Gone Crazy (14 page)

Heather hiccupped. “Daddy’s trying to kill Darren!”

A statement of the obvious. “Why would he want to do that?”

“I made pictures of him.” She must’ve realized I had no idea what she meant, because she snuffled herself to calm, and explained, “They were down at the creek, behind the vet’s office.”

I knew the spot. There’d been good swimming there since Aunt Marge was a kid, where the creek broadened out. I’d learned to swim there myself. “Okay. So?”

“I was sketching. Y’know? Like my teacher said to do.” She winced as her father called Darren something anatomically unlikely. “I didn’t want them to see so I hid and then I drew them because that’s what the teacher said to do, was sketch from real life, and…” She turned scarlet. “They saw me, but they didn’t catch me, I ran away, but…” She lowered her voice, and whispered the rest. Comprehension dawned. So did a completely inappropriate case of the giggles.

Bob Shifflett had seen me. He backed away from Darren, and took the shotgun with him. I don’t know about Darren, but I breathed easier. Fury had worn Bob out; he let the gun barrel tip toward the ground. I could see the whites of Darren’s eyes as he tracked the barrel’s descent.

“So Darren broke in my room,” Heather finished, as if that was the logical conclusion to reach. “He popped the screen. And I screamed. And he said to stop because he just wanted my drawings. He tried to take the whole book!”

I could guess the rest. “Your dad caught him.”

She nodded, and started to cry again. I gave her a one-armed hug and told her to go around the front of the house and see to the dog. Boris was trotting casually in my direction, so chances were the dog was either hurt or hiding.

I went up the three steps to the deck. “Hey, Bob,” I said casually. “Why don’t you put that down. I can take care of this.”

Bob shook. “He was…”

“He was after Heather’s drawings,” I said swiftly, and sidled between Bob and Darren. “She sketched him swimming with his buddies.”

Bob let the shotgun droop more. I gently slid it out of his hands and got the safety flipped on. “Well, hell, who cares? Heather’s drawing all the time!”

I rolled my eyes to the sky and told him what Heather had said. “He was in the altogether, Bob. Skinny dipping.”

Bob whipped around. Darren tried to get small. The problem is, only cats can change their mass to suit the circumstances. Darren still looked like a hulking cauldron of adolescent lust, at least as far as Bob was concerned. I clamped my hand on his forearm. “Bob! It’s no big deal. Artists sketch nudes all the time. It’s how they learn how the body works. It’s no big deal. Happens all the time. Okay?”

Bob trembled. “He…”

Heather reappeared, out her window again. Bob was going to have to fix that. Fast. She thrust a sheaf of paper at me, the edges freshly torn. “There.”

I flipped through. Damn, that girl has talent. Even Bob quieted down. There was nothing in those sketches to alarm a father. She’d caught the quiet silliness of the boys hanging out, kicking and splashing, their genitalia tastefully blurred.

I patted Bob on the shoulder. “See? No harm done. I’ll take Darren home and I’m sure he’ll pay to get that window fixed.”

Darren nodded, gulped, and blurted, “I just didn’t want her showing the teacher!”

“Well, she can’t do that now,” I said in my most calming voice. I had to fight not to laugh. The kid rode a Vespa naked but worried what the art teacher would say about a sketch of him. “Bob, you want to go ahead and press charges here?”

Bob unclenched his hands. “No. No,” he repeated. “But he comes near here again…”

“He won’t. Will you, Darren?”

“No!” yelped Darren. “Never again!”

A few minutes more of getting Bob to see it was all a misunderstanding, and I grabbed Darren by the arm. Five minutes later, I had hauled him home and was explaining it to his parents. Corinne, a part-time realtor, was appalled to the point of tears. “Oh my God,” she moaned. “Breaking and entering! Darren! You could’ve been
shot
!”

Dr. Mitchell didn’t say a word. Not at first. Then he rumbled. “You’re grounded until you leave for college. You don’t even leave the
house
. Not even to mow the lawn. Not without me or your mother next to you. And you can kiss your Wii good-bye. I’ll talk to you in your room in a minute.”

Darren scuffed into the house. His sister Connie and baby brother Patrick were grinning. I got the feeling it was a nice change for them to see the young prince turn out to be a young pain in the backside.

“One more thing,” I said quietly to the veterinarian as he saw me to my cruiser. “Y’know I said he was skinny dipping.”

Dr. Mitchell nodded impatiently. He has all the time in the world for anything that has fur and four legs. The rest of us annoy him. “Yes?”

