Smoke (14 page)

The sight of the folders gave her a slight twinge of guilt. After all, she had stolen them. She had also left very early to attend Rusty’s funeral, but Mike Mallett couldn’t blame her for that, could he? She didn’t choose when to schedule the funeral.

She opened the folder labeled The Case of Rusty Bucket. There was nothing inside. The Case of the Dead Poppy contained the used envelope with “Cause of Death” written across the end, under the case name. Finding another envelope in the kitchen wastebasket, she printed “The Case of Rusty Bucket” and “Cause of Death” across that one, too.

Placing them side by side, she wrote “Drugged” on both lists. She put “Inhaling Smoke” next, for Rusty, and “Being Strangled” for Poppy. Rusty was found in the smokehouse, hanging, and Poppy was found hanging, too. But the hangings weren’t the causes of their deaths, from what Ralph said.

She wrote “Suspects” on Rusty’s list, and wrote the names of Tinnie, Vern, and Amy JoBeth. Also Poppy, because she could have killed Rusty before she died. Then she added Betsy, just because Immy didn’t like her. For “Motive” she put “Affairs” beside Tinnie’s name and “Other Affair” beside both Poppy and Betsy, in case one mistress was jealous of the other. Beside Amy JoBeth, she wrote “Rusty killed her pig, Gretchen” and, after pondering, put the same thing beside Vern’s name. Since Vern supposedly loved Amy JoBeth, it would upset him, too, that Rusty shot the pig. She added Sonny Squire on the strength of the gossip she’d heard at the funeral about him not liking Rusty as a son-in-law. Maybe he threatened to take the jerky shop away from Rusty and they fought. Sonny wasn’t young, but he was strong. And usually drunk.

She pushed the paper aside and started on Poppy’s.

“This one is,
too
, my mommy,” said Zack, raising his voice at Drew.

“Well your mommy doesn’t have brown hair,” said Drew. “You need a blonde one. And here’s a Ken to be your daddy.”

Immy looked over at the children.

Zack bowed his blonde head. “My daddy is gone.”

“But you can pretend,” insisted Drew, shoving a Ken doll at him.

“Mommy says, now that Daddy is gone, our troubles are over. That’s what Mommy said at his fune-rull. So I shouldn’t have a doll for him.”

Immy’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut before the children saw her watching them. She grabbed her pen and added a note beside Tinnie’s name on Rusty’s list: “End of troubles.”

She jumped up to give them each a cookie and pat their darling, innocent heads.

When a knock sounded on the front door, Immy waited for Drew to jump up to let Ralph in. Drew stayed put, chewing her cookie.

“Mommy?” Drew said, looking up at her.

Immy realized she hadn’t heard Ralph’s knock. Hortense was deep into a prime-time drama, so Immy opened the door.

Tinnie Bucket stood on the front porch.

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral today,” said Immy. “I’m so sorry about Rusty’s death.”

“Thanks,” she said and brushed past Immy.

Hortense looked up. “Oh, my dear Christina.” She grunted as she rose from her recliner and caught Tinnie’s slim hands in her meaty ones. “Allow me to express my heartfelt condolences at this sorrowful time, upon the demise of your conjugal mate. This must be a devastating—”

“Thanks, Hortense. I’ve come to take Zack home. I appreciate y’all keeping him for me.” She turned to include Immy. “Really, I do. I knew he’d be fine here.”

Zack had jumped up at the sight of his mother and wrapped his arms around her legs, Drew, Barbie, and Ken all forgotten.

Immy inched her way to the coffee table to slide a magazine on top of her folders and envelopes.

Hortense, irritated at being snubbed by Tinnie in the midst of her heartfelt condolences, clomped to the bedroom to collect Zack’s things. Hortense couldn’t really manage a haughty looking-down-your-nose glare, since she was considerably shorter than Tinnie, but Immy knew that chin in the air was an attempt as Hortense handed Zack’s suitcase to Tinnie.

The children said good-bye to each other matter-of-factly, in the universal manner of children.

Immy trailed them outside to Tinnie’s Volvo, leaving Hortense to her drama and Drew to her Barbies. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked Tinnie.

“Why?”

“Well, you know. Rusty’s dead. Murdered.”

