Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 09 - Death by Accident (14 page)

“I’m sorry I won’t be here to meet her,” Rhodes said.

“I bet you are,” Hack said.

A
ctually Rhodes felt lucky not to have a few broken ribs himself.  Ivy had taken the news about the car much better than he’d thought she would.

“How much?” she’d asked.

Rhodes had told her.  “But that won’t be the end of it.  There’s sure to be more expense.”

“A four-door hardtop, you said?”

“Right.  Red and white.”

“They don’t make four-door hardtops anymore, do they?”

“No,” Rhodes said.  “The roof of a hardtop doesn’t have a lot of support.  You wouldn’t want to have a wreck in one, especially not if it rolled.”

“I wouldn’t want to have a wreck in anything.”

“We won’t be having any wrecks.  We’ll just drive it in town.”

“Like the little old maid.  Never take it out of the garage except to go to church.”

“Something like that,” Rhodes said.

“What about insurance?”

That was something Rhodes hadn’t thought about.  “I’ll leave that to you.  You work at the agency, after all.”

“I’ll check on it tomorrow.  Can’t you get some kind of special license plates for antique cars?”

Rhodes hadn’t thought of that, either.  It was hard for him to think of something as an antique if it wasn’t even as old as he was.  But he knew Ivy was right.  They could get the special plates.

“People will want us to drive it in parades,” Ivy said.  “Maybe we can be part of the celebration at the Old Settlers’ Grounds.”

“Maybe.”

“That reminds me of something,” Ivy said.  “I was thinking about Pep Yeldell today.”

“What did you think?”

“Well, you know it’s pretty absurd to think that someone could murder a person by suggesting that he go swimming at the Old Settlers’ Grounds.  Even if you could find someone to make the suggestion, you couldn’t be sure he’d do it.  And if he did, how could you count on him swinging on the rope?  He might, but then he might not.  It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” Rhodes said.  “You’re right.  Maybe it was just an accident after all.  That’s what Dr. White thought.  But I know someone killed Overton.  I’m sure of it.  And Overton was Yeldell’s good buddy.  Yeldell knew West.  It might all tie together.”

“I wasn’t saying what you seem to think I did,” Ivy told him.

“You’d better make it simple enough so that I can get it, then,” Rhodes said.  “All these accidents have got me confused.”

“I’m saying that limb didn’t have to fall out of the tree and hit him.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t you get pretty much the same effect if you hit him in the head with the limb yourself?” Ivy asked.

Rhodes just sat there for a while, feeling stupid.  Then he said, “Sure you would.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

R
hodes thought he might as well begin with Ty Berry, who didn’t have any known ties to either John West or Pep Yeldell but who had certainly been associated with Randall Overton.

Berry lived not too far from the jail on one of the older residential streets in town.  It was a lot like the street Rhodes lived on — big pecan trees, cracked sidewalks, and cars parked on the street.  Berry wasn’t happy to see Rhodes, but he invited him in.

“I hope you’re not here campaigning to get my vote,” he said.

The living room wasn’t at all what Rhodes had expected.  Berry was a bachelor, but he didn’t live like Randall Overton.  There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, the hardwood floors gleamed, the couch was draped with an afghan, and woven throws hung over the backs of the two comfortable-looking chairs.  There were real oil paintings on the wall, and they didn’t even have bluebonnets in them.  Rhodes was pretty sure that the china doll in one of the chairs was a genuine antique, much older than his Edsel.

“I’d ask you to sit down,” Berry said, “but I don’t think you’ll be staying long.”

“That depends,” Rhodes said.

“On what?”

“On your answers to a few questions.”

“What questions?”

“We’ll start with a few about Randall Overton.”

“Oh,” Berry said.  “Him.  Maybe you’d better sit down after all.”

B
erry had hired Overton for the remodeling job because Overton had come by and offered to fix Berry’s roof.

“He said he could fix up the roof like new for five hundred,” Berry said.  “I had a couple of leaks, and I’d been thinking about a new roof, which would have cost several thousand.  Overton’s offer seemed like a good way to save some money and stop the leaks at the same time.”

“Did it work out?”

“Well, we never really got around to the roof.  I’d been thinking about having my kitchen re-done, too, so while we were talking, I asked if he’d ever done any remodeling work.  He said he was an expert, that he’d done lots of remodeling.  He even gave me the names of some references.”

