Between the Living and the Dead (20 page)

“I'll see what I can do for you tomorrow,” the orderly said.

“I like the patties,” Earl said, “not the links.”

“I think they have those,” the orderly said, and he carried the tray out of the room.

The last sausage Rhodes had eaten had been turkey sausage. Maybe being in the hospital wasn't as bad as he remembered it.

The door closed and Rhodes said, “Who was Neil supposed to be selling you out to?”

“There was this kid going around town asking questions. Neil was gonna talk to him.”

“I know about him,” Rhodes said. “Wade Clement. He's harmless.”

“Yeah, Louie said that's what he wants people to think. Said he was working on some college paper. Louie thinks he was some undercover DEA agent.”

Louie might just be paranoid enough to believe that, but it still didn't make any sense to Rhodes. The Foshees were out of jail only because they'd posted bond. Rhodes thought it was a cinch that they'd be convicted on any number of fairly serious charges when they went to trial. Or maybe they'd take a plea bargain. They'd get jail time whichever way things went, so the Foshees were already in so much trouble that Neil couldn't sell them out. He didn't have anything to sell.

Rhodes explained that to Earl, but Earl said, “What it was, was Louie thought Neil would try to make some kind of deal with the DEA. Testify against me and him for a lighter sentence or maybe immunity. My guess is they got into an argument about it, and Louie shot Neil.”

“Had Louie talked to Neil about it?”

“Sure, but Neil just laughed at him. Said there wasn't any DEA agent around here, that this was just some college kid he was going to talk to. Louie got mad about it. One reason Louie was suspicious was that the one who set it up was Colby Lane. Louie knows that Colby's one of your snitches.”

Rhodes looked at Earl in disbelief. Colby Lane was a shade-tree mechanic who'd been employed by the Chevy dealership until he became too unreliable because of his drinking. He'd been in jail a few times, usually for alcohol-related offenses, but other than that Rhodes hardly knew him.

“What gave Louie that idea?” he asked.

“Louie says anybody's been in jail and out as much as Lane must have something going on with the sheriff, so it figures he's your snitch.”

“Who would he snitch on?” Rhodes asked.

Earl looked blank. He didn't have an answer for that one.

Rhodes stood up. “Louie's wrong about Lane, and he's wrong about Wade Clement. Lane has a drinking problem, and Wade Clement's just a college kid. Are you sure Louie killed Neil?”

“I didn't say I was sure, but I think that's what happened. Louie was pretty upset when he got back to the house last night. He wouldn't talk about what happened or anything except to tell me that Neil was dead. When your deputy drove up today, Louie told me not to say anything, just follow along with him, so that's what I done.”

It was just crazy enough for Rhodes to believe it was the truth, and Louie had known Neil was dead. He'd been at the Moore house, no question about that. Now it was more urgent than ever to find Louie.

“Do I really have to go back to jail, Sheriff?” Earl asked. “I paid my bond.”

“You paid it, and then you ran,” Rhodes said, “so you really do have to go back to jail. We'll try to make you comfortable.”

“I bet you will,” Earl said.

“It might help if you'd tell me where Louie is. I can get you a cell with a window so you can watch the squirrels.”

“You ain't funny, Sheriff.”

People told Rhodes that all the time. He didn't let it bother him.

“If Louie killed Neil, you could be considered an accomplice. Tell me where he is, and I'll be sure that's on the record.”

“I don't know where he is.”

“You must have some idea. Just give me your best guess. You don't want Louie sneaking back into town and coming after you, do you? If he finds out you've been talking to me, he might decide he needs to handle you the way he handled Neil. After all, you really
did
sell him out.”

Earl's mouth dropped open. He plainly hadn't thought about it that way.

“Somebody else might get hurt, too,” Rhodes said. “Nurses, doctors, other patients. You don't want that on your record.”

“He might be at the lake,” Earl said after a few seconds.

“Which one?” Rhodes asked. There were three big lakes in the county, and all of them had cabins and houses around them.