“That’s nothing to do with me.” Tinnie straightened from buckling Zack’s car seat and slammed the rear door. “I mean, I had nothing to do with his death. He did tell me he shot Gretchen, but, the more I think about it, I don’t see how he could have. He wasn’t out of my sight that night for more than a minute or two. Anyway, thanks again for keeping Zack.” The Volvo dug a rut backing up through the grass, and left rubber on the road speeding away.

Immy had never seen Tinnie in what you’d call a good mood, but her disposition tonight seemed worse than usual.

Ralph’s pickup came from the opposite direction.

He jumped out and stared as Tinnie’s taillights disappeared around the corner. “Was that Tinnie Bucket? We’ve been looking for her this evening.”

“She’s going home, I think. She just came to pick up Zack.”

“Where’s she been?”

“No idea. Is she a suspect?”

Ralph looked at her for the first time. “That’s a good question. A suspect for what?”

“Well, for the murders.”

Ralph was trying the silence thing on her, obviously. It worked. She broke.

“You know, Rusty and Poppy.”

“No suspects yet. In fact, only one murder at the moment. That’ll change tomorrow morning, though. Chief has the autopsy results for Poppy on his desk. I just saw ’em. He’ll probably announce tomorrow morning that she was murdered.”

Immy tried to think how she could get Ralph to tell her exactly what he would announce.

“You want to come in?” she said. “There’s some leftover chicken.”

“Tell you what. I’ll try to come back later. I think I’ll see if I can question Tinnie tonight. See you.” He snatched his radio mike as he climbed in and drove off in the direction of Cowtail.

Immy went inside and pulled out her lists again. Then it struck her.

Rusty and Poppy, both drugged. Both hung after their deaths. They were both murdered by the same person. Immy would put money on it. If she had any to spare.

Chapter 12

The next knock at the door was Louise Cotter. Immy was at the kitchen table with her folders. Hortense had gotten up to get herself another glass of iced sweet tea during a commercial, so she let Louise in.

“I’ve never properly thanked y’all for Amy JoBeth’s shower,” Louise gushed. “That was a bright spot in my poor girl’s life.”

Immy watched from the kitchen as Louise dabbed at her eyes with a crumbled tissue. She perched on the edge of the couch.

Hortense lowered herself to sit next to her. The couch groaned and threatened to give way.

“Immy,” she called. “Could you bring Louise some sweet tea?”

“Please,” said Drew from the floor. The Barbie funeral was over and it looked like she was playing “school” now. The napkin Marshmallow was chewing on might have been the one the children had used for the coffin.

Hortense blinked. “Yes. Please, Immy.”

It was still an order, no matter how she phrased it, thought Immy. She got up to get the tea from the fridge. Drew, trailed by Marshmallow, ran through the kitchen and out the back door.

Louise stifled a couple sobs with her fist. She was acting like her daughter was dead. She was only in jail.

“We missed you at the service today, Louise,” said Hortense.

“Yes, well, I’m not fit company for man nor beast lately. I can’t sleep for thinking of Amy JoBeth in jail like that.”

“It’s not too bad a place,” said Immy, handing Louise a tall glass of sweet tea. “I stayed there once.”

Louise gave her a hard stare and sipped her tea. “Is there more sugar?”

Immy returned to the kitchen to get sugar.

“Have you thought about engaging the services of a private detection agency?” said Hortense. “To investigate the unlawful death of Beryl Bucket?”

“Who’s that?”

“She means Rusty,” said Immy. “To clear your daughter.” She plunked the sugar bowl onto the coffee table, then resumed her seat in the kitchen before her folders. She couldn’t help eavesdropping, though. Especially when Mother had just mentioned a private detective.

“I don’t know. They cost money,” said Louise. “Who was at the funeral?”

“Well, Rusty’s family, of course,” said Hortense. “His widowed spouse, Christina—”

“Tinnie,” called Immy.

“—and their child, Zachary. And Christina’s father, James Archibald.”

“Sonny Squire,” called Immy.

“Imogene,” said Hortense. “If you would like to partake in this discussion, please place yourself in our proximity.”

Immy shoved the envelopes into the folders and came to sit in the recliner usually occupied by Hortense, since the couch was full of Louise and Hortense.

Louise stared at Immy even harder than she had when Immy had said she spent the night in jail.

“What?” said Immy.

“Did I just hear you say that Sonny Squire is Tinnie Bucket’s father?” Louise looked angry.

