Half in Love with Artful Death (8 page)

“Were you in a fight?”

“Nope. Got dragged by a donkey.”

“That's a new one,” Ivy said, smiling.

Rhodes dropped his pants on the floor and took off his shirt. “I lead an exciting life.”

“Glamorous, too,” Ivy said.

Rhodes grinned. It had taken her a while to get used to his odd hours and to the fact that he was in danger now and then, but she'd adjusted very well eventually.

“You didn't have to get up,” he said.

Ivy looked at Yancey, who was sniffing around Rhodes's discarded clothes. “Something woke me.”

“I told him to be quiet,” Rhodes said.

“Like that was going to work.”

Rhodes laughed. “He was glad to see me.”

“He was hoping you'd feed him.”

“At this hour?”

“At any hour. What time is it, anyway?”

“Clock's in the kitchen,” Rhodes said.

“Well, let's go have a look, then.”

They went into the kitchen, and Rhodes saw that it was a little after three thirty.

“If I don't take a bath,” he said, “I might get three hours of sleep.”

“You're taking a bath,” Ivy said.

“I thought you'd say that.”

Yancey pranced into the kitchen.

“Finished with your inspection?” Rhodes asked.

Yancey gave a couple of yips and made a quick run in the direction of Sam and Jerry. Neither cat bothered even to open its eyes. It was just as well that they didn't. If they'd made any kind of move at all, Yancey would've run off and hidden under the bed for what was left of the night, and maybe part of the morning as well.

“Bath,” Ivy said.

“Good idea,” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

The next morning, Rhodes woke up at seven, a little later than usual. Yancey was sitting on the floor near the bed, staring at him.

“Didn't Ivy feed you?” Rhodes asked, getting out of bed.

Yancey yipped and ran off to the kitchen.

Rhodes went off to get ready to face the day. When he was shaved and presentable, he went into the kitchen, where Ivy had whipped up some bacon and eggs and toast. It was turkey bacon, Rhodes knew, but it was better than no bacon at all. The eggs weren't real, either. They were something that was poured out of a little carton, but they were all right. There was no coffee. Rhodes had never liked it. At times in the past he'd had a Dr Pepper for caffeine, but for now he was avoiding his favorite soft drink.

“I should feed Speedo,” Rhodes said. “I'm late, and he's hungry.”

“Your eggs will get cold.”

“I like cold eggs. I'll be right back.”

Rhodes went out, followed by Yancey, who never missed an opportunity to pester any human or dog in the vicinity. Cats were a different story.

Speedo, a border collie, seemed glad to see both Rhodes and Yancey, but Rhodes knew he'd be even happier to see some food in his bowl. He waited a couple of minutes while Yancey chased the bigger dog around the yard, and then he filled the bowl.

“Sorry I don't have time to play today,” Rhodes said as Speedo began to eat. “I have to go fight crime. And eat breakfast.”

He went back into the house. Yancey came along, but it was obvious that he was disappointed that Rhodes hadn't taken the time to play with him and Speedo.

“Next time,” Rhodes said.

He sat at the table and ate the eggs and bacon, which weren't really cold at all, and the toast, which was. Rhodes didn't mind. Yancey made a strategic retreat into another room, in case the cats woke up and decided to chase him, not that they ever had. Chased him, that is. They did wake up now and then, and in fact they were both awake now, watching Rhodes eat. Or watching something. Their stares were hard to read. Rhodes thought that maybe their minds were usually filled with something like white noise, though maybe they were solving algebra problems. He just couldn't tell.

“Now about those donkeys,” Ivy said when Rhodes had finished and taken his plate to the sink.

“Two more of them,” he said. “Won't be the last ones, either. I just hope I don't have to help catch the next ones.”

“There must have been more than just donkeys to keep you out so late.”

“There was,” Rhodes said, and he told her about Burt Collins.

“I heard about the fracas at the art gallery,” Ivy said when he was finished. “Do you think that had anything to do with Burt's murder?”

Ivy worked for an insurance agent, and while her office wasn't like the Beauty Shack, she did hear things.

