Ghost of a Chance (11 page)

Vernell was a friend of Ivy’s, and she had been writing romance novels for as long as Rhodes could remember. She must have written twenty or thirty. She went to conferences all over the country to meet other writers and editors. But as far as Rhodes knew, she’d never actually sold anything.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. She brought it by after you dropped me off. She was so proud I thought she’d pop. She’s been disappointed so many times, she didn’t want to tell anyone she’d sold it until she had the actual book in her hands. And now here it is.”

“Well, good for her,” Rhodes said. “How is it?”

He was looking at the cover more closely. Terry Don Coslin was holding a woman with hair even longer than his own in a position that looked to Rhodes to be a bit awkward for both of them. But it had the advantage of exposing a considerable length of the woman’s legs. And her low-cut dress exposed a considerable portion of the rest of her.

“It’s great,” Ivy said. “Oh, I know the cover’s kind of hot, but the book’s nothing like that. Vernell’s a real student of Texas history, and the book’s very accurate as far as I can tell.”

“Didn’t Terry Don Coslin change his name, too?” Rhodes asked.

“Not really. He just dropped the
Coslin
off. He’s Terry Don now.”

“I wonder if I could get me a job holding pretty women like that for money,” Rhodes said.

Ivy got out of the chair, dropped the book in it, and started toward Rhodes.

“I don’t think I’ll allow that,” she said.

The next morning came all too early, as mornings had a way of doing. Rhodes wanted to do at least two things before noon: visit Richard Rascoe and talk to Dr. White. He finished his shredded wheat and skim milk while Yancey
nipped at his ankles. He took the cereal bowl to the sink, rinsed it out, and put it in the diswasher before going into the bedroom to say good-bye to Ivy, who was drying her hair. Then he went outside, with Yancey hot on his heels.

There were plenty of people now who thought of Texas as an urban state, made up mostly of big cities like Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio. It was probably true that most of the population lived in places like that, and of course even in places like Clearview there were elements of urban life that hadn’t been there when Rhodes was growing up. But small towns still existed, even if they weren’t thriving. Rhodes was never more aware of that fact than when he went out into his yard early in the morning.

He could stand there for a long time and not hear a single sound other than a sparrow in the pecan trees or the wind in the leaves. No sound of traffic, no voices shouting in the streets. And then he might hear something after all, a rooster crowing, or maybe the bleating of a goat. Not exactly the kind of thing you’d hear in an urban setting, he thought.

He took a deep breath of air that he liked to think was just as free of pollution as any in the state, and in fact as free of it as air had been a hundred years ago. He knew he was kidding himself, but at least there was no chemical smell such as he’d experienced on his trips to the Gulf Coast or to the Dallas area.

Not that there was anything wrong with places like that if people wanted to live in them. Rhodes just couldn’t see their attraction.

He had a short romp with Speedo and Yancey, who seemed to enjoy it even more than the larger dog, though
he was ready to go back inside when Rhodes opened the door. Rhodes let him in and got on his way.

He called Dr. White from the jail. White confirmed that the bullet that had killed Ty Berry came from a .22-caliber weapon, probably a revolver fired at close range.

“No powder burns, though,” White said. “So it’s not like they were face-to-face. And you can have the bullet if you want it, but it won’t help you any. It doesn’t have any shape left at all.”

“What about powder burns on his hand?”

“Not a trace.”

Rhodes thanked him and hung up the phone. Lawton reminded him that he was supposed to tell the prisoners about the ghost, so he went into the cellblock and let them know that there wouldn’t be any more haunting in the jail.

“You right sure about that, Sheriff?” Lank Rollins asked. “I thought I felt a cold chill pass over me last night.”

“That was just the weather,” Rhodes assured him. “Four people saw that ghost out at the cemetery last night, and I saw something, too.”

Rollins wanted to know what it looked like.

“Nothing much,” Rhodes said. “It was like a shadow, didn’t have much shape at all.”

