Between the Living and the Dead (28 page)

“You wanna know what we talked about?” Hack asked when Rhodes didn't respond.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You know what?” Hack said. “I'll tell you what. One of these days you're gonna hurt my feelin's, that's what.”

“I apologize,” Rhodes said, knowing he'd have to listen now. “Please tell me what you and Lawton were talking about.”

“Not sure I want to,” Hack said.

“We're getting to be like an old married couple,” Rhodes said. “Either tell me or don't tell me.”

“Now you're gettin' snappish. Lawton's always sayin' how snappish you're gettin'.”

It was Hack who was always saying that, but Rhodes didn't bother to point it out.

“I apologize again,” he said.

“I accept. What we was talkin' about was that skeleton and how it must've got there in the house. You know how we told you that people didn't disappear around here?”

“I remember,” Rhodes said.

“Well, Mika looked, and we don't even have a missing persons file. If you don't count a few runaway kids, that is, and the thing about the kids is that none of 'em's run away in years, not since you been in office. That ain't all, either. The ones that did run away was all found. Any disappearances, such as there was, they've all been cleared up.”

“So did you and Lawton come to any conclusions about where the skeleton came from?”

“First thing we thought of was aliens. Like in that Area Fifty-one. You know about that?”

“That's where the government is supposed to have the carcass of the alien that crash-landed in Roswell, right?”

“Right. I didn't think you believed in stuff like that.”

“I don't,” Rhodes said.

“Well,” Hack said, “you can believe it or not, but that's the idea that we come up with. An alien.”

“You didn't stick with that one?”

“Couldn't think of any flyin' saucer crashes around here. There was a big flyin' saucer scare back in the fifties, people saw a bunch of 'em. As far as Lawton and me could remember, though, none of 'em crashed.”

“I guess that lets out the aliens, then.”

“Not necessarily. We tried to think of some other answer, but we couldn't come up with one. So it might be an alien.”

“If it is, what should I do about it?” Rhodes asked.

“You might oughta check with the air force, or whoever it is that keeps records on that kinda thing. They could tell you if there was some UFOs that we didn't know about.”

“Judging from what I've heard,” Rhodes said, “they don't give out that kind of information to just anybody.”

“You ain't just anybody. You're the high sheriff. They oughta tell you.”

“Let's wait until we get a report back from the state. That skeleton looked human to me.”

“Like you'd know an alien if you saw one.”

“I think I'd know,” Rhodes said.

“If it wasn't an alien, then what was it?” Hack asked.

“Just somebody like you and me.”

“If it was somebody like that, who was it, then?”

“I don't know,” Rhodes said, “but I'm going to find out. If you need me, I'll be at the Moore place.”

“Gonna check with the ghost about the skeleton?” Hack asked.

“Something like that,” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

Rhodes looked around for the turtle before he went inside the Moore house, but he didn't see it. It might have moved on, or it might be under the house or in another part of the yard. Or maybe it hadn't been there at all. Rhodes was starting to think he'd imagined at least a few of the things that had happened lately. Not the skeleton, however. That was real enough.

He went inside and stood in the room where Neil Foshee had died. Because the house was so old, the rooms were big, and the ceilings were high. It had been around a long time, and it had quite a history. It was just the kind of house that would have a ghost in it if there were such a thing as a ghost.

Rhodes waited for a full five minutes, hoping he'd notice a ghostly presence or experience the feeling of being watched. After the five minutes had passed, all he felt was foolish. What had he expected? He knew ghosts didn't exist.

He looked around the room and at the spot where Neil Foshee's body had lain. This must also have been the room where Ralph Moore had died. Two deaths in the same room. Did that make the house more likely to be haunted? Would Neil's death add to the legend?

Rhodes went up to the attic. The stairs still didn't squeak. The closet was empty, of course. Rhodes wondered why he'd even come up there. Had he really planned to ask the ghost anything? He heard a stirring in the walls. He'd disturbed the mice, he supposed. This was their place now, for good and all, as far as Rhodes was concerned.