“But you didn’t call them,” Rhodes said.

Berry nodded.  “But I didn’t call them.  I thought that he wouldn’t have given the names if he’d been worried about me calling.  So I didn’t bother.”

“Big mistake.”

“No kidding.  But I didn’t much like the people whose names he gave, and I thought it wouldn’t matter anyway.  It did matter, of course.”

“Whose names did he give?”

“Grat Bilson was one.”

“Well, I can see why you didn’t want to call him.”

“We got along a little better in those days,” Berry said.  “I sure wish I’d called him.”

“How much did Overton get from you?”

“Quite a bit.  He needed to buy the materials, he said, so I gave him the money for that in advance.”

“Big mistake number two,” Rhodes said.

“Absolutely.  I knew better, but I gave him the money anyway.  It was a lot of money, because I wanted nice cabinets.  Overton came back, tore out my cabinets and got started on the job.  He seemed to be having a little trouble, and he started skipping days.  Then he skipped a week or so, came back once, and after that I hardly ever saw him again.”

“What do you mean by ‘hardly ever’?”

Berry looked pained.  “He came by now and then to promise he’d get the work done within the week.  Two weeks would go by, and he’d show up again, do a little hammering and leave.”

“How long did that go on?”

“Months.  Nearly a year.  After that I just kissed my money good-bye and hired someone else to do the job.”

“Did you check his references?”

“It’s not funny, Sheriff.”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Rhodes said.  “Just how angry were you about all this?”

“I heard about Overton,” Berry said.  “What he did to me happened more than two years ago, and I’ve pretty much gotten over it.  I’d certainly never kill anyone because of something like that.”

“You weren’t exactly shy about waving that shotgun around last night.”

“That was a different situation.  Besides, the shotgun wasn’t loaded.”

Rhodes didn’t know whether to believe that or not.  He said, “Did you ever have any dealings with John West?”

“What’s he got to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing.  Did you know him?”

“I know he got run over.  Are you trying to blame me for that?”

Rhodes said, “I just wondered if you knew him.”

“I bought a battery from him once.  Got a good deal, and the battery lasted longer than the guarantee.  Is that what you mean?”

Rhodes wasn’t sure what he meant.  He was just following his usual method of asking questions and trying to catch somebody in a contradiction or a lie.  Maybe a computer could do it better.

“And Pep Yeldell?” he asked.  “What about him?”

“I never saw him before that morning that I called you.  Why?  Do you think I killed him, too?”

“I don’t think you killed anybody.  I’m just trying to get a few things straight in my mind.”

“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place.  You ought to be talking to Faye Knape.  I still think she’s in on it.  Or talk to Grat Bilson.  If Overton wasn’t lying, he did some work for Grat, and Grat sure didn’t like Yeldell.  If I were the sheriff, he’s the one I’d suspect.”

Berry’s tone didn’t leave any doubt about what he thought of Rhodes’s intellectual and investigative abilities.  Rhodes didn’t mind.  He’d already lost Berry’s vote.

“Can you tell me where you were the night Yeldell died?” he asked.

“I don’t remember, but I can tell you where I was last night.  I was at a called meeting of the Sons and Daughters.  We talked about how we were going to counter the protests that are being planned against the Native American dances at out celebration.  There are plenty of witnesses.”

There hadn’t been a time of death established for Randall Overton, but Rhodes didn’t bother to tell Berry that.  Maybe Berry was in the clear, or maybe not.  He’d have to talk to Dr. White and get an estimate.

“You might be thinking about where you were on the night Yeldell died, just in case,” Rhodes said.

Berry’s face was red, and Rhodes wondered if he might be thinking about going for his shotgun.  It was probably as good a time as any to change the subject, so he asked if Faye Knape had been by to see Berry and to talk to him about cooperating on the celebration.  As it turned out, she had.

“But she’s the one who’s not going to cooperate, I can tell you that,” Berry said.

“Cooperation is a two-way street,” Rhodes told him.  “It even involves compromise now and then.”

“It was the Sons and Daughters who came up with the idea of the celebration.  We ought to be the ones who run it.”

“You could use some help.  Everyone needs help now and then.”

Berry half-smiled.  “Are you implying that you helped me out by talking to the Burleson heirs?”

“Nope,” Rhodes said.  “I wasn’t even going to mention it.”

“You won’t have to.  Faye Knape did.  I think you’ve lost her vote, too.”

