Half in Love with Artful Death (6 page)

The night was quiet, like most nights in Clearview. Even on a Friday there wasn't a lot to do after dark, not in that part of town. The parking lot at Walmart would probably still be partially full, though, even at that hour.

Rhodes heard something from inside the house, maybe a TV set. The house didn't have a porch, just a couple of prefab concrete steps. Rhodes mounted them and knocked on a screen door that rattled in its frame. The noise from inside continued. It sounded like someone wailing, and Rhodes decided it wasn't coming from a TV set. He opened the screen and banged on the door. The sound inside got louder, a good enough reason to enter the premises, if the door was unlocked. It was, and Rhodes pushed it open.

The sound was more distinct now, and it was definitely wailing, along with some crying. It seemed to be coming from a room at the end of the dark narrow hallway where Rhodes found himself.

For years Rhodes had tried different ways of carrying a sidearm. As the sheriff, he almost always went around in plainclothes, and he'd always tried to conceal his weapon. Nothing he'd done had proved to be satisfactory, but lately he'd reverted to using an ankle holster with a little Kel-Tec PF-9. He'd used a Kel-Tec .32 for a while, but he'd begun to think that he might need a little more firepower. The PF-9 had a polymer body, so it was light and easy to carry. The seven 9 mm cartridges were powerful enough to stop someone even bigger than the .32s would, though Rhodes hoped he wasn't going to have to use the pistol for stopping anyone. The only problem was the awkwardness involved in getting to the pistol in the ankle holster. He was never going to get to it in a hurry, but he didn't plan to enter any quick-draw contests.

Speed wasn't the issue here. Rhodes bent over and got the pistol, just in case something else was the issue. He walked toward the sound, which had grown quieter. It was a muffled sobbing now.

The door to the room was open, and Rhodes took a quick look inside. Burt Collins lay on his stomach on the hardwood floor, not far from a coffee table. He didn't appear to be breathing. Rhodes was sure he was dead. A stocky woman wearing jeans and a man's shirt sat on a sofa, crying, her head in her hands.

“Ella?” Rhodes said.

The woman looked up. “Sheriff?”

Ella Collins was Burt's wife. Rhodes lowered the pistol, slipped it into his back pocket, and stepped into the room. “What happened?”

Ella brushed her hands across her face. Rhodes saw that it was creased with red lines.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to see Burt,” Rhodes said. “What happened?”

“I don't know.” A sob caught in Ella's throat. “I came home and found Burt like this. I think he had a heart attack.”

Rhodes had seen a lot of dead people, too many, and it always made him sad, even when the person was someone like Burt Collins, a cantankerous man nobody had really liked and whom very few would miss. Whatever kind of man he was, though, he'd been alive, seeing, breathing, smelling, tasting, maybe even smiling now and then. Now all that was gone.

Rhodes knelt down and looked at the back of Burt's head. The hair was matted with blood, and some bone showed through. Rhodes felt Burt's carotid artery. No pulse, but then Rhodes hadn't expected one. The flesh wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, either. Burt had been dead for a little while, and Rhodes was pretty sure that Burt's heart had nothing to do with his condition.

“Were you here when it happened?” Rhodes asked, standing up.

“No. I was at Frances Bennett's.” Ella's voice was a little steadier. “She's been recovering from surgery, and some of us have been staying with her, doing some housework and cooking. You know, just to help out. I'd come home and walked in here, and there was Burt on the floor. I haven't even called the doctor.”

“I'll do it,” Rhodes said. “Is there somewhere else you can sit? How about the kitchen?”

“All right.” Ella stood up. Rhodes noticed that her knees were a little wobbly, and she had to put a hand down on the arm of the sofa to steady herself. “It's right across the hall.”

Rhodes walked her to the kitchen and got her seated at the square oak table. Some water glasses stood upside down in a dish drainer beside the sink. Rhodes got one, filled it from the tap, and handed it to Ella. She took a swallow and sighed.

“You just stay put,” Rhodes said. “I'll be right back.”

He left Ella in the kitchen and went outside, where he transferred the pistol back to the ankle holster. Then he walked to the carport. He felt the hood of the sedan. It was still warm, so maybe Ella was telling the truth when she said she'd just gotten there. He went to the county car and called Hack on the radio.