“Too soon to know of any connection,” Rhodes said. “I'll get started on the investigation today. Maybe I'll have it solved by lunch.”

“That would be nice. Was it his wife? The wife is always the first suspect when a husband dies.”

“You've been watching
48 Hours
again,” Rhodes said, though she did have a point.

Ivy ignored his comment. “They've had their problems. He never treated her well.”

Rhodes recalled having heard something similar that morning. “How badly did he treat her?”

“I don't know. I don't know how far it went. I've just heard vague things.”

“She bought him that bust he was killed with. Now it's missing.”

“I'm not a psychologist,” Ivy said, “but I did take an introductory course in college as an elective. You want me to tell you all the implications of that?”

“I took psychology, too, but I don't see too many implications.”

Ivy shrugged. “Maybe you need to watch
48 Hours
with me sometime.”

Rhodes pushed away from the table. “Might not be a bad idea. Could give me some tips on what I'm doing wrong.”

Ivy came over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You don't need any tips. You're the crime-busting champ of Blacklin County.”

“Just the county?”

“It's a big county.”

“Not the state?”

“I don't know about the whole state. We have two hundred and fifty-four counties, after all.”

“How about the tri-county area, then?”

Ivy laughed. Rhodes had always liked her laugh. “I'll concede that you're probably the crime-busting champ of the tri-county area.”

“Then I guess I should get out there and do my job,” Rhodes said.

“Evildoers, beware.”

“Durn tootin',” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

Rhodes's first stop was the jail, where he met with Andy Shelby and Ruth Grady. He assigned Andy to the area surrounding the Collins house and told Ruth to check the house and talk with the neighbors.

“And let Mrs. Collins know I'll want to talk to her later today,” Rhodes added.

“What about fingerprints?” Ruth asked.

“You can check the room we found the body in. Too many people have touched everything else. Probably everything in there, too. Did you have a look at the paint can?”

“Nothing you can use on it,” Ruth said. “Just some smears.”

That was about what Rhodes had expected.

“Maybe I'll find a bronze head in the brush,” Andy said. “Covered with clear fingerprints.”

“That would be great,” Rhodes said. “What are the odds?”

“Never mind,” Andy said.

After the deputies left, Hack asked Rhodes if he'd looked at the latest news on Jennifer Loam's Web site.

“No,” Rhodes said, “and that's not the end of that story. I don't plan to look at it.”

“Jealous?” Hack said, with a look at Lawton, who was grinning.

“No,” Rhodes said. “Jealous of what?”

“Of Seepy Benton,” Lawton said.

“Why would I be jealous of him?”

“'Cause the video of the riot yesterday makes him look like the second coming of Bruce Lee. Or maybe of Sage Barton.”

“Good,” Rhodes said. “I hope everybody will get off my case about Sage Barton now.”

“Kinda touchy about that, ain't you,” Lawton said.

“Low T,” Hack said.

“Low what?”

“Low T. Happens when a man gets to be a certain age. He gets the low T.”

“One thing that it does to a man is make him touchy,” Lawton said.

“Another thing is that a man gets thin spots in his hair,” Hack said. “Low T can be a serious condition.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Rhodes said.

Lawton made a
tsk-tsk-tsk
sound. “Touchy, like I said. Bound to be a case of low T.”

“I still don't get it,” Rhodes said.

“T stands for testosterone,” Hack said, “but in the TV ads, they just call it low T. You can get a checkup from your doctor, and he can tell you if you got the low T. Then you can get somethin' to take care of it.”

“Side effects are kinda scary, though,” Lawton said. “I think death is one of 'em.”

“I'm too young to die,” Rhodes said. He was used to having Lawton and Hack gang up on him, and he brushed it off. “Let's talk about the robbery last night at Oscar Henderson's store.”

“Duke didn't solve it,” Hack said. “He's got himself a clue, though. It's there in his report.”

“Why don't you just tell me,” Rhodes said. Hack always wormed the details about everything from the deputies. He couldn't stand not knowing about everything that went on.

“It's a pretty good clue,” Lawton said.

Hack turned to look at Lawton.

