EDITH BOLTON ANSWERED THE DOOR AT THE BOLTON HOUSE. She didn't look any better than the last time Rhodes had seen her, but then he hadn't expected her to.
“Is Gerald home?” he said, though he knew the answer already. Bolton's school-bus-yellow Hummer wasn't in the driveway.
“No, Sheriff,” Edith said. It seemed to Rhodes that there was less of her voice left now than there had been before, if that was possible. It was as if she were gradually fading away. First the voice would go, then the rest of her. “He drove down to the camp house a little while ago. Do you want me to tell him you dropped by?”
“Thanks,” Rhodes said, although he knew he'd be seeing Gerald before she did. “I'd appreciate that.”
He went back to the county car and got Hack on the radio. “Tell Ruth Grady to meet me at Gerald Bolton's camp house. You know where that is, don't you?”
“Sure I do. I been livin' in this county a lot longer than you have.”
“I know that. The question is, can you tell Ruth how to get there?”
“Are you sayin' I don't know how to give directions? If you are, maybe you ought to get the county commissioners to buy one of those GPS things for all the cars. Or a computer with maps on it. Ever'body else has computers in the cars.”
“We're getting those in a couple of months,” Rhodes said. “Can you tell her how to get there or not?”
“She was just at those woods close to Bolton's place yesterday. All she has to do is turn off the county road a little sooner.”
“Hack.”
“Yeah, yeah. I can tell her,” Hack said.
“Good. Tell her not to waste any time.”
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Bolton's Hummer was parked near the gate in the fence that enclosed the camp house. Its vivid color looked right at home in the green weeds, even if the Hummer itself didn't. Rhodes parked the county car beside it and went through the gate into the shade of the trees.
Bolton was sitting on the porch. A hunting rifle leaned against the wall beside him, within easy reach.
“I've been about halfway expecting you to show up, Sheriff,” Bolton said.
Rhodes nodded toward the rifle. “More than halfway, I'd say.”
Bolton ignored the comment. He took hold of the arm of the metal chair that was beside him and shoved the chair well down
the porch. It made a scraping noise that set Rhodes's teeth on edge as it slid along the concrete.
“Have a seat over there, Sheriff,” Bolton said.
Rhodes went over to the chair and started to have a seat.
“Better pull it on down to the end of the porch,” Bolton said. “Just to be on the safe side.”
Rhodes pulled the chair farther away from Bolton. It made the irritating scraping sound again.
“That's fine,” Bolton said, and Rhodes sat down in the chair. Bolton reached for the rifle and laid it across his knees. “It was the caps, wasn't it.”
“The caps and some other things,” Rhodes said. “I should have thought about that Hummer sooner. Probably the only one in the county. Louetta would have been curious about it.”
“Curious? She knew who was driving it. I'd stopped at her store a couple of times lately when I came down to check on the work here.” Bolton smiled. “I was lying when I told you I only came down here to feed the cattle. I've been here two or three times lately, and I stopped at Louetta's store at least twice.”
“You didn't have to kill her.”
“What do you know about it? She called me at home, said you'd been to the store after Chester Johnson found Colley's body. She said she hadn't told you that she saw me pass by earlier that day.”
Bolton shifted in the chair. It grated against the concrete.
“That store wasn't making any money, she said. Hadn't made any for years. She was just about broke. She said maybe I'd like to help her out. You wouldn't think an old woman like that would turn extortionist, would you? But that's the kind of world we live in.”
“Well, you put a stop to that,” Rhodes said.
“You don't have to be sarcastic.” Bolton leaned back in the chair with a metallic squeak. “I didn't mean to kill her. I went to talk to her. You know. Talk things over logically. She started yelling at me, calling me a killer, saying she was going to turn me in. She started coming at me, and I hit her.”
Bolton looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. Then he looked back at Rhodes. His gaze was steady and hard.
“I didn't even hit her that hard. She was just old and fragile.”
“You had to hit Larry Colley a lot harder,” Rhodes said.
“Sure. But he deserved it. He killed Ronnie.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yeah. Can you believe it? Wanted to get his life straightened out, he said. After all, killing Ronnie was just an accident, so he thought I'd be happy to know about it and forgive him. Closure, he said. Now there's a word you wouldn't think you'd hear from Larry. Maybe he'd been watching Dr. Phil on TV. Anyway, that's what he said.
Closure.”
“You didn't forgive him, though.”
Bolton made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “You've seen Edith. You know what Ronnie's disappearance did to her. It's almost like Larry killed her when he killed Ronnie. He might as well have.”
“What about you?”
Bolton looked down at his hands again.
“Me, too, goddammit.” His voice broke. “Me, too.”
His head jerked up.
“Just sit where you are, Sheriff.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Rhodes said. “The caps are inside, aren't they? Hanging from the antlers.”
“Ronnie liked caps. He collected most of those in there. Of
course, I helped him. Then Colley showed up with the one Ronnie had been wearing that day. He had it here at the house, and he told me the whole story.”
