An Unmarked Grave (30 page)

"Never can tell," I replied.

"So, what brings you out on such a day as this one?"

"Oh, a couple of questions about Jim Bob Houston. You
grew up with him. What kind of man was he?"

The small man frowned at me. "Why you ask?"

"No reason. Just curious. I've heard so much about him,
I just wondered what he was like"

Sam shrugged. "He was a good man. He was our mayor
when he was young, right out of high school. Then he married, and the marriage was good. At least, I thought it
was. My wife, she say different, but all that she hear was gossip. Then Sara Ann leave, and Jim Bob, he start drinking
heavy. Once, when he was drunk, he jumped Sheriff Perry,
saying he was the one that caused Sara Ann to leave"

"The sheriff?"

"Yes, but Jim Bob, he was drunk" He paused and sipped
his coffee. "He was one of those mean drunks. Not the happy
kind that finds a corner and goes to sleep. He went looking
for trouble. He caused trouble with many around here. The
truth is, while we was all surprised to see him leave, we were
glad inside, you know? No more drunk trouble"

"How'd the sheriff react?"

Sam shrugged. "After Jim Bob leave, I never heard him
say a bad word about the man"

On the way back to the motel, Jack asked, "What was that
all about?"

I turned my ideas over in my head, then bounced them
off Jack. "Look, if Lewis was involved, he had to have a
reason. He has everything any man could want-money,
land, family. What reason would he have to kill Houston?"

Jack shrugged. "Beats me"

"Beats me too" A rabbit dashed across the road in front
of us. I swerved, and the Silverado's back end broke loose,
sending us fishtailing down the icy road. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and my fingers dug into the steering wheel.
After a short distance, I managed to straighten the pickup.

Jack whistled. "Whew! That was close. One accident is
enough"

His remark triggered a response in my brain. "Maybe
that's what it was, Jack, an accident."

"Huh? What?"

"Houston's death. Sam says Houston did a lot of drinking after his wife left. He confronted Sheriff Perry. What if
he confronted Marvin Lewis and, in the struggle, Houston
was accidentally killed?"

With a shrug, Jack grunted. "So, why didn't he report it
to the sheriff as an accident?"

All I could do was shake my head.

Back at the motel, we waited impatiently for Sheriff Perry.
I was eager to get the skeletal remains to a lab for the DNA
analysis. A positive identification would set the judicial process into motion. Slow motion, but motion nevertheless,
and the inexorable movement of the process usually ended
in justice.

The telephone broke the silence.

It was Tricia Chester. Two questions were on her mind.

The first: "Had Justin mentioned anything about being a
member of the Masonic Lodge?"

"Not to me, Tricia. Why?"

"Well, the junkman who has Justin's pickup sent your office the setting of a Masonic ring someone found in Justin's
pickup. Blue with the Masonic seal on it. Mr. Blevins sent it
out to us. If we'd known he was a Mason, we could have had
Masonic rites"

"Was he wearing a ring?"

"Only one. His high school graduation ring"

I grimaced. "I'm sorry. He never mentioned it"

She cleared her throat. "And, not that I mind, but Frank
and Vanessa are wondering when you'll be back. They think
everything should have been taken care of by now"

I was torn between telling her the truth or making up a
story.

At that moment, there came a knock on the door. Jack
opened it. Sheriff Perry stepped inside, brushing a light
dusting of snow from his shoulders.

I waved to the sheriff. "Look, Tricia. Something just came
up. Something important. I'll call you back when it's over."
Without giving her time to respond, I hung up. "Hello, Sheriff "

With a curt nod, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
"Boudreaux. Edney. Get your stuff, and let's go"

"Go? Where?"

"Why, to see Marvin Lewis and hear what he has to say
about all this. After all, every dog has his day in court,
right?"

The hair on the back of my neck bristled at his suggestion. "You sure? Now?"

He nodded emphatically. "Sure. I want to get this settled.
You have some strong evidence. I want to see how he responds. Look at him. He's a ninety-year-old man. What can
he do?"

"If you say so" I grabbed my coat. "You going, Jack?"

He shook his head. "Too cold out there"

Sheriff Perry laughed. "Come on. You'll enjoy the drive.
You'll go nuts staying in the motel all the time. Besides,
tonight's when Marv whips up his homemade chili. You've never eaten chili until you take a bite of Marv's. Might as
well kill two birds with one stone"

"But, won't he wonder what Jack and I are doing there?"

"Look. This is a weekly thing with Marv. Sometimes
I show up by myself; sometimes I invite someone else.
He won't think a thing about it. While we're sitting around
the table shooting the bull, you can hit him with what you
have. Catch him off guard-know what I mean?"

I arched a skeptical eyebrow. "If you say so."

Downstairs, I started toward the pickup, but Sheriff Perry
stopped me. "We can all go in the cruiser. I'll run you back
here afterward. That'll give us a chance to talk about Marv's
answers."

I shrugged. "Fine with me"

Marvin Lewis opened the door wearing a broad grin.
"Howdy, Sheriff. I was expecting you on chili night. I see
you brought company."

"Yep. Boudreaux and Mr. Edney wanted to sample that
homemade chili of yours"

Lewis chuckled. "You boys are more than welcome. Come
right on in. Take a seat at the kitchen table. I'll dish up the
chili. I got plenty."

Puzzled, I glanced at Perry. He grinned at me.

I shrugged. It was a weird feeling. I'd never taken part in a
criminal interview at a kitchen table eating chili and drinking beer. But then, I'd never lived in Elysian Hills either.