“That’s it, all right,” Rollins said. “Tell you the truth, I’m glad it’s moved out of here. Ghosts belong in the graveyard, not in any jailhouse.”

“You’re well acquainted with graveyards, are you?” Rhodes said.

“What do you mean?” Rollins asked.

“I was just wondering if you might know something
about who’s taking things out of the cemeteries around the county. If you did, you might be able to help us out.”

“Not me,” Rollins said. “I stay away from graveyards. Not my kinda place at all.”

“All right,” Rhodes said. “But if anything occurs to you, let Lawton know.”

“I’ll sure do that, Sheriff,” Rollins said, with all the sincerity of a used-car salesman.

Rhodes went back to the office and let Hack and Lawton know that he’d done his duty with the prisoners.

“They believe you?” Lawton asked.

“I think so. Hard to tell with that bunch, though.”

“That’s the truth,” Hack said. “They’ve told so many lies themselves they wouldn’t know the truth if it bit ’em in the butt.”

Rhodes told Hack and Lawton that he was going to drive down to Thurston and asked if there’d been any calls that morning.

“Just one,” Hack said, with a glance at Lawton.

Rhodes knew what that meant. They wanted him to ask what the call had been about rather than just telling him. He might have tested their resolve, but he didn’t have time.

He said, “What about?”

“It was about Vernell Lindsey,” Hack said.

Rhodes didn’t have to hear any more than that. He knew what the trouble was. But he didn’t say so.

“I was just talking to Ivy about her last night,” he said. “She finally sold a book. Ivy has a copy of it.”

“Seen it,” Hack said.
Wild Texas Wind
. Got Terry Don Coslin on the cover.”

Since Hack hardly ever left the jail, Rhodes could never figure out where he got all his news.

“And it’s got a woman, too,” Lawton said. “Not Miz Lindsey, though.”

“And it don’t have her goats, either,” Hack said.

The goats were the crux of the problem. Vernell Lindsey had three of them, named Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy.

“Which one’s loose this time?” Rhodes asked.

“Shirley,” Hack said.

“Jumped the fence again?”

“You got it. You can’t fence in a goat. Ever’body knows that.”

Everybody except Vernell, Rhodes thought. He said, “Tell Ruth to take care of it. I have to go down to Thurston.”

“Can she shoot it?” Hack asked.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Tell her to handle it with kid gloves.”

“Kid gloves,” Hack said. “You know, Sheriff, I think marryin’ Ivy’s been real good for you. You might even develop a sense of humor.”

“I don’t get it,” Lawton said.

“Let Hack explain it,” Rhodes said, and headed for the door.

15

W
HEN RHODES REACHED FOR THE DOORKNOB, THE DOOR
swung open and almost hit him in the face. Faye Knape came inside so fast that she bumped into him.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” she said, stepping back and not sounding very sorry at all. “I hope you weren’t leaving. I have some important information.”

“I was leaving,” Rhodes said. “But I can stick around if you have something to tell me.”

“I don’t,” Faye said. “But Sharon does.”

Sharon Carlisle was standing behind Faye, just outside the doorway.

“All right,” Rhodes said. “Come on in.”

He walked over to his desk. There was already a chair beside it, and he pulled up another one for Sharon, who was much shorter than Faye and about ten years younger. She had large eyes and a small nose.

“Have a seat,” Rhodes told them.

“This won’t take long,” Faye said. “You were asking
about how I could prove Ty Berry was connected to Richard Rascoe. Well, here’s how. Tell him, Sharon.”

“All right,” Sharon began. She had a deep voice that didn’t seem to go with her size. “What happened was—”

Faye interrupted. “What happened was that she was going into Richard Rascoe’s store on Monday, and she saw Ty Berry there.”

“Is that true?” Rhodes asked.

Sharon nodded. “Yes—”

“Of course it’s true!” Faye Knape said. “Why would she make up something like that? She was going into the store and she saw Ty Berry coming out of that back room where Rascoe is hiding the angel. Isn’t that right, Sharon?”

