Husband and Wives (4 page)

My wife hit me with her journal. ‘Ha, ha,’ she said, in her usual deadpan way.

I leaned over and started nibbling her neck. ‘You think I’m funny,’ I whispered. ‘And sexy.’

She giggled. ‘It’s funny that
you
think you’re sexy!’ she said.

I headed for her fun spots.

Milt Kovak – Tuesday

I had Holly run the Hudsons on the computer, see what she could find out. The only discrepancy we found was that Jerry Hudson named nineteen dependents on his 1040 tax form. I started counting up: Carol Anne said that Mary had had eight children, Carol Anne had four children, and Rene had two. Add the kids and the wives all together that made seventeen dependents, not nineteen.

So I called the number for Carol Anne’s house and a woman answered the phone.

‘Mrs Hudson?’ I said.

‘Are you looking for Carol Anne?’ the woman asked. I could tell when she said more than ‘hello’ that this voice belonged to an older woman.

‘Yes, ma’am. And you are?’

‘This is Carol Anne’s mother. She’s over at Mary’s house right now dealing with the children. Do you know what happened over there?’

‘Yes, ma’am. This is Sheriff Kovak calling. I’ll just call her at Mary’s house.’

‘Have you found out yet who did this terrible thing?’ she asked.

‘No, ma’am, not yet. I’ll just call her at Mary’s house—’

‘Well, truthfully, I never really trusted that Mary,’ Carol Anne’s mother said. ‘She was a sly one.’

‘Oh?’ I said. ‘How’s that?’

‘Well, just look how many babies she had, for goodness’ sake! My Carol Anne has her four babies then Mary just goes and pops out one after the other like she’s showing who’s boss! I don’t think how many babies you can have proves a darn thing!’ she said.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, not sure how to answer her comments. ‘I’ll just call Carol Anne—’

‘And then he goes and marries that mousy Rene!
That
was Mary’s doing, you can count on that!’

‘Thanks for the information—’

‘I told my son, Dennis. I said, “Dennis, that Jerry is up to no good marrying that Rene!” And Dennis agreed with me. He said, “Mama, you are right!” Now don’t you think that’s true?’

‘Ma’am . . .’

‘That Mary was in her forties when she had her last baby. It’s just God’s sweet love that managed to make that child normal!’

‘I gotta go!’ I said quickly and hung up.

I was afraid I was gonna have to actually meet that woman, ’cause the venom spewing out of her mouth sounded like motive to me.

I called Mary’s house and got hold of Carol Anne. ‘How’s everybody?’ I asked.

She sighed heavily. ‘Not well,’ she said. ‘Jerry’s got the older children upstairs praying, and I’ve got the little ones down here, trying to keep them relatively busy.’

‘He still hasn’t told all of ’em?’ I asked.

‘He and Rene and I were up all night talking about it, and we decided the cut-off point was five. Six and up we tell, five and below . . . not for a while.’

‘Won’t the older kids tell them about it?’ I asked.

‘Probably. We’re just trying to keep it quiet for a couple of days. When will Mary’s body be released?’ she asked.

‘I’ll check with the ME, find out when the autopsy will be,’ I told her. ‘Ah, ma’am, I spoke with your mother—’

‘Oh, Lord!’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry! Did she talk your ear off?’

I laughed. ‘Little bit,’ I said. ‘I also noted that Jerry lists nineteen dependents on his 1040 tax return, but there are only seventeen of y’all, to my count.’

‘Bet you didn’t count Mama!’ Carol Anne said. ‘Or my brother, Dennis.’

‘You’re right, I didn’t. Well, I just spoke to your mama, but I didn’t know about your brother. How are they dependents of Jerry’s?’ I’d sorta spaced out when the old lady was talking to me – she might have mentioned Carol Anne’s brother, but really, who cared?

‘Well, they’re both on disability and they live with me and the boys in my house. They are totally dependent on Jerry and their social security.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that – that they’re both disabled. What’s wrong with your brother?’

‘He was in a car wreck and hurt his back. Mama was in the car with him and she lost a leg and hurt her back, too, and then my daddy died, and they came to live with us.’

I was beginning to feel real sorry for Jerry Hudson. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill the lot of ’em. ‘It was nice of Jerry to do that,’ I said, unable to come up with anything else to say.

‘Jerry is God’s original,’ Carol Anne said proudly. ‘The Good Lord broke the mold after he made Jerry.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna need to talk to your mama and your brother sometime today, if possible, Mrs Hudson.’