“Merritt's Lake,” Earl said.

That wasn't one of the three big ones. It was a small lake, what northeners would call a pond, on private land that had once belonged to the Merritt family. It had gone through a number of owners since then, but the old name had stuck. Rhodes had been fishing there a time or two back in the days when he still had time to fish. It had been a while, but he remembered that there was an old tumbledown house on the property not too far from the lake. It wouldn't do to live in, but someone could hide out there for a while. There were houses like it all over the county on properties that had once been farmland but were now used for grazing cattle or not used at all. The Foshees would know where all those houses were, having used more than one of them to cook up a little meth in.

“I'll take a look,” Rhodes said.

Earl sat up straight in the bed. “I was supposed to meet him there. If you find him, don't tell him you talked to me.”

“Don't worry about that,” Rhodes said. “I won't say a word.”

*   *   *

Mika Blackfield was already at the jail when Rhodes got there, and she'd apparently been there a while. She and Hack were talking about something when Rhodes walked in. Rhodes said good morning, and Hack told him that the sheriff from Bates County had called.

“What about?” Rhodes asked.

“'Bout Neil Foshee. You wanted him to notify the next of kin, but there ain't none in his county. Last one died early this year. Speakin' of kin, here's somethin' else. Mika looked into the Moore house owners, and all Moore's kin are dead now. Won't be any more tax payments on that place. You might could buy it cheap if you wanted it.”

“I don't want to buy a house,” Rhodes said. “Especially that one.”

“Don't blame you,” Hack said. “It's got ghosts. I read it on the Internet, so it must be true. Ain't that right, Mika?”

Mika was short and slim with very black hair and eyes and a warm smile. Hack had begun trying to enlist her into his efforts to drive Rhodes crazy ever since her first day on the job. So far she hadn't gone along with him, at least not completely.

“We Japanese believe that all people have a spirit or soul,” Mika said. “It's called the
reikon.
If someone dies violently or if proper rites aren't performed, or if the spirit is somehow driven by a strong emotion, like revenge, the
reikon
can become a
yurei.
That's a spirit that can come into our world.”

This wasn't exactly what Rhodes had hoped to hear.

“The
yurei
stays here in our world,” Mika continued, “until certain things have been taken care of, until the conflict that brought it here is resolved. So that might be what people call ghosts.” She paused. “I've never seen one, however.”

“I don't think you ever will,” Rhodes said, “and things on the Internet aren't always true, either, even if Hack believes them.”

“Jennifer Loam's site is usually very accurate,” Mika said.

“It sure is,” Hack said, “and she mentions ghosts. Seepy Benton says they were there, too.”

Rhodes sighed. He was sighing way too much lately. “Mika, did you find any evidence of ghosts in the things we collected from the crime scene?”

“No. I didn't find much else, either. The fast-food bags are so greasy that the prints are all smeared. I got one or two good ones and a lot of partials, but that's all. I haven't checked for matches on AFIS yet.”

“See if they match any of the Foshees. We have those prints on file. What about that material from the closet?”

“I looked at that this morning. It's cotton and it's old and rotted. That's about all I can tell you.”

That wasn't a lot of help, but Rhodes hadn't expected much. “Hack, what about Wade Clement? He have a record?”

“Not 'less you count speedin' tickets. Ever' college boy has those.”

“Any reports on the whereabouts of Louie Foshee?”

“Nope. Not a one.”

Rhodes hadn't expected that there would be, but it never hurt to ask.

“What about the gun registrations?”

“I'll check those right now,” Mika said.

“You can let me know when I get back. Hack, Call Buddy and have him meet me at Miss Nora Fischer's house in about three-quarters of an hour. I have a lead on Louie, and I'll want backup.”

“You think he's hidin' at Miss Fischer's?”

“No, but he might be at Merritt's Lake. Who owns the land now?”

“Frankie Welch,” Hack said. “Says he's gonna start leasin' it to deer hunters in the fall, or so I heard.”