“So you took him down to the woods and killed him.”
A dirt dauber buzzed around in the rafters above Rhodes's head. Rhodes didn't look up at it.
“That's pretty much it,” Bolton said. “Larry was going to show me where it happened. He said he had to do that, to explain it all. When we got there, he started talking, and I ⦠I don't know. I hit him in the back of the head with my rifle butt. He never saw it coming. He was too full of his story, telling me how Ronnie came up on them and how he ⦠Anyway, I hit him. Pretty damn hard. I knew he was dead as soon as he fell, so I just left him for the hogs. They'd have gotten him, too, if Chester hadn't come along when he did.”
“You took his cap,” Rhodes said.
“That's right, I did. Larry still had Ronnie's cap in his hand when he fell, and I took it, and then I took his. Added them both to Ronnie's collection. I thought he'd like that.”
“Louetta's, too.”
“Yeah.” Bolton frowned. “I'm not sure why I took hers. It's in there, though. With the others.”
Rhodes thought he should have looked more closely at the caps on his earlier visit, but then, he hadn't been thinking about them as a clue at the time. He shifted in his chair, making sure his pant leg was loose and trying to hike it up a little, though not far enough for Bolton to see the ankle holster. He wondered what was keeping Ruth Grady.
“I haven't quite decided what to do,” Bolton said. “I came down here to think it over.” He gestured toward the rifle. “I
thought I might use that on myself, but when it came down to it, I just couldn't go through with it. I wasn't scared. Far from it. But then I thought about Edith. I'm not sure what she'd do without me, you know? It's hard enough for her when I'm around, but it would be a lot worse if she didn't have me. I thought that when Larry was killed, she might get better, knowing that the man who'd killed Ronnie got what he deserved.”
“Does she know you're the one who killed Larry?” Rhodes said.
“I didn't tell her, if that's what you mean.”
Bolton ran one big hand down the barrel of the rifle while he caressed the stock with the other. The rifle was a Ruger .44 carbine, around twenty years old, Rhodes figured. He didn't think that particular model was being made any more. It fired .44 Magnum cartridges, and it would make a big hole in a deer, or a man.
“But she knew I did it,” Bolton said. “I don't know how.”
“And she didn't get any better,” Rhodes said.
“That's right. She got worse, if anything. Well, you know. You've seen her. I don't understand it.”
Rhodes thought he might, but this wasn't the time to explain it to Bolton.
“One thing I've been wondering about,” Rhodes said.
“Just one?”
“Colley's truck,” Rhodes said. “What happened to it?”
“I drove it down in the creek bottom and left it. I didn't think anybody would find it there.”
“What about Chester Johnson?”
“Yeah, he might have run across it. But like I said, I didn't give Chester any thought. If I had, I wouldn't be in this mess, would I?”
“You probably would. Killing a couple of people isn't something that you can just walk away from.”
“I didn't mean for any of that to happen. It was ⦠an accident.”
Rhodes just looked at him.
“I see what you mean,” Bolton said, though Rhodes hadn't said a word. “I'm no better than Larry was, am I? Or maybe I'm worse. I have to pay for it some way. Like Larry did.”
“It doesn't have to be like Larry did,” Rhodes said.
“I wish I could believe that,” Bolton said. His hands tightened around the rifle. “But I don't.”
Rhodes heard the distant sound of a car. Bolton must have heard it, too, but he didn't look in the direction it came from.
“You must have some backup coming,” he said. “Too late for that, though. Too late for both of us.”
He swung the rifle up, and Rhodes dived sideways out of the chair. The rifle blast echoed off the wall of the camp house. The bullet whanged through the metal back of the chair where Rhodes had been sitting and tore big chips out of one of the cedar stanchions holding up the end of the porch.
Rhodes rolled to a half-sitting position and grabbed at the pistol in his ankle holster, but Bolton swung the rifle toward him again, and Rhodes rolled to the right just as Bolton fired. The bullet plowed up a furrow where Rhodes had been. Rhodes stopped himself and rolled right back over the furrow as Bolton got off another shot. Rhodes kept right on rolling this time, and Bolton missed with a fourth shot.
One more,
Rhodes thought, still rolling and hoping that Bolton would guess wrong again.
He didn't. Rhodes felt something kick him like a mule in his upper left arm. Oddly enough, instead of increasing the speed of his roll, it stopped him completely.
He squirmed around to a seated position. He wasn't feeling much of anything in his arm now, and he pulled up his pant leg.
On the porch, Bolton pulled back the operating handle of the rifle, and when it locked in place, he inserted a cartridge into the firing chamber. He didn't seem in any hurry. He pressed the bolt release, then turned the carbine over and started pushing cartridges through the loading gate on the bottom of the receiver.
Rhodes had his pistol out. He was feeling dizzy, and his thumb was almost too weak to pull back the hammer of the .38, but he managed it.