‘Please call me Carol Anne, Sheriff,’ she said. ‘I’ll set that up for you. Mama should be no problem, but I’m not sure about Dennis. I’ll see if I can track him down.’

‘I thought you said he was living with you?’ I asked.

‘Yes, he is, but he’s out a lot. I’ll call you,’ she said, and hung up quickly.

I sat there in my office, looking at the phone and thinking, how does old Dennis get around so much with a back so bad he can’t work? Then I thought it would be a sorry job if the only thing I got these people on was a little bitty fraud against old Uncle Sam.

Around noon I took Nita Skitteridge with me to talk to Carol Anne’s mama, and hopefully her brother, Dennis. We stopped on our way out of Longbranch and picked up a couple of Big Macs and some fries and drinks for the trip. We just got a McDonalds a couple of years ago, and I’m afraid it’s done a job on the diner at the Longbranch Inn. I’m still a devout customer, but there are days when it’s just easier to pick up a Big Mac or some Chicken McNuggets and be on your way. But truthfully, there’s still nothing better than a sit-down lunch at the Longbranch with yeast rolls, cornbread, sweet butter, chicken fried steak and cream gravy, and three sides off the board. It’s just a little bit of heaven. And if it comes to it, I’d give up McDonalds in a heartbeat.

This was my first time to work on a case with Nita. She was a pretty lady, with beautiful dark skin and huge brown eyes. She wore her hair as short as her cousin’s, but somehow it just made her look more feminine. She had a nice chest and a cute butt and what more can a man ask for, tell me that? She was also smart as a whip and nice and polite, although the polite may have had more to do with my rank than any real feelings on her part.

When we got to The Branches, Nita let out a slow whistle. ‘Wow, would you look at this?’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ I said, showing my badge to the gatekeeper and driving through. ‘It’s pretty upscale, huh?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, letting me know she hadn’t really thought about the whistle before she did it.

‘But these people, the Hudsons?’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘I don’t think they’re rich like these other people. Lord, how could they be? You look in their houses, well, I’ve seen the insides of two of ’em, and while they look great the furniture is old, I mean really old. And there’s not much of it. They got these three houses at a tax auction, so I’m wondering if they didn’t get ’em for a song, all together like they are, and just lucked out?’

‘Yes, sir, sounds likely,’ Nita said.

‘Now, the house we’re going to belongs to the second wife, Carol Anne. She’s the artistic type. Lots of paintings and pictures and geegaws on the walls and such – all the walls painted bright colors. But the furniture’s still old. See if you don’t notice that.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Nita said.

‘If the mama and the brother are both there, you take the mama and I’ll take the brother. Got that?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ Nita said.

I parked the car in Carol Anne’s driveway and we went together to the front door. Before I could knock, we were accosted by the largest, ugliest dog I’d ever seen. His fur was blond with a greenish tinge, his tongue hung about down to his knees (if dogs have knees), he had one ear that pointed up and the other that – well, wasn’t much there. His eyes were covered with a ruff of fur like the bushy eyebrows of an old man. And he stank to high heaven. But he seemed friendly enough. The door opened before I had a chance to knock. The lady who answered the door was tall like her daughter with red hair that didn’t look quite as . . . well, natural as her daughter’s. The mama had ‘I Love Lucy’-red hair, was wearing black slacks and a black and gold skintight T-shirt that showed gigantic hooters and what my wife would call an unnaturally large muffin-top.

‘Scat, you filthy beast!’ she yelled, and I finally figured out she was talking about the dog. ‘Get!’ She shook a magazine at him and he backed away and yipped at her a couple of times, more like he wanted her to throw the magazine than anything dangerous.

‘Get!’ she shouted again, and the dog finally ran off.

‘Ma’am,’ I said, holding out my hand to shake, ‘I’m Sheriff Milt Kovak, and this here is my deputy, Nita Skitteridge. I’m sorry, I never did get your name.’

‘Denise Rigsby.’ She looked at Nita slantwise and didn’t offer her hand. I wondered if I should let Anthony’s cousin interview this woman after all. ‘Excuse the dog! Well, there
is
no excuse for that dog! Jerry told the boys they could keep her if they put up one of those doggie fences where it shocks them?’ We both nodded our agreement that there was such a thing. ‘So they put it at the entrance to the cul-de-sac so the darned thing has the run of all three houses! Little devils,’ she said.

