An Unmarked Grave (28 page)

At first, the announcement surprised me, then I remembered seeing Barton climb into the pickup with Ford. "That's
a nice gesture on his part," I replied.

Gabe swept a big gnarled hand in front of his face as if to
say "no gesture at all" "Buck and Harlan went way back,
Boudreaux. Harlan's daddy gave Buck his first job. Buck never forgot that. So, after Harlan fell on bad times, old
Buck, despite all his sins-" He paused to laugh. "He always
looked after Harlan." He looked down at his wife with an
expression of love I've seldom seen and hugged her to him.
"That's how we are out here"

Mabel snorted and jerked away. A crooked grin on her
face, she muttered gruffly, "You talk too much, Gabe. Let's
eat. See you boys later."

If I had not been convinced of Buck Ford's involvement,
Mabel Hooker had handed me the final piece.

If Buck Ford cared so much for Harlan Barton, then he
had to know that Barton and Justin Chester were working
together. From the little time I had spent with Barton, he
was anything but an unforthcoming individual. On the contrary, he was as garrulous as one of my grandpere's old
sows when someone grabbed one of her piglets.

I couldn't help wondering if Barton had informed Buck
Ford of what he and Justin were doing. In fact, from what I
had just learned, I would have been willing to bet that Harlan Barton had told Buck Ford everything they were up to.

In all probability, Harlan told Ford he and Justin had discovered the location of the spaceman's grave. That's when
Ford decided he and Lewis had no choice but to off Justin
Chester.

A tiny frown knit my brow. Something puzzled me. If
Ford had killed Justin, why did he report the "accident"?
Why not let someone else find the body? Unless he was just
trying to be clever.

Suddenly I wasn't hungry. I pushed back from the table.
"Go ahead and finish up, Jack. I'm going on up to the
room. I've got some work to do. Sign the check for me"

He looked at me oddly for a moment, then shrugged. His
answer was another forkful of ketchup-covered rib eye steak
popped into his mouth.

Outside, I changed my mind and headed for my pickup.
I wanted to talk to Mr. Buck Ford.

found Buck Ford in his barn beneath one of the massive conveyors belts that carried feed to the cattle in his
feedlots. He looked up from under the clattering belt of
rollers when I approached, a smear of grease across his forehead. He frowned; then a gleam of recognition lit his eyes.
"Boudreaux, ain't it?"

"Yeah.19

He crawled out from under the conveyor and, despite his
huge belly, climbed agilely to his feet. Monkey wrench in
hand, he waved to his men. "Keep at it, boys. I got three hundred head to fatten up before I send them out in the morning.
The more money lining my pockets, the more in yours, ain't
that right?"

"You bet, Buck," they chorused, turning back to repairing
the conveyor.

Pointing the monkey wrench at me, he said, "So, Mr.
Boudreaux. What can I do for you?"

"First, I heard you were taking care of Harlan Barton's
funeral. I want you to know, that's a mighty decent thing. I
knew him only a short time, and if I wouldn't offend you,
I'd be grateful to contribute to the expenses"

Perplexed, he eyed me for a few moments. "Now, why
would you want to do that?"

"Probably, Buck, for the same reason you're doing it. I
liked the old man"

Buck snorted. "He was loony."

"Maybe so, but being nuts doesn't keep someone from
being likeable"

Ford laughed. "You're right, Boudreaux. Mighty right.
Forget the money. I appreciate it. Besides, my accountant
will figure some way to write it off. Now, anything else I
can do for you?"

"Harlan ever tell you what he and Chester were up to?"

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That spaceman nonsense? No. After Chester come back to town, I didn't see
much of old Harlan. He was spending all his time with
Chester." He drew a deep breath. "Anything else?"

I eyed the monkey wrench in his hand. For a moment, I
wavered, then mustered the courage and said, "I don't understand your version of spotting Justin Chester's pickup in
the creek. When I went to the bridge, the vegetation along
the east bank blocked any sight of the pickup."

He studied me a moment, obviously puzzled. "Nobody
can see anything in that part of the creek from the bridge"

"You did. You said you did. I heard you tell your men
that you spotted it"

I expected some sort of angry, defensive response, but he
simply stared at me with a perplexed expression. "I don't understand. I was driving onto the bridge when the pickup
bounced off the tree, then wobbled the few yards to the bank
and fell in" He held out his hands, the monkey wrench still
grasped in one. "That's it. That's all I saw. It was dark, so
dark I almost didn't see it. I had to have a flashlight to recognize Chester. Now, if I said anything to make you think
otherwise, then I apologize. But that's how it was. I didn't
see the pickup go through the fence, but I did see it bounce
off the tree and fall into the creek" He paused, his frown
growing deeper. "What are you driving at, Boudreaux? I
thought you were here to pick up Chester's gear and skedaddle on back to Austin"

I glanced around the barn. His men were busy on the conveyor. "I've talked to Sheriff Perry about my suspicions. He
knows I'm asking these questions."