“Yes, he is,” said Hortense. “Having all that wealth handed to him has not been beneficial to him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Louise, her voice quieter than usual. “It got him a bank.”

“His daddy owned the Saltlick bank before he did, I think,” said Immy.

Louise nodded, then gulped some of her tea. “It wasn’t much though, until Sonny Squire pumped all that oil money of his into it. That was back when we lived here.”

“So, technically,” said Immy, “his money didn’t get him the bank. His family gave him the bank.”

“I have to go.” Louise slammed her glass onto the coffee table, sloshing out some tea, and left.

She hadn’t thanked them for the tea.

Hortense tapped her fingers on the armrest of the couch. “Learning that Sonny Squire is Tinnie Bucket’s father has upset her.”

“Looks that way,” said Immy.

“People are strange.”

Small words for Mother, thought Immy.

* * *

Ralph stopped over to the house after questioning Tinnie. Immy tried pumping him for insider dope, but he wasn’t giving anything away.

“Well, who you going to pin these killings on?” she asked.

“Immy, we aren’t going to pin anything on anybody. We’re going to investigate the murders and track down the killers.”

They sat on the front steps of the trailer to talk, partly for privacy, and partly not to disturb Hortense’s television viewing.

“But don’t you think there’s only one killer?” asked Immy.

“We don’t draw conclusions until all the evidence is collected.”

“What else do you have to collect?”

“We have other suspects to question.”

“And re-question, right? To see if their stories match up? So you can trip them up?”

“Well, yeah, sometimes.”

Immy had learned some things from her online course and her books.

Ralph looked tired and Immy suggested he get some rest.

“Yeah, we’re announcing the autopsy results on Poppy Jenkins tomorrow morning, so I’d better be there bright and early.”

That would be another tough funeral. Poor Ophelia, thought Immy. She’d lost her only child. How must that feel? She couldn’t imagine losing Drew.

Immy tried to get some autopsy details, but Ralph held firm. She walked him to his car, the second-best Saltlick cop car. The night air was soft and sweet. Fireflies sparked in the jasmine-scented darkness.

“Your eyes look tired,” Immy said.

“Yours look…they look....” He pulled her to him before he opened the door and gave her a kiss that woke up everything inside her, right down to her toes. Reeling a bit, she watched him drive away, then returned to the trailer that held her family.

She stood just inside the door. Hortense, watching her show from her recliner, sipped tea and munched on a handful of mixed, salted nuts. Drew tried to do a cheerleading pyramid with her Barbies, and almost succeeded.

“Bath time, sweetheart,” Immy said to her daughter. Drew picked out two lucky Barbies to share the bubble bath with her. Half an hour later, Immy leaned down to inhale the aromas of clean hair and her child’s sweet skin, then kissed her daughter and tucked her into her cot in the room they shared.

She worked the rest of the evening on her lists without adding anything useful.

Thoughts of Ralph’s kiss strayed through her mind from time to time and put the hint of a smile on her still-tingling lips.

But she did think she was on the right track. Rusty and Poppy were probably killed by the same person. And the person was probably not Amy JoBeth, who had no access to horse tranquilizers. That she knew of.

* * *

Immy raced out of the house, not quite late, but almost. At least it was summertime and she didn’t have to drop Drew at nursery school this morning. That had often made her late for work the first few months she worked for Mallett. She glanced at the dashboard clock as she cranked the engine and backed onto the hardtop road. Maybe there was enough time.

She nosed into a parking space in front of the Saltlick police station and ran inside. It was so nice that Tabitha was on vacation. She was such an obstructionist when Immy wanted to get inside the station. Ralph came to the heavy door that led to the hallway.

“Hi, Ralph—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“In a few minutes. Let’s go back to your office. I want to get a copy of Poppy’s autopsy.” She tried to shoo him through the door so she could follow.

“I can’t give you that.” He didn’t budge and he filled the doorway. She also wanted to check in on Amy JoBeth, but couldn’t if Ralph wouldn’t let her inside.

“Why not?”

“For one thing, we haven’t released it yet. The press conference is in Wymee Falls at ten this morning, Chief decided.”

“In Wymee Falls? Maybe I can take an early lunch and hear it.”

“You’re not invited. It’s just for press.”

What good did it do a person if a police officer kissed her, if he wouldn’t give her any privileges? Of course, being kissed was better than not being kissed, but still….