“I'm tellin' this,” Hack said.

“Go on, then,” Lawton said. “Don't let me stop you.”

Not much chance of that, Rhodes thought.

“He found the money,” Hack said.

“The money?”

“The loot, the geetus, the simoleons.”

“Where?” Rhodes asked.

“Back in the trees,” Lawton said before Hack could get it in. He would've said more, but Hack stared him down.

“Thief prob'ly dropped it,” Hack said when he was through looking at Lawton. “Buddy got there pretty quick, so the thief was in a hurry, I guess, and dropped the loot. He took a big risk for nothin'.”

“Oscar's happy, though,” Lawton said, “or he would be if he had his money.”

“Evidence,” Hack said. “Gotta get it printed and such.”

Rhodes wondered how many people had handled that money. Fingerprints were highly overrated in most cases. The money wasn't much of a clue at all, in spite of what Hack had said.

“We'll get the money back to Oscar as soon as we can,” Rhodes said. “Maybe there won't be any more robberies.”

“Yeah, right,” Hack said, “and maybe the wild hogs will all disappear or maybe move to Fort Worth and Dallas and take the copper thieves and meth cookers along with 'em.”

“What about Burt?” Lawton asked. “We was kinda sorry to hear about him, even if he wasn't the best citizen in town.”

Rhodes hadn't had to fence with them about Burt's death. Hack would've extracted all the details from Buddy when he made his report.

“That Burt's never been nothin' but trouble,” Hack said, showing no sympathy for the deceased. “Even when he was a kid, he was a mean one.”

“That's the truth,” Lawton said. “'Member the time he beat up on Len Crosby's boy when they were in grade school?”

“Bully,” Hack said. “Always was.”

“Picked on the Patels, too,” Lawton said. “I believe he's the one painted those devil signs on their hotel.”

“Both hotels,” Hack said.

“We never did prove that,” Rhodes said. “Didn't have a speck of evidence.”

“He used spray paint, too,” Hack said, paying no attention to Rhodes. “Just like he did on those pictures at the gallery yesterday.”

“There's no proof of that, either,” Rhodes said.

“You're fallin' down on the job, then. You need to get you some proof. You could have those paint samples from the hotels analyzed and compare 'em with the ones from yesterday.”

“That wouldn't help. Walmart must sell a dozen cans of that paint a week.”

“Well, you better do somethin',” Hack said.

“What I need to do is find out who killed him.”

“That'd be a real good thing for you to do, all right,” Hack said.

 

Chapter 8

It was still a little early for the judging of the paintings that Marilyn Bradley had mentioned, but that was all right. Rhodes had some questions he wanted to ask at the Beauty Shack.

He parked in front of the building. The pea gravel of the parking lot crunched under his feet when he got out of the car. He took a minute to look over the building. Lonnie Wallace had done a few things with it, including a new paint job, that had spiffed it up a bit. Lonnie had also installed a new alarm system after he'd been burglarized a few months ago. He should've done it sooner, but that crime had been solved, and the hair extensions that the thief had taken had been returned.

Rhodes went up the two concrete steps and into the building, where he was greeted by the usual indefinable smell of the place. Chemicals, hair spray, singed hair, and who knew what else. Lonnie was at the cash register running a credit card through a machine. A woman Rhodes didn't know chatted with him while he did it. Abby Tustin, whom Rhodes had met in the course of his investigation into the death of Lynn Ashton, was washing a woman's hair. Another woman, a petite brunette, was getting Polly Mercer seated under one of the big dryers. Polly, the wife of a local car dealer, had curlers in her hair.

Lonnie finished his transaction, saw his customer out the door, and walked over to Rhodes.

“Need a haircut, Sheriff?” Lonnie asked.

“Not today. I have a question for you, about Ella Collins.”

“Does it have to do with Burt and what happened yesterday?”

“It does,” Rhodes said.

“Is Burt filing charges on me?”

Rhodes didn't answer. He looked around. There wasn't any place where he and Lonnie could talk privately except the restroom, and that didn't seem appropriate. So Rhodes went behind the counter where the cash register was. Lonnie followed him.