Hung Out to Die (25 page)

I'd need it, too, I thought. Then I locked up my apartment and walked the three blocks to the police station.

19

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Chief Worthy said, staring at me over the tops of his fingertips.

I glared back at him across his desk. We were sitting in his office. At least I wasn't cold any longer. For one thing, the power outage hadn't hit the police building. Plus, I was angry because John Worthy was again treating my ideas dismissively. And anger always sent heat rushing to my face and hands.

“You think Rich Burkette killed Junior Hedberg years ago,” Chief Worthy said. “And that your Uncle Fenwick somehow knew this and was blackmailing him this whole time, and so Rich killed your Uncle Fenwick—or, at least, finished him off after your uncle tried to commit suicide, which he did, because somehow he figured the blackmail gig was up because your parents returned to town.”

All right. It did sound a little over the top, the way he described it.

“Okay, I know there are some holes in my theory—”

“Yeah. Starting with the leap that Junior Hedberg is dead, instead of just living somewhere else.”

“Why is that such a leap? I already told you, Caleb Loudermilk tried to track the man down and came up with nothing. And Caleb is a—”

“Second-rate reporter who thinks he can come up with a hot story.”

“He's a good researcher,” I said. “Anyway, what about the rest of my theory?”

Chief Worthy glared at me. “You really expect me to go arrest Rich Burkette on suspicion of murder because a clothesline is missing from his yard?”

Without mentioning my dream as the trigger for the memory, I'd told Worthy that when I'd visited the Burkettes on Thanksgiving afternoon, I'd seen Rachel duck where the clothesline should have been. She was used to it being out, to ducking under it whenever she walked across the back yard.

“There were two clotheslines, weren't there? There had to be. One that Uncle Fenwick tried to hang himself with.” I had already filled him in on Aunt Nora's confession to me that Uncle Fenwick had suicidal tendencies and had come back and taken the clothesline from Mamaw Toadfern's yard. “And one that someone tied him up with, before stabbing him.”

“Or, there's one clothesline cut in half,” Chief Worthy said. “And someone—and in my mind, your father is still the top suspect, based on the fact that your father and Fenwick had a fight in which they threatened each other—someone stabbed Fenwick, then tried to make it look like a hanging and really botched the job. That's the original theory, and the one that makes the most sense to me. Your uncle was a successful man and had everything to live for.”

“Unless he was successful only because he was blackmailing Rich Burkette,” I said. “And that wealth threatened to disappear for some reason when my parents showed up.”

“Why do you think he was blackmailing Rich Burkette?” Chief Worthy asked.

I'd thought he'd never ask. “Because. Uncle Fenwick made it very clear at Thanksgiving dinner that he'd never enjoyed the plumbing business. It's hard enough to succeed in business if you love it. It's nearly impossible if you hate it. And yet he made enough money to buy things like that superfancy trailer.”

Chief Worthy shrugged. “Fenwick and his wife didn't have any kids. Maybe they saved a lot of money.”

I shook my head. “Maybe. But not that much. And on the other hand, Rich Burkette, who should have a lot of money after his years as an attorney, could be living much more extravagantly than he does. But he lives modestly in what was his wife's daddy's farmhouse. Does that fit the personality of someone like Rich Burkette?”

Chief Worthy's eyebrows went up a second, and he seemed to actually be considering my theory. But then he shook his head. “It's possible that Rich and Effie just like to save their money. Maybe they're planning to move to Europe or the Caribbean after his retirement. In any case, you don't need to come up with scenarios to get your daddy off the hook for killing your uncle. Henry Toadfern is all yours.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean there isn't enough evidence to hold him. Oh, I still think he killed his brother, and we'll find evidence soon enough, but for now we have to let him go. So . . . he's all yours.” Chief Worthy stood up.

“But what about my mama taking off? I mean, my guess is that she's with Lenny Burkette—” I'd given Chief Worthy a brief description of their past and their dancing at the Bar-None—“and if Rich really killed Junior and Uncle Fenwick, maybe she's in danger if he thinks she knows something . . .”

“Or maybe she just took off again,” Chief Worthy said. “It's what your parents do, isn't it?”