“Get Buddy and tell him to leave the convenience store investigation with Duke,” Rhodes said when Hack responded. “Send Buddy to Burt Collins's house.”

“What's going on?” Hack asked.

“Burt's a little indisposed. Send an ambulance. And the justice of the peace.”

“Justice of the peace? You sure Burt's just indisposed?”

The justice of the peace was the one who'd declare Burt dead.

“Indisposed is what I'm calling it for now,” Rhodes said. “You get Buddy over here.”

“Roger,” Hack said.

Rhodes racked the radio and went back inside. He looked in on Ella, who sat at the table, her back straight, staring at nothing. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, both hands clasping the water glass.

“Are you all right?” Rhodes asked. Ella was the one who needed someone to sit with her now. “Is there somebody I can call to come over?”

“I can do it,” Ella said. “My sister, Bonnie, lives in Thurston. Bonnie Crowley.”

Thurston was a little town about twenty miles away. It would take Bonnie a while to get there, but maybe Ella would be all right until then.

She got up and went to an old wall phone fastened to the wall near the door. It was a gold color, a relic of the seventies, Rhodes thought, with a long, tangled cord.

“There will be some people coming in,” Rhodes said. “Quite a few of them. You just stay in here.”

“I will,” Ella said. She lifted the receiver and started to dial.

Rhodes went back into the other room to look around. Nothing seemed to be disturbed or out of place, and he didn't see anything that looked as if it might have been used to hit Burt. There was a large afghan hanging over the back of the couch. Rhodes put it over the body and went back to the kitchen. Ella sat at the table, staring at something Rhodes couldn't see.

“Ella?” he said. “I hate to ask you to do this, but I need you to come back in the living room for a minute.”

Ella stood up and said in a flat voice, “All right.”

When they were back in the other room, she looked at the covered body. Rhodes said, “Don't look at Burt. Look around and see if there's anything missing.”

It took a few seconds for Ella to focus, but when she did, she began to look around the room. Rhodes looked, too. A flat-screen TV and DVD player were in a cabinet opposite the sofa where Ella had been sitting. The only things on the coffee table were a couple of remote controls. A whatnot cabinet stood against the wall beside the TV cabinet. An end table with a lamp on it sat at one end of the sofa, and a matching table and lamp sat by the overstuffed recliner not far away.

Rhodes noticed a vacant space on top of the whatnot shelf and walked over to it. He saw a thin coating of dust on the shelf except for a square about five inches on each side. He put a finger on the spot and asked Ella what had been there.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Where's Burt's head? It's gone!”

 

Chapter 6

Rhodes didn't quite get it. “Burt's head is gone?”

“Not
his
head. Dale Earnhardt's.”

“Dale Earnhardt?” Rhodes said.

“Junior,” Ella said. “His daddy was Dale Earnhardt, too.” She pointed to the vacant spot on the shelf. “His head was right there. Junior's was.”

“NASCAR,” Rhodes said, figuring it out.

“Dale and his daddy were both drivers,” Ella said. “Junior still is. He's really good, but maybe not as good as his daddy. His daddy died in a big crash ten or twelve years ago. Dale Junior's granddaddy was a driver, too. Ralph.”

“But it's Junior's head that's missing.”

“Yes. Burt loved to watch the NASCAR races on TV, and Dale Junior was his favorite driver. I got him Dale's head for his birthday last year. Dale Junior, I mean.”

“It was a bust,” Rhodes said.

“No, he loved it. Said it was the best present he ever got.”

As she said that, Ella looked down at Burt and started to sob again.

“The head,” Rhodes said, knowing better than to call it a bust again, “was it heavy?”

Ella took a deep, shuddering breath and looked away from Burt. “Oh, yes. It was made out of some kind of metal. Not brass. The other one that looks kind of like it.”

“Bronze,” Rhodes said.

“That's it. Bronze. It was made special, too. There were only a thousand of them, and they were all numbered. This one had a real low number. It was supposed to be worth more if it had a low number. That's what the man who sold it to me said.”

“Was it here when you left to go to Frances Bennett's?”

