The Deader the Better (13 page)

“I’m fine, Charlotte,” she said.

The waitress shook her head. “You’re always in such a hurry,”
she said.

“No rest for the wicked.”

The door opened and Glen reappeared. “Charlotte,” he called.
“Call Nathan Hand. Tell him to come on down here.”

Charlotte picked up the black phone and dialed.

“What’s the story?” the Haynes woman asked. He leaned over
the bar. I couldn’t hear what he said, but as he spoke, she kept
turning her head and looking at me.

“Oh…that’s nice,” she said when he finished. “That’s
great. Just the image we want to project.”

Glen shrugged. “You know Dexter,” he said. She walked the
length of the bar and stuck out her hand.

“Ramona Haynes,” she said.

I took her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” I said.

“I’m the president of the Chamber of Commerce and I want to
apologize to you for any trouble those idiots may have caused you.
I’d hate to have you go away from here thinking that’s the kind
of town we are.”

“No problem,” I said. I drained the last of my beer and got to
my feet. “Everything’s under control.”

She went on about what a nice place Stevens Falls was, but I was
having trouble paying attention. All I could think about was rubbing
my face in her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I think I better have a
few words with that bunch before the sheriff gets here.” Heads
turned like radar dishes as she walked to the door. Didn’t look a
bit like Deputy Spots in motion. No siree. I tried to keep it adult
and professional. “Attractive woman,” I commented.

“I get a chubby when she walks in the door,” Glen said.

“Least you got the bar to stand behind.”

“Had that effect on me since grade school,” he said wistfully.

“So you’re a native?”

“Sure. Both of us. Her family owned the mill. My old man drove
forklift for her old man for thirty years.”

He pried his eyes off the door and looked at me. “Anybody told
you about old man Haynes?” I said they hadn’t. “About how the
day the bankruptcy court padlocked the building. Took his house, his
land. How he walked all the way from his office down to the park in
the middle of town. Apologized to every person he passed and then
blew his brains out, sitting on one of the picnic tables.”

“When was this?”

“Few years ago. That’s when Ramona came back.”

I threw a ten on the counter. Glen picked it up and handed it back
to me. “Hell,” he said. “By the time Dexter heals up, I’ll
have saved twice that in pool sticks.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You better stay inside till the sheriff gets here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dexter’s friends got a little welcoming committee for you out
there.”

I feigned astonishment. “And we’ve allowed the fair damsel to
go unescorted?”

He chuckled. “The fair damsel can flat-out take care of
herself.”

“Me, too,” I said with a grin.

He stayed behind the bar, matching me step for step.

“Now, come on. Just when I was takin’ a liking to you, you’re
gonna have me thinkin’ you’re a troublemaker.”

When I pulled open the door, she was yelling at a group of five
guys. Four I remembered from inside. The fifth was an albino guy
about my size. He wore a confederate flag cap, a pair of striped
coveralls and workboots. No shirt of any kind.

“…as if we don’t have enough problems and things to overcome
around here without you fools…” She reached out and pushed on the
forehead of the nearest guy until she had eye contact. “I’m up
here, Noah,” she said. “No matter how hard you stare at them,
they aren’t going to talk to you.” She got the laugh she was
looking for.

The pool partner, from the back of the crowd: “They talk to me,
Miz Haynes.”

She stopped talking when I stepped onto the porch.

“O-oh,” she stammered. “You better—”

“That’s him, Whitey,” somebody said. “The one suckered
Dexter.”

Whitey showed me a mouthful of green teeth. I walked right up to
him.

“They been doing this to you for years, haven’t they, Whitey?”
I said.

Everything got quiet. I could hear cars passing on the highway.

I’d say Whitey looked dumbfounded, but that would be redundant.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Using you for a trial horse. Taking advantage of you.”

His forehead looked like a washboard. “Nobody takes advantage…”

“You know what I mean, man. They want to know if the water is
deep enough, they talk you into jumping off the bridge. They want to
know if the dog bites, they get you to try to pet him. They don’t
know how tough some guy is, they get you to try him out. I’d bet
dollars to doughnuts they been doing that stuff to you for years.
They have, haven’t they?”

Somebody yelled, “Don’t listen to that shit, Whitey, kick his
ass.”