“That's not fair!” I snapped. “Look, I've heard about how my mama flirted with your daddy years ago, and I reckon it caused resentment in your family against mine, and maybe that's why your parents didn't want you to date me years ago, but as an officer of the law, you have an obligation—”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Chief Worthy said. His face had gone even stonier than usual—which, considering his jaw line usually looked like it had all the flexibility of a retaining wall, was quite a feat. “My daddy was always faithful to my mama. You and I broke up because . . .”

His voice trailed off. I grinned, rather unkindly. “Because you were unfaithful to me.”

He snorted. “We were kids back in high school.”

“It still counts,” I said. “And considering you were the one who was in the wrong, I don't understand . . .”

“You embarrassed me by putting in your high school newspaper gossip column that I'd been seen holding hands under the bleachers with one of the cheerleaders after the big game, when you knew I was dating the coach's daughter!”

“Of course I knew that. You fooled around with her behind my back. And yet she was so surprised when you fooled around behind her back,” I said.

“What does this have to do with anything?” He yelled. “That was years ago! In high school! Move on! I have!”

Had he? John Worthy had never settled down. He just enjoyed a series of love affairs that left a lot of women unhappy.

I slapped the desk. “You know, I'm so tired of men who think they can just get away with whatever they want. You. Sally's ex.”

“Your daddy. Owen.” Chief Worthy interjected and grinned at me.

I didn't know what to say. So I slapped the desk again.

“Maybe you'd better start hanging out with a better class of man, then,” Chief Worthy said. “Meanwhile, if your mama is not back in forty-eight hours, you can file a report. In the meantime, don't let your father run off, too. We can't hold him for now, but he's still a suspect.”

He motioned to the door. “Now let's go fetch your daddy for you.”

“Start from the beginning and tell us everything,” I said.

Daddy looked from me to Caleb.

We were at the
Paradise Advertiser-Gazette
office. After Daddy and I left the Paradise Police Department, we walked back to my apartment. My plan was to pack a few things, then call Sally and see if she could take us in, at least until the power was back on.

But Caleb was waiting for us outside my laundromat. He had, he said, the information I'd asked about. I explained about the power, and he said we could go back to the newspaper office, which happened to be in the half of the town where the power was still on.

So there we were, in the
Paradise Advertiser-Gazette
office, which was really just a big room with Caleb's desk, a few computers, and bookshelves. There was a desk for his assistant, too, who worked part-time, but she wasn't in on this Saturday morning.

Daddy, despite the neat suit—complete with silk pocket hanky—he'd insisted on changing into in my cold apartment, and despite the lined, leathery texture of his face, looked much more like a lost little boy than the businessman he affected.

“I—I don't know,” he finally said.

“It's all off the record, just like I promised Josie,” said Caleb. “For now, at least.”

“This is pretty simple, Daddy,” I said. “Mama left this morning with someone. I think it was with Lenny Burkette.”

Daddy frowned. “She wouldn't do that. She knows I dislike him. Whenever there was a problem, even a little problem in our marriage, back when we still lived here, he'd always call or write or even come to town—”

“Look, she was talking with him last night,” I said. “I think there's a reason she might have left with him, but before I tell you, you're going to have to answer some questions.”

Daddy must have been thinking along the same lines, because suddenly he dropped his head to his hands. “I want to find her,” he said miserably. “Of course I do. Nothing matters, not even FleaMart, without her.” He looked up at me, his eyes glistening. “But I'm not sure what you want me to tell you.”

“I'm not sure, either, at least not specifically,” I said. “Let's start with the coins. We were looking at them last night, and I could tell from Mama's face that seeing them triggered something. A memory, maybe.”

“The coins,” Daddy said flatly.

“When you took off from Mama and me,” I said, “you left Mama a note and a bag of coins. When our trailer caught fire, just before she left, I grabbed the bag of coins. I got the coins out last night and we looked at them.”

“Oh.” Daddy looked embarrassed. “When I was working for Fenwick, we were called out to the Burkette place to take care of a plumbing problem. They'd switched over to county water and a sewer system years before, but there was a problem with standing water out near the old septic tanks and cistern.”

“Cistern?” Caleb said.