‘Miz Rigsby,’ I said, letting my voice get country-like (that kind of thing works a lot with women of a certain age), ‘I was wondering if your son might be around?’

‘Dennis!’ she screamed over her shoulder.

‘Ma’am,’ I said, all smiles, ‘may we come in?’

She stood her ground. ‘I’m not sure how my son-in-law feels about letting mud people into his houses.’

I could feel Nita stiffen next to me. Mud people. Never heard that one, but it sounded just as nasty as most of the words ignorant people call any people different from them.

I used my bulk to get into the house. The lady had pissed me off. Once inside, with Nita beside me, I said, ‘Now, ma’am, exactly who you calling mud people? Me, ’cause I’m an old man, my deputy here because she’s an African-American, or both of us ’cause we’re police officers?’

Denise Rigsby stiffened. ‘We’re not used to coloreds,’ she said.

A man came in from the back of the house. He was shorter than his mother and sister both, slightly bent at the shoulders, had receding reddish-blond hair, a mustache that couldn’t make its mind up if it wanted to be or not to be, and watery blue eyes.

‘Mama, behave,’ he said, coming up to us and holding out his hand to Nita. ‘I’m Dennis Rigsby, and you are . . .?’

She shook his hand and said, ‘Deputy Nita Skitteridge, and this is Sheriff Milt Kovak,’ she said, indicating me.

He let go of her hand and gave me his. It was damp and the grip was weak. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt on being disabled. Having already talked to Mrs Rigsby on the phone, I figured if there was anything new to get out of her, Nita would be getting it.

‘Miz Rigsby,’ I said, smiling bright, ‘my deputy here, Deputy Skitteridge, is gonna take you in the living room to talk, while your son and I go in the dining room. That all right with everybody?’

When I got no verbal objections, I pointed to the dining room and followed Dennis Rigsby in there. After we both picked out a brightly painted ladder-back chair and sat, I said to the brother, ‘Now, what can you tell me about the relationship everybody – or anybody, for that matter – had with Mary Hudson?’

He shrugged. ‘Seemed fine,’ he said. ‘Carol Anne seemed to like her a lot.’

‘Your mama thought there was some tension,’ I said.

‘Only tension going on around here is Mama’s. Look, Sheriff,’ he said, leaning toward me and lowering his voice, ‘my mother had a hard time in her marriage, being the second wife. The first wife was pretty mean to her. And I think she was afraid Mary was going to do the same to Carol Anne, but I never saw it.’

‘Any tension with the third wife, Rene?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Not that I ever saw. Jerry seemed to have found the right fit. Everybody seemed very happy.’ He leaned back and smiled at me. And that’s when I decided that something wasn’t kosher in this happy plural family.

On the way back to Longbranch, I quizzed Nita about the mama, Denise Rigsby. ‘You get anything out of her?’ I asked.

Nita shrugged. ‘She didn’t like Mary. Of course, she doesn’t like Rene either. And she made it a point to tell me she doesn’t like Obama.’ She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Me being a mud person and all, I guess she thought I should know that.’

‘What
is
a mud person?’ I asked her.

Again, the shrug. ‘You got me. Whatever it is, she doesn’t like them either.’

‘She have any ideas about Mary’s murder?’ I asked.

‘Other than the fact that Mary either did it herself or Rene did it?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Other than that.’

‘Not much. Tell you the truth, Sheriff, mostly she talked about how uncomfortable she was around me, as a mud person and all, and how bad a person Mary was. But for facts on Mary’s ‘‘badness’’’ (and here Nita used air quotes) ‘she didn’t have much. She had too many babies. Carol Anne lost a baby after her son, Oscar, and they had to do a hysterectomy. As far as Denise Rigsby is concerned, Mary should have had a hysterectomy, too, in sympathy for Carol Anne. She was incensed that Mary went on and had more babies.’

‘OK, that’s just weird,’ I said.

‘No shi— I mean, I agree, Sheriff.’

‘Nita, honey, you gotta get hold of yourself. It’s OK if you cuss when you feel like it – within reason, of course – and please, please call me Milt. All this formality makes my stomach hurt.’

That got me a little smile. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

I sighed. ‘Think Denise did it?’

Another shrug. ‘Who knows? She’s a mean and crazy lady, Milt, but a murderer? I don’t know. If Mary up and told her in private that she was having another baby, maybe, but I doubt Mary was.’

That made me think. ‘I think I’ll call the ME’s office and see about that autopsy.’