“Before this is all over, I won’t have any votes at all.  But I didn’t come here to get your vote.  Tell me about some of Overton’s other references.”

“I don’t know that I want to, now that I know what you’re after.  I’m not going to send you out to harass any of my friends.”

“I’ve already got a list of names,” Rhodes said.  “I’ll be talking to them anyway.”

“I can’t remember any other names,” Berry said.  “Except for Mack Riley.”

“What about Mack and John West?  Did they know each other?  Did Mack know Pep Yeldell?”

Berry’s mouth tightened.  Then he said, “I may as well tell you.  You’ll find out about it anyway.”

Maybe Berry didn’t think Rhodes was such a bad investigator, after all.

“I’m sure I would,” Rhodes said.  “So go ahead and tell me.”

“Mack had a little run-in with Yeldell one time.  Now, I never met Yeldell, but I told you the other morning that I’d heard of him.  Mack was really upset by something Yeldell had done to his car.  He said Yeldell ought to be horse-whipped or worse.”

“When did he say that?”

“It was after a meeting of the Sons and Daughters one time.  The one in September, I think.  Mack had come just to listen, but he was talking to someone after it was over, and they must have gotten into a discussion of cars.  I didn’t hear the whole thing, and I don’t know who he was talking to, but a lot of people heard him.”

“I guess I’d better have a talk with Mack, then,” Rhodes said.

“That’s what I’d do,” Berry told him.  “If I were the sheriff.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

M
ack Riley lived in one of the oldest houses in Clearview, a big two-story wood home that had been built in the early years of the century.

Rhodes had been impressed by the place in his boyhood.  In those days it had been out at the edge of town, and it had been the first thing you could see from the highway when you were coming in from the north.  Now it was practically surrounded by some of the newer additions to Clearview’s economy:  a video store, the McDonald’s, and a convenience store that sold food, gasoline, and lottery tickets.

Mack wasn’t much in the way of a yard man; there were bare patches of ground, and weeds dotted the dead grass that remained.  A wide porch extended around three-quarters of the house, and an old wooden swing dangled from the porch ceiling near the front door.  Several of its slats were rotted nearly in half, and Rhodes wondered when someone had last sat in it.

Rhodes opened the screen and knocked on the door, the upper half of which held a big piece of beveled glass.  A thin curtain hung over the glass on the inside, and through it Rhodes could see a dark shape moving down the hall toward the door.

Mack Riley opened the door, but not all the way.  He wasn’t any happier to see Rhodes than Berry had been.  Mack was wearing a ragged old maroon chenille bathrobe that hung about to the middle of his skinny calves and worn-out house shoes that looked as if they’d seen their best days sometime around 1955.

“If it’s about that little set-to that I had with Grat Bilson,” he said, “I’m sorry about it, but he was downright insulting to me.  I couldn’t just let it go.”

The wind was whipping at Rhodes’ jacket, and the boards in the old porch were creaking in the cold.

“It’s not about Bilson,” Rhodes said.  “If I could come in for a minute, I’d like to ask you a few things about Randall Overton.”

“He’s worse than Grat Bilson,” Mack said.  “He’s nothing but a common thief, no matter what he calls himself.”

“He’s not anything anymore,” Rhodes said.  “He’s dead.  That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Mack opened the door wide enough for Rhodes to enter.  It was just as cold in the hallway as it had been outside.

“Who killed Overton?” Mack asked, closing the door.

Rhodes rubbed his hands together.  “I didn’t say anybody killed him.”

Mack walked past Rhodes and down the hall.  There was a stairway leading up on the right and a bookcase on the left.  Rhodes nearly had to turn sideways to get between them.

“You might as well come on in the parlor,” Mack said.  “It’s the only warm room in the house.”

He opened a door on the left and Rhodes followed him into a room that had a small fireplace.  Instead of being filled with burning wood, the fireplace held a gas heater that was going full blast.  The room was almost stuffy after the hallway, and there was condensation on the window pane.  There wasn’t much furniture.  There were two wooden rocking chairs with cushions in the seats, a floral couch, and a scarred coffee table sitting on a throw rug.  A light fixture holding three naked bulbs dangled from the ceiling on a flaking gilt chain.  There was a gun cabinet in one corner.  There were at least a couple of weapons in it.  Rhodes could see a shotgun and a rifle that looked like a .30-.30.