“Yes,” Sharon said. “You see—”

“There!” Faye Knape said. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s exactly like I said it was. Ty and Rascoe were working together all the time!”

“I think it would be a good idea to let Ms. Carlisle tell the story herself,” Rhodes said.

Faye sat up and crossed her arms. “Well, I never.”

Rhodes ignored her. “Go ahead, Ms. Carlisle.”

She told the story pretty much the way Faye Knape had. She had been looking for “something cute for Easter,” and she’d heard about Rascoe’s store. So she decided to pay it a visit.

“Tell him about seeing Ty Berry,” Faye Knape said. “Tell him about how Ty was in that back room.”

Sharon looked at Rhodes and rolled her eyes. Rhodes tried not to smile.

“It’s true,” Sharon said. “I was looking at this little tea set that had Easter bunnies on the teapot and cups, and I saw Ty Berry coming out of that back room.”

“Did he seem upset?” Rhodes asked.

“Of course he was upset!” Faye said. “Wouldn’t you be upset if someone had caught you in the act?”

Rhodes looked at Sharon.

“Well, he didn’t look upset to me,” she said. “He just looked the way he always did, a little worried, maybe, but not upset.”

Faye took a deep breath, but Rhodes headed her off.

“Did he say anything to you?” he asked Sharon.

“No. Well, he said, ‘Good morning,’ or something like that, but we didn’t have a conversation or anything.”

“And did he talk to Mr. Rascoe?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see Mr. Rascoe until later.”

“And do you know why?” Faye Knape asked.

Rhodes didn’t know, but he was sure that Faye was going to tell him. And she didn’t disappoint.

“She didn’t see him,” Faye said, “because he was in the back room, where he and Ty had been making their deal. He was probably gloating over getting that angel.”

“You don’t know that,” Rhodes said.

“Oh, but I do.”

“How?”

Faye Knape looked at Rhodes as if he might be somehow mentally deficient.

“Because it has to be that way,” she said, as if stating something that would be obvious even to a child. “Otherwise, why would Ty Berry have been there? He and Rascoe were back in that room making one of their shady deals, like they’ve been doing all along. They’re in cahoots! Ty was stealing things, and Rascoe was buying them.”

Rhodes nodded just as if she were making sense. He’d learned long ago that a nod didn’t really commit him to
anything. If people wanted to think he was agreeing with them, that was their business.

“I’ll be going down to Thurston today,” he said. “I’ll have a little talk with Rascoe and see what he knows.”

“He knows plenty,” Faye said. “You mark my words. Come on, Sharon.”

They got up and left. Rhodes watched them go, slightly in awe of Faye Knape. In spite of all his experiences with people over the years, he could still be amazed at the different ways they could convince themselves that they were the only ones in the parade who were marching in step.

“Now that she’s solved your case for you,” Hack said, “what’re you gonna do for the rest of the day?”

“Maybe I should just go home and take a nap,” Rhodes said.

Thurston had been well on the way to becoming like Milsby before someone came up with the idea of lining its main street with antique stores. Hob Barrett’s grocery store sat between two of the refurbished buildings, unchanged. It still had the faded Rainbo Bread signs stenciled on its screen doors, and it still had the same old Coca-Cola cooler, from which Rhodes took a Dr Pepper that was wet and frigid in his hand. He walked to the counter and paid Hob fifty cents.

“How’s business?” Rhodes asked.

“It’s been better,” Hob said, putting the two quarters in an old cash register that would have looked right at home in one of the antique stores. “What brings you down here?”

“Looking at antiques,” Rhodes said.

He took a sip of the Dr Pepper, which was very cold.
Rhodes could feel it all the way down his throat.

“I hope you ain’t doin’ it on county time,” Hob said.

Hob was short and stout, a little like an anvil on legs, and he didn’t much like Rhodes, even though Rhodes had solved the murder of his wife not so very long ago.

“I was just making conversation,” Rhodes said. “Antiques are connected with a case I’m working on.”