but didn't come to life. Rhodes put the flashlight down again and got out his cell phone. He had to admit that sometimes it did come in handy.

*   *   *

The paramedics had gotten Oscar out of the trees and into the ambulance. They assured Rhodes that he'd be all right, though he most likely had a concussion. It was a small price to pay for what Rhodes hoped was a valuable lesson to Oscar. Maybe next time he'd leave the law enforcement up to the law.

Oscar had regained consciousness as they were putting him in the ambulance. He was groggy, but he managed to say, “Did I get him?”

“I don't know,” Rhodes said, “but at least he didn't get you.”

“He didn't even try. I shot at him, but he didn't shoot back.”

“Just as well,” Rhodes said, and the paramedics pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors.

When the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot, Rhodes went into the convenience store and told Chris that Oscar was going to be fine.

“He wasn't shot,” Rhodes said. “He just bumped into a tree.”

“I'm glad he's okay,” Chris said. “You think I can go home now?”

Rhodes knew that the store was supposed to stay open until eleven, and it was only ten thirty now. On the other hand, Oscar was never going to know that Chris had left a half hour early unless someone told him. Rhodes wasn't going to, and he figured Chris wasn't, either.

“You ever have many customers after ten?” Rhodes asked.

“One or two. Not enough to make it worth the time to keep the store open. Mr. Henderson says we should, though. He doesn't want to lose any trade.”

“You do what you think is best,” Rhodes said. “I have to go check on some other things. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“I think so.”

“How much money did the robber get?”

“I didn't count it,” Chris said, “but it wasn't much.”

“You said he had a funny-looking gun. What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing. It was just funny-looking. I never saw one like it. I mean, it looked like a gun, and it looked real, but then again, it didn't. You know?”

Rhodes didn't know, but it was something to think about. He left Chris there to close down the store and went outside. While he was there, he might as well take a look around the perimeter of the trees and see if he could pick up any clues.

He drove along the side of the trees on a seldom-used street that didn't really go anywhere other than to a county road that wound around through the country. Other roads branched off of that one, and the robber could have taken any of them. Some would have brought him back to town. Others would have taken him out of the county.

Rhodes parked on the county road and got out of the car. It was too dark to see much outside the span of his headlights. He walked a few yards down the road and thought maybe he saw where a vehicle had pulled off to the side and mashed down the grass. There wasn't much of a clue in that.

Rhodes decided that he wasn't going to find anything helpful. He went back to his car and checked the clip from Oscar's pistol. Looked as if only one shot had been fired. Rhodes put the pistol away. He could send Ruth out in the morning and have her check around to see if he'd missed anything. He'd write up his report then, too. Right now, it was time to go home.

*   *   *

When he got home, Rhodes had to calm down Yancey, as usual. This time it wasn't hard to do. Yancey was sleepy at that time of night and hardly bounced around at all. He yipped a few times and went to his doggie bed for a long nap.

Rhodes went into the kitchen and found Ivy sitting at the table. The cats were asleep, as usual, in the same spots they'd been in the last time Rhodes had seen them. Ivy was reading a book about Mr. Monk, an obsessive-compulsive detective who'd had his own TV show for a while. Or rather some actor had been on the TV show portraying a character named Monk. Monk wasn't real. Or at least Rhodes didn't think he was.

The book was by someone named Goldberg. When Rhodes asked, Ivy said that, as far as she knew, Goldberg the author was not related to Rube Goldberg the famous cartoonist. She also said that the book was related to the TV show only by the characters. The stories were different from the ones on TV.

“If you were like Monk,” she said, “I don't think I could put up with you.”

“I probably am like Monk,” Rhodes said. “I'll bet he always gets his man.”

“Well,” Ivy said, “there's that, but he's so compulsive that it would be impossible to stay around him.”

“He can solve crimes, though, I take it.”

“He can, and he's very good at it,” Ivy said, “but he doesn't go about it the same way you do.”

“Sure he does. We great detectives are all alike.”

“No, you aren't. Monk doesn't just see. He observes. He sees the things that nobody else sees, and that's how he solves the crimes.”

“Like Sherlock Holmes, then.”

“No,” Ivy said, “not like Sherlock Holmes.” She put a bookmark in the book and closed it. “Or maybe he is. I hadn't thought about it, but you have a point.”

“All us great detectives are observers,” Rhodes said. “Me, Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Monk. I'll probably solve two or three cases this week, thanks to my superior powers of observation.”

“What about the robbery of Oscar Henderson's store?”

“Okay, maybe not that one.” Rhodes told her about what had happened.

“The robber must think he's found a soft touch,” Ivy said when he'd finished.

“Could be. I'll have to tell Duke to keep a close eye on the place from now on.”

“You mean you're not going to solve the crime with your keen powers of observation?”

“I didn't observe the robbery, and I haven't run across any clues. I'll figure it out, though. Maybe with my keen powers of observation, maybe not. Maybe someone will confess. Whatever happens, I'll get whoever did it.”

“I'm sure you will.” Ivy stood up and looked at the kitchen clock. “Would you consider this early?”

It was a few minutes before eleven.

“I will if you'll make it worth my while,” Rhodes said.

“I'll see what I can do,” Ivy told him.

 

Chapter 21

The next morning Rhodes was up early, a little before six. He'd had a strange dream that involved Godzilla, a singing group that Rhodes thought might have been the Bee Gees, and a rodeo. Other than that, the details were blessedly vague, and Rhodes knew even those would be gone within an hour or two. He'd be glad when they were.

Rhodes went outside to feed Speedo, and Yancey followed him. The morning was dry and crisp. The sun was coloring the clouds a little, but it wouldn't be up for a few minutes yet. The dogs liked the cool air, and they chased each other around the yard while Rhodes got out the food. As soon as Rhodes began to scoop the food into Speedo's bowl, the dogs heard it and came running over.