He went back down the stairs and outside. The turtle was waiting for him. Well, not really. He knew that. It just happened to be there. For all Rhodes knew, it wasn't even the same turtle he'd seen before. The markings on the shell might've been the same, or they might not. Rhodes couldn't tell.

He went on to the county car, and a little breeze rippled through the weeds. The temperature in the yard dropped, although the sun was still shining through the trees. Rhodes turned to look at the house. He saw nothing unusual, but when he turned back to the car, he knew what he'd been missing all along. It was as if he'd known the whole time, and maybe he had. It had just taken this long for it to bubble to the surface of his mind.

He'd been treating all the crimes—Foshee's death, Moore's death, the drug dealing, the disappearance that wasn't a disappearance, and the death of the person who'd left only a skeleton—as if they had nothing to do with one another, as if they were all separate. But they weren't. They were all connected, and now Rhodes knew how. He might even be able to prove it.

Thinking about it now, Rhodes knew it could've been something Hack said that had made all the pieces come together. He wasn't sure he'd mention that to Hack.

The breeze died away, and Rhodes got in his car. He knew where to go now, and what to do.

*   *   *

Brad Turner sat on his porch in the same battered recliner he'd been in when Rhodes had talked to him before. He was wearing the same baseball cap and the same clothes. He looked as if he might not have moved at all.

Rhodes stopped the county car in the same place he'd parked before and got out. Turner didn't get up, but Rhodes didn't expect him to. Rhodes went up on the porch and sat in the wobbly wooden chair he'd sat in, but this time he didn't bother to ask permission. The chair still creaked when he sat in it.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Turner said. “Sure is a hot day.”

“It is,” Rhodes said. “Might get hotter by afternoon.”

“Usually does,” Turner said. “You ever lock up the mayor?”

“No, that didn't happen.”

“Didn't figger it would. The big dogs always get away with anything they want to.”

“Sometimes the little dogs do, too,” Rhodes said. “For a while, anyway.”

“Not usually, though,” Turner said.

He leaned forward, took off his baseball cap, and wiped his head, and Rhodes noticed that the tinfoil was gone.

“Not afraid of the brain cancer anymore?” Rhodes asked.

“Them radio waves have stopped botherin' me for some reason,” Turner said, leaning back. “Don't know why. Maybe the phone company's found a way to make 'em safer.”

Rhodes didn't think that was it, not at all. He had a feeling that something else had been bothering Turner's head, but it was gone now.

“Did the tinfoil really help any?” Rhodes asked.

“Sometimes,” Turner said, putting his cap back on. “Not a whole lot, though.”

“Tell me some more about your wife,” Rhodes said. “Betty Jane, I think her name was. Ran off and left you, right?”

“That's it. Ran off to Arkansas.”

“What was the name of the fella she ran off with?”

“Can't remember,” Turner said. “It was a long time ago.”

“How'd you know she went to Arkansas? She leave you a note?”

“She might've. Or she might've called me. Can't recall now. Long time ago, like I said.”

“You ever bother to divorce her?”

“Didn't think about it. Figgered it didn't matter.”

“I don't guess it did,” Rhodes said, “considering that she never got any farther than the Moore house.”

Turner twitched a little at that.

“I found her in a closet in the attic,” Rhodes said. “Right where you put her.”

“I never,” Turner said.

“The way I see it,” Rhodes said, “the fella she was thinking about running off with was Ralph Moore. You decided to put a stop to it and killed them.”

“Way I remember the story, Moore died of a heart attack.”

“He had some bruises on him. Might have been in a fight or a struggle that triggered the heart attack. Maybe he was trying to keep you from killing Betty Jane. We'll be getting the DNA tests back on her in a day or so. That will pretty much cinch it.”

The DNA wouldn't come back for weeks or longer, but Rhodes didn't think Turner would know that. For that matter, he might not even know what DNA was since he didn't have a TV set.

Turner sighed. “Didn't happen like that, Sheriff. You got it all wrong.”

