Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek: A Samuel Craddock Mystery (Samuel Craddock Mysteries) (17 page)

The backdoor opens into a laundry room, which leads to the kitchen. A cup has been left in the kitchen sink, but otherwise everything is orderly. My first thought is for the Remington that I took note of the first time I was here, and I go on through to the living room. It’s still in place, and when I walk through the rest of the house, it doesn’t look to me like anything was disturbed. It’s a big, sprawling place with three bedrooms and bathrooms, an office, a TV room, and the living room I was in before. Of course I wouldn’t know if something small was stolen, like jewelry, or if the intruder found money kept around the house, but there are no open drawers or closet doors.

Outside, Bennett has put himself to work watering plants. He turns off the hose and wipes his hands on his pants as he walks over to me. “How is it inside?”

“Nothing seems to be disturbed. But the McCluskys will have to look through things to make sure nothing was taken. Can you repair the broken window?”

Bennett hesitates. “I’d rather have somebody else do that.”

“A white man,” I say dryly.

That brings a shy grin to his face. “Maybe that would be best.”

“Until somebody does that, it would be good if you go on with your painting and keep an eye on the place. I expect Mr. McClusky would be grateful.”

“I surely will do that.” He shakes my hand.

I’m concerned that I still haven’t heard from McClusky, so I call and leave another message. It could be that he’s back out at his resort today where there’s no coverage.

I call down to Gabe LoPresto’s construction business and they tell me they’ll send somebody out this afternoon to replace the broken window.

As soon as I get to my truck, my cell phone starts its clamor. It sounds angry, although I know that’s impossible.

“Craddock?” It’s Slate McClusky’s voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Where have you been? Never mind, we’re almost home. I got your message about the break-in. Can you meet us there in twenty minutes?”

I swing by my house to grab some lunch, and there’s a note sticking on my door. “Mr. Craddock, I stopped by on the off chance you might be home. Everyone seems to know about your art collection, and I’m dying to see it. Can you call me when you can spare some time to show me around? Ellen Forester.”

“Samuel! You’ve been making yourself scarce around here.” I turn at the sound of Loretta’s voice, the note in my hand making me feel guilty for some reason.

“Come in. I’ve just got ten minutes to grab a bite to eat.”

“Ten minutes! It’s hardly worth the effort of me walking down here in this cold weather.” But she scoots up the steps. She always moves briskly, which I envied when my knee was bunged up. But now that it’s over the worst of the healing, I’m pretty sure there’ll come I time when I can match her again.

I make us a quick cup of coffee. Loretta says she’s already had lunch. I throw a couple pieces of roast beef between two pieces of bread slathered with mayonnaise.

“How are you getting along?” she says, looking at the rough sandwich with distaste.

“Being back on the job is taking some getting used to. But guess who’s offered to give me a little help?”

“Who?”

“Rodell.” I tell her I visited Rodell and he wanted to do something useful, although I don’t tell her the part where he said he’d go crazy if he didn’t get away from Patty for a while.

She snorts. “Help you? With what?”

“Figuring out who killed Gary Dellmore. If he really has cut out the drinking, he’ll have a little more on the ball. I never thought he was stupid.”

“Maybe not, but he’s never going to give up drinking. You mark my word. I’ve known Rodell since he was a little boy. I used to babysit for him and his sister, and he never had a bit of control over himself. That mother of his didn’t know the word ‘no.’”

“The shape he’s in, I don’t think he’s going to be out buying beer anytime soon.”

“I’m surprised Oscar Grant stays in business with Rodell not drinking down at the Two Dog,” she says. Loretta isn’t above having a little glass of wine or a cocktail, but she has no patience for people who overindulge, including, if she is to be believed, her late husband. I never saw him drink much, but her standard of overindulging is more stringent than mine.

“What did Gary’s wife have to say for herself?” Loretta says.

“You know good and well I’m not going to answer that.”

“I wondered if she’s as pleased as she seems to be that Gary is gone.” Her voice has that false innocent tone that tells me she’s got a tidbit of gossip to tell me.

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently she went into Bobtail yesterday and bought all new dishes.”

“How did you happen to come by that bit of information?”

“You’re not the only one who hears things.” Her tone is lofty. I’m reminded of my cat Zelda, when she’s managed to kill a mouse.

“I don’t think you can read a lot into that. She might be the kind of person who makes herself feel better by going shopping.” I wouldn’t know a thing about that—I’m only repeating something Jeanne told me.

“Still, it doesn’t look good.” She waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, she says, “Not to change the subject, but I saw some woman come up to your door earlier. She left you a note?”

No sense in holding out on Loretta. It would make me look guilty of some vague crime. “Yes, it’s that woman who’s opening the art store. She wants to see my art collection and came by in case I was home.”

“That makes sense,” she says, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. Trying to read behind all this subtlety tires me out more than trying to investigate a murder.

I’m trying to figure out how to wiggle out of saying any more when I’m startled by my cell phone ringing. When I reach into my shirt pocket and pull it out, I realize I’ve already gotten used to it. “Craddock.”

It’s Zeke Dibble. “Chief, I wanted you to know the missing girl was a false alarm. She called her mother and said she’d gone over to a friend’s house after cheerleader practice and forgot the time.”

I’m relieved that’s one thing out of the way. As I hang up it occurs to me that it’s good to have Dibble at the station to field all those little things that we get called for every single day.