“I'm sure it was. It was always right there on the shelf. Burt was real proud of it. Where could it be?”

“Let's go back in the kitchen,” Rhodes said. “We can look for it later.”

As he got Ella seated at the table again, Rhodes heard a siren. Buddy was on the way, or maybe it was the ambulance.

“You stay here,” Rhodes said. “I'll take care of things now.”

Ella nodded, and Rhodes went out to see who was arriving.

A county car bounced onto the dirt path and slid to a stop beside Rhodes's. Buddy got out and said, “I got here soon as I could. Duke's still looking around at the Pak-a-Sak. What's the beef?”

“Burt Collins is dead. We're going to search the house.”

Buddy undid the snap that secured his service revolver. “Let's go.”

They went back inside, and Rhodes explained to Ella what they were going to do. She said she'd stay in the kitchen.

“I don't think there's anyone here,” Rhodes said, “but we need to check things out to be sure.”

He took his pistol from the ankle holster, and Buddy drew his revolver. They went through the house room by room, checking closets and under the beds. They didn't find anyone, and nothing looked as if it had been disturbed. They went back to the room where Burt's body lay. Rhodes returned his pistol to the ankle holster, and Buddy holstered his revolver.

“I want you to go outside and search the area,” Rhodes told Buddy. “You'll be looking for a head.”

Buddy looked down at the afghan-covered body. “Somebody cut off Burt's head?”

“No. It's Dale Earnhardt's head. Junior, that is, and it's not a real head. It's a bronze bust. It's missing from the house.”

“You think somebody stole it?”

“I think somebody hit Burt in
his
head with it and took it away.”

“Why would anybody take something like that?”

“Because,” Rhodes said, “it might have fingerprints on it.”

“Right,” Buddy said. “Fingerprints. You really think it'll be around here somewhere?”

“No,” Rhodes said, “but we have to look for it. It's dark, though, and if you don't find it nearby, I'll put somebody else on it tomorrow.”

“I'll get started,” Buddy said. He got his flashlight out of the car. “Here comes Wade Franklin.”

Franklin was the justice of the peace. The ambulance was right behind him. It was going to be busy in the Collins house for a while.

*   *   *

It was after one o'clock when Rhodes left the Collins house. Burt Collins had been declared dead and taken away, and Rhodes had put crime-scene tape on the doorway to the room where Burt had been killed. Bonnie Crowley had arrived to take care of her sister. Rhodes had talked to Ella a bit about Burt. She couldn't believe that he'd been murdered and kept repeating that he must have had a stroke or a heart attack. How could he have been killed? Everybody loved Burt. Why, the man had not an enemy in the world, not even the Patels.

Nobody who died ever had an enemy in the world, not to hear the relatives tell it. In Burt's case, Rhodes knew better, but he'd talk more to Ella about it later.

Buddy was still searching for the bronze bust of Dale Earnhardt, Junior, not having found a trace of it so far, and Rhodes was ready to go home and get some sleep. Burt Collins's death could be investigated tomorrow.

Rhodes didn't get to go home, however, because as soon as he was in the county car, he got a call about donkeys on the loose.

“Out by the highway to Obert,” Hack said. “Two of 'em at least. Car hits one of 'em, it's gonna be bad news. Too much speedin' on that road if you ask me.”

“Donkeys are Alton Boyd's job,” Rhodes said, Boyd being the county's animal control officer.

“He's on the way,” Hack said. “Gonna need some help, though, and Duke's looking into a break-in at a house over in Milsby. You get the job. Or you can send Buddy.”

Rhodes thought he might send Buddy, but it was likely the deputy would be needed for something else any minute.

“I'll go myself,” Rhodes said.

“Folks oughta do somethin' about those donkeys,” Hack said. “Get 'em spayed and neutered. Don't cost that much, not much more'n it'd cost for a dog or a cat.”

“If people had money,” Rhodes said, wondering how Hack knew how much it would cost to neuter a donkey, “the donkeys wouldn't be a problem.”

The county had been having donkey trouble for a few months now. It wasn't nearly as bad as the wild hog problem, but it was bad enough. Only a small part of the problem had to do with donkey reproduction, in spite of Hack's comment. Like a lot of other things lately, the problem was tied to the economy.