“You might as well tell me what did happen, then. Before you do, though, I want to tell you that you're not under arrest, but I'm going to tell you what your rights are, anyway.”

Rhodes gave him the Miranda warning. “You understand all that?”

“Sure do. Not too hard even for an old guy like me.”

“Good. Why are you going to tell me what happened now? You got away with it for a long time, but you must have known somebody would find out sooner or later. Why didn't you just admit what you'd done?”

Turner scrunched down a little farther in his recliner. “Thought I'd be arrested the next day. When that didn't happen, I thought it'd be pretty soon, so I just waited. Before long, I'd waited a year or more. Figgered I'd just keep waitin'.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I guess the wait's over.”

Rhodes tried to imagine what had happened. It was easy enough. When Moore was found dead of a heart attack, no one had seen a need to search the rest of the house. Nobody knew Betty Jane Turner was missing, because if anyone asked Turner about her, he just said she'd run off to Arkansas with some other man. People in those days were willing to accept that kind of explanation. Probably still were. The Moore relatives never cared about the house and just left it closed up until people broke in and pretty much cleaned it out. Nobody had gone into the attic, or if they had, they hadn't told about the skeleton because they didn't want anybody to know they'd been looting the place. So the years just went by.

“Been a long time,” Rhodes said. “Forty years or so. What really happened up there?”

“We had a dog,” Turner said. “Betty Jane and I did. Name was Rover. Lots of folks called a dog that back in those days. Don't know if they still do. Anyway, Moore, he didn't like dogs, and he called us a time or two about Rover gettin' in his yard. Then he shot him with his BB gun. Betty Jane went to tell him off, but I guess she didn't. He sweet-talked her, maybe. 'Fore long, she was goin' up there all the time. Took me a while to catch on, but I finally did. I got my pistol and went up there. I was plannin' to shoot Moore. Betty Jane, too. Didn't care what happened to me after I did it. Funny thing, though, I didn't shoot either one of 'em. We got to arguin', and I shoved Betty Jane down. Shoved her hard. She hit her head on the sharp end of a coffee table and caved it in. Her head, I mean. Made an awful sound. Killed her right then and there, I think. Moore jumped me, and I hit him a time or two. Not in the face or anything. He started stumblin' around and tryin' to get his breath. Fell down in the floor not far from Betty Jane, and there they were, both of 'em dead as doornails.”

“You didn't try to help either one of them?” Rhodes asked.

“Nope. Knew they were dead. Figgered it was good riddance. Took Betty Jane up to the attic. She wasn't very big, but it was a strain on me, you can bet. Stuck her in that closet and went home and went right on as if nothin' had happened. Went to work, came home, waited for the laws to come and get me. They never did.” He looked at Rhodes from under the brim of his baseball cap. “Not till today.”

“If you hadn't shot Neil Foshee, I wouldn't have come at all,” Rhodes said.

“Yeah, I guess not, but he was calling too much attention to that house. I just wanted to talk to him, get him to go somewhere else before you and your deputies started lookin' too close at that place. I went up there to wait for him two or three nights, but he didn't show up. When he did, I was nice to him. I told him that he needed to find somewhere else to do his deals because this was a quiet neighborhood and we didn't want him around.”

“He didn't listen, did he,” Rhodes said.

“Laughed at me, is what he did. Called me an old man. I had my pistol with me, knowin' how those drug dealers are, and sure enough, he had one, too. Pulled it on me. So I had to shoot him. He dropped down just like old Moore did that time. I took his pistol and his phone and got out of there.”

“Did you really think I'd arrest the mayor for killing him?”

“Thought you might. The mayor was there. I saw that Alexis of his, just like I told you. He was probably gonna buy some drugs.”

“No,” Rhodes said. “It wasn't even the mayor.”

“Sure looked like that big Alexis of his.”

Rhodes didn't see any need to explain about the mayor's Lexus. He said, “You must have known we'd investigate Foshee's death. Maybe even find Betty Jane.”