His cheeks were beginning to grow red. "What suspicions?"

"That Justin Chester's death was somehow linked to that
of Jim Bob Houston"

Either Buck was a consummate actor, or he was genuinely
perplexed. "What do you mean about Houston's death? Jim
Bob moved to Chicago. A couple of years later he dropped
out of sight. No one ever heard from him again."

Shaking my head slowly, I gave him a wry grin. "He
never reached Chicago. Someone rented an apartment under his name. Kept him `alive' for two or three years, then
let him vanish"

He stared at me in disbelief, which then turned to belligerence. "You think I had something to do with it?" he
demanded.

"No. Otherwise, the landlady would have identified you. But there's a couple of questions that puzzle me. You didn't
like him, did you?" I asked abruptly.

Unperturbed, he grunted. "Hated his guts, and he hated
mine"

"Why?"

He stared at me for a moment, then rolled his shoulders.
"Family problems back two or three generations. And don't
ask what they were, because I don't know. I grew up despising Jim Bob Houston, and he did the same with me. And then
a lawsuit"

"A hundred thousand, I heard. Makes for a nice motive"

A crooked grin played over his lips. "Sure would if he
hadn't been paid off." He paused. "But I ain't lying when
I said we hated each other. I don't know what happened to
him, and I don't care. I'm just glad he's gone"

I shook my head in wonder. "Kinda surprising admission
for such a tight community, huh?"

With a snort, he replied, "Nothing tight about Elysian
Hills-I guarantee you that"

"What do you think happened to Jim Bob?"

He pounded the monkey wrench into the palm of his
hand with a loud slap. "I don't know, and I don't care. All
I know is, it took me three years to pay off the lawsuit that
no-account filed on me"

I had him talking, so I popped him another question.
"Did anyone around here have reason to kill him?"

He considered for a moment. "No. No one hated him like
me, and I certainly didn't kill him. That is, if he is dead" He
eyed me narrowly.

"What about his ex-wife?"

"Sara Ann? No. Decent woman" When he saw me raise
an eyebrow, he chuckled. "Hey, everyone is entitled to a couple of mistakes. Her first was marrying the jerk. The second
was when she played around on him"

"With whom? Someone in Elysian Hills?"

He started to shake his head, then mumbled, "No one
knows. There was a little talk about her and Marv, but I
didn't put no stock in it. Marv is twenty years older than
her." He paused and eyed me warily. "So what does all this
have to do with that Chester dude?"

I studied him for a moment. With a terse shake of my
head, I lied. "I don't know. Probably nothing."

Sitting in my pickup, I studied the well-lit metal barn. I
couldn't see that Buck Ford had had motive enough to murder Jim Bob. Of course, family feuds can reignite with one
wrong word. According to Barton, he saw two people digging up the grave. Marv Lewis was probably one of them.
Ford could have been the other. And, I told myself, he might
not have been.

I pulled up to the stop sign on the top of the hill at the
junction of the graveled drive and FM 1287. As far as I
could see to the west was absolute darkness with two or
three pinholes of light. Back to the east, a few security lights
illuminated Elysian Hills, casting globes of silver on the
ground.

I pulled onto the highway and headed for the motel. After
I passed the intersection of Cemetery Road and the highway, I glanced into my rearview mirror. Headlights popped on, and the glow of a security light revealed a small white
car speeding over the hill toward Woodbine.

Taggart!

I wheeled about, but when I topped the hill, the headlights had vanished.

The only lights around were those at Buck Ford's barn.

ack was snoring away when I reached our room.

Turning on the lamp over the desk, I opened my briefcase to pull out my notes. An envelope fell out of one of
the folders in the top of the case. I picked it up. It was my
most recent Target bill for odds and ends for my apartment.
I glanced at my address on Payton-Gin Road, Austin, Texas,
76756-6720. "Got to pay that as soon as I get back," I muttered, sliding the bill back into the folder.

I laid out all my notes and started back over them.

I had a gut feeling that Lewis was directly involved, but I
couldn't come up with a motive. He had no reason to kill
Jim Bob. Sara Houston had been gone two or three years. If
the two had conspired, they wouldn't have waited so long
to murder the man.