I grinned. “City boy. A cistern is just a big holding tank in the ground to hold water. Most old farms have them.”

“That's right,” Daddy said. “Farms around here, most of the cisterns date back to the early 1900s. Cement floor, dirt walls coated in plaster, cement lid over the opening. And most have been plugged up.”

“So they're just sitting empty?” Caleb said. “Isn't that dangerous?”

Daddy shook his head. “Not so long as the lid's in place. Anyway, Fenwick took a look at the cistern. I was supposed to check out the old septic tank.” Daddy wrinkled his nose and shuddered. “I hated plumbing.” Well, at least he and Fenwick had had something in common besides an attraction to Mama and a bitter rivalry. “I can't remember what the problem was, although I reckon we fixed it. Anyway, I found an old metal box that had been tied shut. I was curious, of course, so I pulled it out and pried it open.

“It was filled with old coins—antique ones. I'd heard about Duke Ross, Effie's daddy, collecting them and about Junior Hedberg selling them from time to time at the antique shops in town. Then, suddenly, he stopped selling them. Shortly after that, he and Effie divorced.”

“With Rich Burkette representing Effie,” Caleb said.

“Yeah. And after that Junior took off—or, if Josie's right, was killed. Anyway, at the time, I figured that Duke must have hidden his coins away from Junior, then never told anyone where he'd hidden them. He died kind of suddenly, from a heart attack,” Daddy said. “Fenwick came up behind me while I was looking at the coins. About startled the daylights out of me. I told him I'd share the coins with him, after I found out what they were worth.”

“You stole the coins,” I said, appalled.

“Well, now, Josie honey, Effie and Rich were doing fine, about to sell the house and build a big house in town. At least, that's what Effie said when we came to do the job. She was really bragging about it. She wanted the house all ready when Rich came back to town—he was out of town on business, and of course by then Lenny had grown and moved out of town, so she was home alone with just little Rachel.

“Anyway, it wasn't like they needed the money. But your mama and I did. But I knew I couldn't get them appraised here in Paradise. I was afraid the antique dealers would recognize the coins. Since I'd followed the antique business for a while—always wanted an antique shop of my own—I knew of some good shops down in North Carolina. I figured it was safe to get them appraised there.

“I told Fenwick that's what I'd do, and amazingly, he didn't argue with me. He just had this stunned look on his face. Anyway, I left a note and a few of the coins with your mama. I knew if I told her my plan, she'd say no, we should do the right thing and return the coins to Effie. She'd said once or twice that Effie had been kind of a mother figure to her, back in high school. So I took off, and . . .”

“And never came back,” I said, somewhat bitterly.

“Now, honey, I had good intentions. I sold the coins. Got a good deal of money for them, but then . . .” Daddy's voice trailed off and he looked embarrassed again.

“Then what?” I prodded. “Come on, just tell us.”

“Well, then I got into a poker game and, well, I lost it all,” he said miserably. “After that, I was too embarrassed to come back. I took odd jobs here and there until your mama came and found me. We tried various ventures and finally hit on FleaMart. It was your mama's idea. After we connected up again, she started reading everything she could about business. And now she's great with business.”

“She told me she found you because Rich and Effie Burkette saw you bussing tables at a restaurant while they were on vacation in North Carolina,” I said. “Then Effie gave her a call.”

“Interesting coincidence,” Caleb said.

“Fate,” Daddy said, echoing Mama. I rolled my eyes. Daddy didn't notice. Caleb did, grinned, and winked at me. I looked away, back to Daddy.

“I don't remember seeing them,” Daddy went on. “But I know your mama has stayed in touch with Effie all these years, even though she knows it bothers me because Lenny still has feelings for May. But like I said, Effie was kind of a mother figure to May, when her own parents . . .” his voice trailed off in bitterness. “Never mind that. Anyway. That's how Rachel, after she became a real estate broker, ended up helping us. We finally scraped together some money, invested in real estate, made a killing, and started the idea of FleaMart. After the first one succeeded in Arkansas, I wanted to come back here. May wanted to stay away, said we'd be better letting things be, but I wanted to show Fenwick.” He looked bitter and angry again for a moment, then suddenly looked scared. “But May might have been right. How are we going to find her?”