I stand up and drain the last of my coffee. “I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to be meeting the McCluskys at their place.”

“What for?”

“Somebody broke into their house last night. They were out of town and I called them so they could come back to see if anything is missing.”

I can tell Loretta’s not happy with being whisked out of my house, so I suggest we go out to eat next week. “I’ll take you to that new Italian place in Bobtail.”

“That would be fun. Martha Jenkins said she didn’t think it was very good, but she’s particular about what she eats.”

I have to give Loretta credit. She likes to experiment with new dishes when we go out. I’m more in line with Martha Jenkins. Give me a good steak and I’m satisfied.

When I drive up, Slate McClusky is listening to Truly Bennett, his head cocked to one side, smiling, eyes on the ground near Bennett’s feet. He starts to nod, and when I park at the curb, I see him clap his hand on Bennett’s arm in a friendly gesture. Angel is nowhere to be seen.

McClusky turns to me as I get close. “Bennett here was explaining to me how he found the backdoor open and went down to the station to alert you.” I’ve never seen McClusky dressed the way he is now. His jeans look like they’ve been dragged through the dirt, and there’s stubble on his chin. His eyes are sunken in as if he could use a good night’s sleep. But he’s still got that benign smile plastered on his face.

“I was hoping Angel would come with you so she could see if anything is missing.”

“She’s already inside. She was worried that somebody might’ve stolen her jewelry.”

“I didn’t see anything disturbed when I looked around, but I wouldn’t have known what to look for.”

Angel comes out the backdoor, looking flustered. “There’s nothing missing as far as I can tell, but I feel so violated that somebody has been in here. What do you suppose they wanted? Oh, wait! My gold records.” She runs back inside and we follow her and find her standing in front of them.

“At least they didn’t take these. They’re about the last valuable thing I own.”

“Honey, now settle down. You’re talking crazy.” McClusky tries to pat her shoulder, but she shies away.

He turns to me. “Do you take fingerprints when you have a break-in?”

“No, I’d be surprised if whoever did this has prints on file. I’d guess we’re looking at kids poking around for the hell of it.”

“Kids!” Angel says. “How did they get in here?”

“You saw the broken window at the backdoor? It’s never a good idea to have a window next to a door lock.”

She stares at me. “My God, I never thought of that. Criminals are so sneaky.”

“I’m glad I was able to get hold of you two,” I say. “I tried several times this morning. And I called the Marriott, too. They said you weren’t there.”

“The Marriott?” She frowns. “Did Slate say we were staying at the Marriott? I’m so sorry. That’s where we usually stay, but Slate had some business to take care of and we needed to talk to a title company, so we stayed in Marble Falls.”

“For future reference, where do you stay there?”

“At a little Holiday Inn over there. It’s not the greatest place, but it’s convenient.”

She shoots a glance at McClusky, and for some reason I get the feeling she’s not telling the truth. Why would she lie? Why would it matter where they were last night?

I don’t have many occasions to dress up, but Jenny roped me into escorting her to a formal affair in Bryan tonight to honor a judge who is retiring. “I have to put in an appearance, and I hate to walk in by myself,” she said when she invited me. “So I want you to figure out if you’ve got something decent to wear and go with me.” This was a month ago and I put it out of my mind, convinced the time would never really get here. But it has, and tonight is the night.

After I talk to the McCluskys, I head home and go through my closet to find something to wear that won’t disgrace Jenny. She laid down the law when she invited me. “If you need me to go with you to buy something, then I’ll do it. I don’t want to. But I want even less to have an escort who looks like he’s picked through the ragbag for his clothes.”

I have a more or less respectable suit that I wear to funerals around town, but in the back of my closet is a fine suit I haven’t worn in a long time. Jeanne picked it out for me when we went to a big museum event in Houston before she got sick. I put my foot down and refused to buy a tuxedo, but she said a good suit would do as well. She said it was “classic.” She teased me, saying, “In case you don’t know, that means it’s always more or less in style.” Not that I would know the difference, but now I’m glad I have it. I don’t want to embarrass Jenny in front of her peers.

I also have a decent collection of ties and shirts because at Christmas my nephew Tom and his wife Vicki supply me with those basics. So when I show up at Jenny’s door at five-thirty, she says, “I didn’t need to worry. You clean up pretty good.”

Jenny usually wears boxy pants suits and doesn’t bother with much makeup. Tonight she has gone all out. She has on a green dress in soft material that looks good on her and she’s wearing strappy little shoes that don’t look like something you’d want to wear if you have any hiking to do.

“I know it,” she says when I tell her that. “But I don’t get to dress up very often, so here I am.” She’s blushing. We long ago established that she isn’t on the lookout for a man, but I can imagine some younger man in her office being surprised tonight at this pretty woman who has been right under his nose.

The retirement party is held at a newly renovated hotel. It’s a lavish affair with an abundant buffet and a full bar. I stop to talk to a couple of people I know from Bobtail, and Jenny goes off to mingle. I’m surprised to see Alan and Clara Dellmore here, with Gary not even buried yet. When I go over to greet them, I can see that they’re here in body only.

“Samuel, I’m glad to see a friendly face. Do you know the judge?” Alan says.

“Only by reputation. I’m here with my next-door neighbor, Jenny Sandstone. It’s good that you came out.”