Ramona Haynes shook a finger at him. “Don’t you dare,”

she said.

The area around his eyes was so pink it looked like he had a
disease, and his pupils were nearly colorless. “Dex is my friend,”
he said.

“Dex isn’t anybody’s friend,” I countered. “As a matter
of fact, I’d be willing to bet that most of the time when your
so-called buddies here get you to do something stupid, I’ll bet
Dexter’s the one who starts it.” I thought I saw a glimmer, so I
stayed at it. “He is. Isn’t he?” I pressed.

“Bust him up, Whitey,” a voice came. Partner again. Without
turning, Whitey said, “Shut your mouth, Monk, ’fore I come back
there and bust you up.”

The Crown Victoria with SHERIFF painted in gold came sliding to a
stop about ten feet behind the crowd. Nathan Hand and a deputy I
hadn’t seen before got out, leaving the car doors open. Hand
sauntered up onto the porch, while the younger cop leaned back
against the hood of the car. The crowd parted. He tipped his hat.
“Miss Haynes,” he said. He looked over at Whitey. “You still
fighting their battles for them, Clarence?”

Clarence took off his hat and checked his shoes. His scalp was
iridescent pink.

“Yessir…I mean, ah…no sir.”

“Bobby,” Hand called.

“Right here, Sheriff.”

Bobby was a good-looking kid of about twenty-five. He had a long
neck and a loose, easy way of moving that suggested competence. The
gold tag read DEPUTY BOBBY RUSSELL. Like his boss, he’d had his
uniform tailored. Except that the job wasn’t nearly as good. Along
the inside of his right leg one of the seams was coming loose.

“Check your watch.”

“Yessir.”

“In exactly two minutes, I want you to begin checking the
licenses and registrations of every vehicle still in this parking
lot. I believe I see some expired tabs out there.”

“Believe I do, too, sir.”

“And Bobby…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Make sure you check for current insurance. Make ’em show you
the paperwork. What’s that citation up to these days?”

“Seven hundred seventy dollars, Sheriff.”

Hand whistled. “A tidy sum.”

By this time, Hand was playing for the deputy, the Haynes woman
and me. The rest of them were long gone. We stood and listened to the
sounds of grinding engines and pickups bouncing out into the road in
a hail of gravel. The sheriff wagged a finger my way. “I knew you
were going to get yourself in trouble.” He checked his wrist.

“Thought it might take you more than an hour, though.”

“I didn’t start it,” I said.

He gave a hearty chuckle. “Hell, with Dexter Davis involved, I
don’t even have to ask. Neither of those Davis twins has got brains
enough to blow his nose, but Dexter…” he shook his head. “They
tell me he fell off his bike when he was nine, you know. Landed on
his head. Hit the curb out in front of Mrs. Fontaine’s house. Never
been the same, they say. Last sheriff told me for years after that,
wherever the family lived in the valley, all the neighborhood cats
would turn up missin’. Neighbors would call…they’d come
out…find a little tabby foot here…a little tabby tail there…never
could quite catch him at it, though.”

“And Dexter and Mickey are a step up from the parents,”

Haynes added.

“Oh hell…two, at least,” said the Sheriff.

“That’s a frightening thought,” I said.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said.

“Well…,” Hand began, “much as it pains me to break up this
merriment, duty calls.” He cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Now, you think maybe I can leave the big-city private eye alone
for a couple of hours without him getting in any trouble?”

I held up two fingers. He smirked.

“Where you parked?” he asked.

“I’m on foot,” I said.

He shook his head. “No…no…that won’t work here, now, will
it Bobby?”

“No sir.”

“You get to walking around out there, you’re just surer than
heck gonna end up tied over the front of somebody’s truck. You
better get in the car.”

“You arresting me?” I asked.

He looked hurt. “Now, why would you ask a thing like that?”

“Because that’s the only way I’m getting in the car,” I
said. Bobby bumped himself off the fender. Hand thought it over.

“He can ride with me,” said the Haynes woman. She looked over
at me. “Or am I going to have to place you under arrest?”

“I’ll come quietly,” I promised.

“WHERE ARE YOU STAYING?” SHE ASKED.

“I’m not,” I replied. “I’m just here for the day.”