Welch was the owner of Clearview's only office supply store, which was in the little strip mall a couple of doors down from Ace Gable's parts store.

“Call him up,” Rhodes said. “Tell him I'm going out to his place to look for somebody who might be in the old house near the lake. I'm going to talk to Miss Fischer about something else before I go out there.”

“You gonna tell me what it is you're gonna talk to her about?”

Rhodes looked at Mika. “He says I never tell him anything.”

“He tells me that about you, too,” Mika said. “You shouldn't be mean to him.”

She was more on Hack's side than Rhodes had thought, or maybe she was just joshing him. She knew how to keep a straight face, so it was hard to tell.

“You oughta listen to her,” Hack said. “We employees like to be treated well, since we don't get paid much.”

“I'm going to talk to her about Ralph Moore,” Rhodes said. “Anytime you want to know something else, just ask me.”

“I ask you all the time, but you don't tell me.”

“Maybe I will next time.”

“I ain't countin' on it,” Hack said.

*   *   *

Nora Fischer had been Rhodes's history teacher in high school. She was around eighty years old now, and she'd lived in Clearview all her life. She knew nearly everyone in town, having taught them or their children or them
and
their children. And grandchildren. She'd remember Ralph Moore.

She was cautious about opening her door, but when she saw who was there, she opened it wide.

“You come right on in, Danny,” she said. She'd called him that ever since high school, and he wasn't going to try to change her. “What are you doing out and about so early in the morning?”

Nora was short, not even five and a half feet tall, and she wore her steely gray hair in a bun. She had on thick glasses, but she'd often assured Rhodes that her eyesight was just fine, thank you very much, when he'd inquired.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” Rhodes said. “About Ralph Moore.”

“I've heard a little about the sad things going on at his old house,” she said. “Come on back to the kitchen, where we can sit down.”

Rhodes followed her through the living room and down a short hall to the small, neat kitchen. A newspaper was spread on the table, and a coffee cup and saucer were beside it.

“Would you like some coffee?” Nora asked.

“No, thanks,” Rhodes said. “I don't drink it.”

“My goodness. How do you get your caffeine?”

“I don't get a lot of it,” Rhodes said.

Since he'd stopped drinking Dr Pepper, he got hardly any at all. The lack of it hadn't bothered him.

“I have to have my coffee in the morning,” Nora said. “It gets me going.”

She sat in the chair nearest the newspaper, and Rhodes sat down opposite her.

“I still like newspapers,” Nora said, removing her glasses and laying them next to the saucer. “I know the Internet is where everybody reads the news now, but I'm old-fashioned.”

Rhodes was glad to hear it. He didn't want to go into much detail about what had happened at the Moore house, and if Nora hadn't read about the ghost, his job would be easier.

“I just want the newspapers to last as long as I do,” Nora said. “I'm planning on twenty more years at the very least.”

“I hope you get there,” Rhodes said. “I'm not so sure the newspapers will.”

“That would be a real shame. You didn't come here to talk about that, though. You asked about Ralph Moore. What did you want to know about him? It's been a long time since I'd thought of him at all.”

“I'm not sure what I want to know,” Rhodes said. “Just tell me about him.”

“He taught chemistry and physics. He was very smart.”

“What I'd like to know about is more personal,” Rhodes said, “not what he taught.”

Nora thought for a while. “Do you remember any stories you heard about him? There used to be so many.”

“I remember some of them,” Rhodes said.

“A good many of them were true. Students didn't like his classes. They thought he was arbitrary and unfair. He didn't like animals any more than he liked his students, and he chased them off his property, used a pellet gun on them. At school he could be hard to get along with.”

Nothing new in any of that.

“What about friends?” Rhodes asked. “Did he have any?”

“Oh, yes, several.” Nora took a sip of her coffee and set the cup back in the saucer. “He could be ingratiating when he wanted to be, and he could even be charming if you were a woman.”

Rhodes wasn't sure, but he thought Nora might have blushed.