“I'm really sorry about this, Sheriff,” Bolton said, taking aim.
Rhodes didn't say anything. He pulled the trigger.
The stock of Bolton's rifle splintered in his hand. Bolton yelled as the barrel whipped aside and broke the finger that was trapped in the trigger guard.
Rhodes stood up. He was shaky, but he wasn't going to fall. Bolton was huddled in the chair, holding his hands between his legs. Blood dripped onto the concrete, and Rhodes thought that the bullet that hit the rifle stock might also have hit Bolton's hand.
Ruth Grady walked up to Rhodes, her own pistol in a two-handed grip. It was rock steady and pointed at Bolton.
“What kept you?” Rhodes said.
“Bad directions,” Ruth said. “I got lost.”
If Rhodes had been feeling better, he'd have laughed.
“I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER TELLING YOU TO BE CAREFUL,” IVY said.
“It's not as bad as it looks,” Rhodes said. “Just a scratch.”
It was more than a scratch, but not much. Bolton's bullet had taken out about an eighth of an inch of flesh from Rhodes's arm, and Rhodes considered himself lucky. The Magnum bullet could have shattered all the bones in his upper arm if it had been a solid hit. It might have removed the whole arm, in fact, but Rhodes didn't see any need to go into all that with Ivy.
“Even if it's just a scratch, I still hate for you to get shot,” Ivy said.
Rhodes didn't like it, either, but it came with the job. He said, “I think some cheese enchiladas at the Jolly Tamale might make me feel better.”
Ivy grinned. “I suppose you'd want some of those greasy high-fat chips to go with them, too.”
“Not to mention some guacamole,” Rhodes said.
“It's nice that you're wearing short sleeves. That way people can see your bandage. It looks very heroic. Maybe it will get you some votes.”
“See?” Rhodes said. “There's always a bright side if you just look for it.”
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Claudia and Jan were sitting in a booth near the front of the Jolly Tamale when Rhodes and Ivy walked in. Rhodes had called them at the motel and asked them to be there. He was glad they were close to the door. He didn't want to have to explain to anybody about the bandage. Claudia waved, and Rhodes and Ivy joined them.
Mariachi music came from hidden speakers, and the chatter of the diners echoed off the tile floors and walls.
“We want to hear all about it,” Jan said when Rhodes and Ivy were seated in the booth. Jan pointed to the bandage on Rhodes's arm. “The big shoot-out, I mean.”
“How did you know about that?” Ivy said.
“We heard all about it on KCLR,” Claudia said. “The announcer was very excited.”
Rhodes wondered if the radio station had finally found someone to replace Red Rogers, who had been at the station for a good while before he was murdered. He'd been a little like Jennifer Loam, always questioning Rhodes about the cases he was working. That was all Rhodes needed: a hotshot youngster at the radio station teaming up with Jennifer Loam.
“It wasn't much of a gunfight,” Rhodes said.
“How do you like his John Wayne impression?” Ivy asked.
“Was that John Wayne?” Claudia said. “I wasn't sure.”
“I thought maybe he was doing Clint Eastwood,” Jan said.
Ivy looked at Rhodes. “I told you it needed work.”
Rhodes shrugged, which didn't do his arm any good, but before he got a chance to say anything, the server brought a bowl of warm chips and two bowls of salsa.
After he'd ordered his enchiladas and had a few chips, Rhodes told Claudia and Jan a little about Edith Bolton and what the situation was.
“I thought that since you were a social worker, you might be able to get her some help,” Rhodes told Claudia.
“How soon?”
“Tonight would be good.”
“I'll take care of everything as soon as we finish eating. In fact, I'll get started right now.” Claudia pulled a cell phone out of her purse and slid out of the booth. “What's the address?”
Rhodes told her.
“Does she have friends with her now?”
Rhodes had made sure of that. “Yes,” he said. “But she's going to need more than just friends.”
“Sure. I'll see to it.”
Claudia went outside to talk, and the food arrived in sizzling hot plates just as she returned.
“It's all fixed,” she said. “I'm not sure that Edith Bolton can be fixed, though, no matter what we do.”
“I appreciate it that you're trying,” Rhodes said.
“We still want to hear about the big shoot-out,” Jan said. “You're not going to get away with changing the subject.”
“It wasn't really a shoot-out,” Rhodes said. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”
“Don't let him kid you,” Ivy said. “It was a shoot-out, all right. And it's not the first trouble he's had down in those woods.”
“Really?” Jan said. She took a notebook and pen out of her purse. “That might make another good scene in our book about the handsome crime-busting sheriff. What happened the first time?”
“He was nearly killed by wild hogs,” Ivy said.
Jan and Claudia looked at Rhodes, who shifted uncomfortably on the booth's bench seat.
“Really?” Claudia said.
“Really,” Ivy told her.
“But you survived,” Jan said.
“Here I am,” Rhodes said.
“There's always a bright side,” Ivy said, smiling at Rhodes. “If you just look for it.”