“Do me a favor,” I said. “When you talk to your son? Explain
clothes
.”

***^***

I had a pounding headache by the time I got back to the office. Kim handed me a message from Harry Rucker. The court was going to appoint an executor the next day: Tanya Hartley, Dr. Hartley’s daughter. She wasn’t much of a defense lawyer, in it more for the prestige of having her name followed by the word “attorney”, but she was smart and competent. She’d do fine. I stuck the message in the to-shred basket. “Anything else?”

“All quiet.”

That was a relief. I popped some ibuprofen and ate a granola bar, and flipped through the
Gazetteer
to see if any new real estate ads had magically appeared. No such luck. I wanted a place of my own so badly at this point I nearly ached. I loved Aunt Marge and I loved how she pampered me, but having Roger around had turned our cozy two-bachelorettes-together home into a couple with a third wheel.

Boris sprawled across the paper and shoved his head into my hand. I rubbed behind his ears and he flopped onto his side, purring and making little starfish paws of happiness. At least he was having a good day.

When the telephone rang, Kim got it on the first ring. I leaned back with my eyes closed. I’d have to go back out on patrol soon, but what I really wanted was a long nap.

“Lil, it’s Chief Rucker.”

Chief Rucker has even less regard for me than I do for him. I stared at Kim. She had her hand over the mouthpiece. “Are you in?” she asked.

I was tempted to run outside and yell, “NO!” but Aunt Marge raised me better than that. Well, she tried to, at least.

I ruled in favor of getting it over with. I told her to transfer it to my desk, which involved her walking the handset over. “Chief,” I said coolly. “What can I do for you today?”

He chuckled. Even his laugh is thick and fatty. Like his head. “I got you a present, Sheriff.”

I braced myself and tried to be witty. “You shouldn’t have.”

“We-el, I did.” I swear I heard him hitch up his belt. “I got Davis Collier down here at my jail. I arrested him myself.”

“Oh?” I said, scowling. I pushed Boris aside, earning a smack from his paw, and scribbled on my notepad. “On what charge? Snappy dressing?”

“Nope,” drawled Rucker. “Murdering his mama. And I’ve got the evidence to prove it.”

14.

A
ll the way to Gilfoyle, I burned hot and froze cold with shock and humiliation and disbelief. One minute I’d be sure Rucker had screwed up. The next I’d be shaking at the mere thought he might have solved the case. I admit, not a thought for Davis Collier, or any Collier, passed through my head. I was all wounded pride and then some.

I carried Boris into the county police station with me. I knew they’d give me grief, but I needed all the moral support I could get. When I saw Harry Rucker waiting for me, I gave a huge sigh of relief. Boris loves me, but Harry can talk.

“Before you ask,” he said quickly, taking me by the elbow, “there was a very convenient anonymous tip, and I’ve already requested the telephone records.”

We had to walk past a couple of guys at the reception desk. One of them started making high-pitched “meow-mew” noises under his breath. The other looked like he’d rather be somewhere else. I ignored them. I had Vernon Rucker on my mind, which was more than enough to leave my brain crawly.

“Cousin Harry,” said the chief, rising from behind his desk. He shut the door behind us, and didn’t bother to offer me a chair. “Sheriff. Well now. Here’s your evidence, Sheriff.”

He handed me a baggie with a glass Mason jar inside. “Fingerprints?” I asked, shifting Boris.

“Nothing.” Rucker drew back as Boris landed heavily on his desk and hissed softly. “Smudges, no prints.”

“Cousin,” said Harry with a nasty undertone to his voice, “would you like to tell us just where you found this?”

Rucker leaned back. He smirked. “Got the call we’d find evidence in his office, and sure enough, there it was. Filing cabinet.” He shot me a pissy, piggy look of triumph, like he was telling me I had been too dumb to look there.

I held up the clear evidence bag and peered at the jar’s contents. Dried mushrooms. Impossible to identify at a glance, even if I’d been an expert, and they’d been fresh.
Amanita
looked harmless anyway. That’s what makes them dangerous.

“Male or female?” I asked.

“I don’t think mushrooms have sex,” Rucker guffawed.

“The caller, you jackass,” Harry snarled. You don’t see much rural good old boy in Harry until his temper frays. Then it shows. It’s the way he sets himself to start throwing punches, like a guy in a bar who’s had one bad day and one beer too many.

“Female. Prob’ly some poor little waitress.”