Wearing his trademark grin, the older man slid steaming
bowls of chili onto the table along with a couple of bottles
of ketchup and a platter of crackers. The beer was ice cold.

Perry banged the bottom of the ketchup bottle with the
heel of one hand, popping three or four dollops onto his
chili, after which he crumbled crackers over it and mixed
them in thoroughly.

I remarked, "I thought only us country people in Louisiana
ate our chili like that"

We both laughed.

Around a mouthful of chili. Perry said, "Reason we come
over, Marv, is that Boudreaux here has turned up some evidence he thinks points to your being involved in Jim Bob's
disappearance back in eighty-six"

To say I was surprised at just how abruptly the sheriff
laid out my accusation was an understatement of the same
magnitude as saying the Grand Canyon was nothing more
than a drainage ditch.

Marv paused with a heaping spoonful of chili at his lips.
With a grin, he said, "Oh? And what might that be, Mr.
Boudreaux?"

His self-assurance confused me. He was treating the accusation as a lark. I glanced at Jack, who for once wasn't feeding his face. He was watching the two of us. I cleared my
throat and said, "First, there's the title deed on the six sections of land. It was dated November 1985, but the notary
used a nine-digit zip code. Nine-digit zips did not come
into use until the next year, which tells me the document
was backdated-in other words, forged."

He looked at me, confused. "Of course, I don't know how
dear Pearl made a mistake like that, but I had nothing to do
with it. Maybe she was hurting bad from the cancer, poor
soul. I know she would never have done it intentionally." He
looked at me with the innocence of a child.

"What about last November 28?"

"You mean when Justin had his accident?"

"It was no accident. You said you were visiting your
brother in Gainesville, but he hasn't seen you in over a year."

He chuckled and took another bite of chili. "Benjamin's
starting to lose it, Mr. Boudreaux. Sometimes he'll put on
one sock and forget the other." He shook his white mane of
hair. "Poor man."

I was growing frustrated with his insouciance. "All right,
Nora Talley identified you as the one who rented the apartment in Chicago under the name Jim Bob Houston."

Leaning back, he frowned. "Oh" He paused, wrinkling
his brow in concentration. "Isn't that the poor lady who had
the heart attack?"

I cut my eyes sharply at Sheriff Perry. A faint sneer curled
his lips.

I looked back at Marvin Lewis. He wore a patient but
cold smile on his face. My gaze dropped to his hand, and I
spotted a Masonic ring on his right ring finger. It was missing a setting.

Suddenly, like the proverbial bolt of lightning, it hit me.
What a dummy I'd been. I was so absorbed in nailing Marre
Lewis that I overlooked Buck Perry's lies. The Sheriff had
fed me that story about showing a snapshot to Homer Talley
in `90 or `91. He couldn't have. According to Talley's wife,
Nora, Homer had died three years earlier in 1988.

The ominous click of a revolver hammer's being cocked
froze me. Slowly, I turned to stare into the muzzle of a .38
with a four-inch barrel. Now, .38s might not be an elephant
killer like the .357 or .44 magnum, but I can assure you,
that tiny black hole in the muzzle of the smaller weapon is every bit as frightening when it is only two inches from
your forehead.

Jack stared at me in confusion as I stammered to the
sheriff, "You-You're part of it. Houston and Justin"

The cruel smile splitting his face was the only answer I
needed.

Jack sat transfixed, chili dripping from the spoon halfway
to his lips. For once, he'd lost his appetite. He was trying to
speak, but nothing came out.

"You were the two that old man Barton saw digging the
grave for Houston twenty years ago"

As if he were at a formal dinner, Marvin Lewis folded his
napkin and laid it by his unfinished bowl of chili. "I told you
someone was out there that night, Gus"

Perry nodded. "Yep. You did, Marv. Good idea you had
about my going to see these two last night. Worked like a
charm" He pushed himself back from the table and stared
down at me. "I'd let you finish your meal, but I figure you've
probably lost your appetite," he said with a sneer. He gestured with the muzzle of the .38. "Stand up. Put your hands
behind your head"

In the heroic tradition of movie heroes, I hurled the bowl
of chili and leaped from my chair at Perry. He anticipated
my move and sidestepped. In the next second, he whacked
me alongside my head, and I crumpled to the floor.

awakened as we bounced over a rough road. Outside, the
snow and ice rat-a-tat-tatted against the sheriff's cruiser.
Dashboard lights cast a dim glow through the steel mesh
separating the front and back seats. My head throbbed.

Jack was at my side, jostling me with his shoulder. He
whispered urgently, "Tony, wake up. You hear me? Wake
ups„

Through the foggy mist in my head, I heard Perry laugh.
"Waking up won't do him no good"

I managed to sit erect. I twisted at my bonds, but the plastic band cut into my wrists. I looked out the window. I saw
nothing but absolute darkness except for the eerie reflection
of the dash lights on the window. It was the kind of night a
person could be murdered and buried and never found, especially out here in such desolate country.

We slowed and turned right. The lights struck Harlan Barton's dilapidated house. Perry stopped in back. The head lights illuminated the ramshackle barn. They pulled us out
and looped ropes about our necks. Both Perry and Marvin
Lewis carried handguns.

The bitter ice and snow struck our bare skin, chilling us to
the marrow of our bones. Perry shoved us toward the barn.
"Move"

We staggered forward. I blinked my eyes and shook my
head, trying to clear the cobwebs. We couldn't make a break
because of the ropes garroting our necks. My hands were
bound behind my back, but, thanks to Jack's enormous girth,
his hands were bound in front.