She stepped down off the porch and started around the side of the
bar, talking as she walked. I hustled after her.

“That’s what I figured,” she said. “You don’t look
outdoorsy enough for most of what we’ve got to offer.”

I don’t know why, but I thoroughly resented this aspersion of my
rurality. Before I could take issue, however, she wanted to know
where she should take me.

“Anyplace in town. I’m meeting a friend at three. I’ll just
wander around till then. Do a little Christmas shopping.”

She popped the locks on a blue Dodge Dakota pickup and we got in.
The seatbelt harness did wonders for her. “Did you tell me your
name? You must not have. I’m usually good with names.” She
dropped the tape into an upright paper bag on the seat.

“It’s Leo,” I said. “Leo Waterman.”

“So then you’ve got an hour to kill, Mr. Leo Waterman?”

Her voice held the hint of a challenge, as if somehow I were being
tested.

“Yep.”

“So why don’t you come along with me? I’ve got a few errands
to run. It’ll give me a chance to convince you that we’re not all
a bunch of crazed rednecks around here. Maybe even send you on your
way with a positive feeling about the place. Wadda ya say?”

“Probably keep me out of trouble, too.”

She grinned. “Yeah…there’s that.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Gotta stop at the office first,” she said, throwing the truck
into gear.

She drove like a disaster movie, like molten lava was nipping at
the rear tires. Fortunately, the truck was equipped with one of those
“oh shit” handles up by my right ear, so I was able to look
confident while holding on for dear life. In a roar, we headed back
toward town.

“Did I understand Nathan to say that you were a private
detective?”

I allowed how that was indeed the case as she fishtailed around a
corner.

“And you’re investigating what happened to J.D.?”

“Nope,” I said. “I—we—just came out to visit some
friends.”

I told her of getting the packages back and of being unable to
raise them by phone. “And come to find out he’s dead…somebody
shot up his place…his wife and kids are nowhere to be found. I’m
just trying to get some sort of personal handle on the thing.”

“Poor J.D.,” she said.

“You knew him?”

“Oh sure,” she said. “By the time he…by the time it was
over, I guess I was pretty much the only person in town still talking
to him.”

From this direction, the downtown area was backlit by a long line
of poplars whose golden leaves shimmied in the breeze like a beaded
curtain.

“Why was that?” I asked.

She told me the by now familiar tale. As much as it pained me, the
story of the outsider taking advantage of an old-timer and then
offending the whole town by closing off the river made more sense
than the notion that town and county government were conspiring to
put J.D. Springer out of the fishing guide business.

We whizzed by the police station, rolling toward the east end of
town.

“He didn’t understand,” she said finally.

“What?”

“Oh…the culture, I guess. The people. How things are done in a
place like this.” She took one hand off the wheel and waved it
about. “Everything…poor J.D. just didn’t understand any of it.”

A flush that had started below her throat had now reached her
cheeks.

“For instance,” I said.

“Oh…for instance, he didn’t understand the ramifications of
posting his property. I’ll bet there’s close to fifty men in this
community who rent themselves out as fishing guides at one time or
another during the season. That’s a couple of hundred people whose
livelihoods are affected by his actions.” She was waving the hand
again. “In a town like this that’s just holding on, mostly what
they do is provide services to one another. That’s how they stay
alive after the industry is gone. Most of the men in this town do
four or five different things for a living. They cut some firewood.
They drive school buses, hire out as mechanics, guides, handymen.
Work part-time for the county. They do whatever it takes. I don’t
think J.D. ever really got a sense of what he was doing to that
system.”

She stomped the brakes and crimped the wheel into a Uturn. I
hadn’t noticed it before, but at the junction east of town, where
you either go right and drive out to the ocean or you continue on
ahead into Stevens Falls, a sparkling new A-frame sat on the triangle
of property between the two roads. The sign read, VISITOR INFORMATION
CENTER. WELCOME TO STEVENS FALLS: GATEWAY TO
YOUR
MOUNTAIN
EXPERIENCE. She slid to a stop in front of the building, turned off
the engine and grabbed the bag of tapes. “In the summer, we hire
college kids to run the Visitor Center. This time of year, I do it
myself, but only on weekends.” She yanked the door handle. “You
can stay in the truck if you want; I’m only going to be a minute.”