I gritted my teeth. “Where’s the paperwork?”

“What paperwork?” asked Rucker, but he was playing, and we all knew it. “Oh, you mean for you to take the prisoner and the evidence you couldn’t get yourself? It’s right here. Darlin’.”

Boris hissed again. Just reacting to the tension. But it made Rucker twitch. That’s my boy.

I scrawled my signature where I needed to and handed the paperwork back to Rucker with exaggerated courtesy. “Just so you know,” I said, “if there’s a single bruise on Davis Collier, I’ll call in every fed I know and get you for a hate crime.”

Rucker’s thick mouth twisted. Impossible to believe he and Harry shared DNA. “Wouldn’t get my hands dirty on a little faggot like that.”

“No,” said Harry viciously, “just the toe of your boot. Vernon, I pray every day to get proof you’re adopted, I truly do.”

I scooped up Boris and the Mason jar, and left Harry trading insults with his cousin. I had to sign more paperwork at the desk, but when Davis Collier saw me, you’d have thought I’d paid his as-yet-undetermined bail. He said nothing until he was in the back of my shiny new cruiser, with Boris sniffing curiously through the grating. Judging by my cat’s sneezing fit, Rucker’s boys hadn’t given Davis a chance to shower.

I cranked up the air conditioning. The cruiser felt like a pizza oven. I hated heat waves. It’s one thing to hit the nineties in July or August, but in early June it guarantees short tempers, and that means more work for me.

“We get to Crazy, I’ll see you get a shower,” I said. “Tom’ll be coming on-shift.”

Davis nodded.

“They treat you okay?”

“It was a very long night,” said Davis softly. “Thank you.”

That’s not something I hear too often from a guy cuffed in the back seat. I settled into the drive and let part of my mind do some wandering.

A lot bothered me about Vera Collier’s death, and the more time passed, the more bothered I got. I didn’t think any Collier would confess unless I had some leverage, which meant I had to hope for a lucky break. Like finding the deed to Grenville in someone’s pocket. The combined efforts of Tom, Punk, and the state police hadn’t uncovered so much as a length of incriminating string, let alone the deed or, for that matter, mushrooms. Not in any Collier home or Collier garage or Collier vehicle. Or place of business, come to that. I had nothing.

Back to basics.

Murder benefitted whoever profited from Grenville or hated Vera, or both. The arson benefitted the murderer. Or murderers. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had two killers, operating in ignorance of each other. One person using mushrooms, one using insulin, both counting on the fact Vera was old and in declining health, and so would be expected to die. The fact Ken, Eileen and Rob had gone squawking of murder to Harry argued against their guilt. But their later behavior didn’t. Which made me wonder if they were stupid-smart enough to cry murder to throw suspicion off themselves.

Or if they hadn’t realized murder really
had
been done.

Now
that
was a thought.

Ken had believed his mother had stocks and similar holdings. Even in a recession, those would be worth money. More than Vera had buried in her yard. Which reminded me. “Davis.”

He’d gone all meek on me. It was unsettling. “Yes, Sheriff?”

“Anyone digging up your mother’s yard?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

I nodded, and went back to thinking. Was the buried money remaining buried because no one wanted to rouse suspicion? Probably. Especially with an executor who’d want an accounting of every penny. Time enough to dig it up later.

After I’d gotten Tom to supervise Davis in the shower, I sat down to study my white board. I got up a few times to erase things and re-write them differently. I still couldn’t make sense of it all.

I called Tom’s cousin. He said he’d come up the next afternoon to examine our mushrooms. Then I stared at the white board a while longer. I could almost see the shape of what I was seeking, but there just weren’t enough pieces. I’d have to hope Tom’s cousin could give me a few.

***^***

Tom’s cousin was a beefy guy with a big laugh, and the kind of suntan that comes of being outdoors ninety percent of the time. He immediately shook his head when he saw the dried up bits of mushroom in the jar. “Could be anything,” he declared. “But there’s one surefire test. Takes a few days.”

“So run it,” I suggested sharply.

“Sure. Get someone to eat them, and see if they get sick and die.” He howled at his own joke until it dawned on him no one else was laughing. “Oh. Um. Sorry.” He flushed, and scratched at a bug bite on his arm. “Okay. Well, if you can spare me a sample, I can test them back in my lab. The good news is, dried specimens can be identified. The bad news is, there’s no base of the stem here, that’ll make it harder. How long do you want to wait for a solid ID?”