Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek Page 12

  “Settle down. Nobody’s going to accuse you of anything. I’ll go over there with you to check it out right now. I’ll call McClusky and tell him what’s going on in case he wants to come back.”

  “And if you don’t mind, would you ask him if he wants me to keep on working?”

  “I’ll do that. You go on back to the house, and I’ll be right behind you as soon as I call him.”

  I call the cell phone numbers I have for both Slate and Angel, but both numbers go to the answering machine. I leave a message on Slate’s phone. And then I call the Marriott out at Horseshoe Bay to see if I can leave him a message there.

  “We don’t have anybody here by that name,” the desk clerk tells me. “Could it be under another name?”

  I give them Angel Bright’s name.

  “You mean that country singer?” the clerk says.

  “That’s the one. Her husband told me they were staying there.”

  “No, sir, I would have remembered that. She was one of my mamma’s favorite singers. I would have wanted to get her autograph. She hasn’t been here.”

  Before I can get out the door, the phone rings again. I forgot how much of a slave you are to the telephone when you’re in law enforcement. I start to let it go, but they’ll just call me on the cell phone, so I might as well handle it now.

  “Mr. Craddock, this is Camille Overton. I talked to you yesterday when you were looking for the McCluskys?”

  “That’s right. I found them. I appreciate your help. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m calling because somebody broke into my house last night. That man who’s working across the street worries me. He showed up again this morning and I don’t like the look of him.”

  “I’m coming over there right now. Sit tight.”

  Five minutes later I knock on Camille’s door and she opens it so fast, I suspect she was standing by the door waiting for me. She’s wearing glasses that make her eyes look large, and there’s no mistaking the alarm in them. “I’m so glad you came. I’m a nervous wreck.” She glances around me to where Truly Bennett’s truck is parked on the street, with Truly sitting in it. I’ve told him to wait until I talk to Mrs. Overton before we look at McClusky’s house. “I just don’t like having that man here.”

  “Mrs. Overton, I’ve known Truly Bennett for thirty years. He’s absolutely trustworthy. I can guarantee he didn’t break in to your house.”

  She looks over again at Bennett’s truck. “If you say so. I guess if he was the one who broke in, he wouldn’t have come back here brazen as you please.” She opens the door wider. “Come on in and I’ll tell you what happened.” She leads me into the kitchen and points to the door that leads to the backyard.

  “I was out playing bridge last night, and when I got home, this backdoor was wide open. There was a draft coming through the whole house.”

  “What time was this?”

  “I got home around ten o’clock. I can tell you I surely didn’t leave the door open like that, though. It was cold outside and I wouldn’t have left it open anyway, even if it wasn’t cold. It like to’ve scared me to death when I saw it.”

  “You didn’t call down to the station, though.”

  “No, I didn’t want to bother you. And I wanted somebody to come right over so I phoned Mary Rusk next door—that’s where I was playing bridge—and she sent Paul over to check it out. He went through the house to make sure nobody was hiding in any of the rooms. He said he thought maybe the wind blew the door open. I said I didn’t think the wind was that strong last night, and besides the door was locked.”

  “Was anything missing?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. But Paul said I should call you this morning and let you know. He said police like to keep track of things like that.”

  “He’s right.” I open the door and take a look at the handle and lock on both sides. It’s a round knob with a simple push lock, and no deadbolt. I see a few scratches on the lock, but not enough to indicate the door was jimmied. “Are you sure this door was locked?”

  There’s a chilly breeze coming from the open door and she holds her sweater tighter around her. She looks at the lock as if it could tell her something. “It’s possible I didn’t lock it. Sometimes I go outside and don’t bother to lock it during the day, but usually I’m careful if I go out at night.” She shakes her head with a rueful look. “I was only going next door and was running a little late. I may have forgotten to check it.”

  “I have to tell you that Truly Bennett came to my office this morning and said he found the McClusky’s house broken into when he came to work. I was coming up here to check on the house when you called.”

  She shivers and closes the backdoor and locks it. “Oh, my gosh, somebody is going around the neighborhood breaking in. You know, I have to tell you that a week or so ago I came home and had the strangest feeling that somebody had been here, but nothing was out of place, so I thought I was being foolish.”

  “This could be kids going around trying unlocked doors and looking around inside, so be sure you lock up when you leave. And if anything else happens, you call me. It’s no bother. One more thing. Why don’t you go through the house again after I leave and make sure nothing is missing. I’ll be across the street. Come and tell me if you find anything that doesn’t look right.”

  “I’ll do that. And I thank you for coming out so fast.”

  At the McClusky’s, Truly shows me the lock and the broken window. The lock has more serious damage to it than Camille’s lock, but this door has a deadbolt. “It looks to me like somebody tried to jimmy it,” Bennett says, “and when they couldn’t get it open they broke the window, reached in, and unlocked it.”

  “Looks like that to me, too,” I say. I’m always surprised people don’t realize that having a window right next to the door makes it easy to break the window and get to the lock.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” Bennett says. “Did you talk to Mr. McClusky?” Bennett’s shoulders are hunched up and he still looks nervous. Given Camille’s immediate reaction of suspecting him of the break-in, I understand how he’d be anxious.

  “I couldn’t reach him. I’m going to go inside and check things out. You can come with me if you want.”

  “No, sir, I’d prefer to stay out here if it’s all the same.”

  The backdoor opens into a laundry room, which leads to the kitchen. A cup has been left in the kitchen sink, but otherwise everything is orderly. My first thought is for the Remington that I took note of the first time I was here, and I go on through to the living room. It’s still in place, and when I walk through the rest of the house, it doesn’t look to me like anything was disturbed. It’s a big, sprawling place with three bedrooms and bathrooms, an office, a TV room, and the living room I was in before. Of course I wouldn’t know if something small was stolen, like jewelry, or if the intruder found money kept around the house, but there are no open drawers or closet doors.

  Outside, Bennett has put himself to work watering plants. He turns off the hose and wipes his hands on his pants as he walks over to me. “How is it inside?”

  “Nothing seems to be disturbed. But the McCluskys will have to look through things to make sure nothing was taken. Can you repair the broken window?”

  Bennett hesitates. “I’d rather have somebody else do that.”

  “A white man,” I say dryly.

  That brings a shy grin to his face. “Maybe that would be best.”

  “Until somebody does that, it would be good if you go on with your painting and keep an eye on the place. I expect Mr. McClusky would be grateful.”

  “I surely will do that.” He shakes my hand.

  I’m concerned that I still haven’t heard from McClusky, so I call and leave another message. It could be that he’s back out at his resort today where there’s no coverage.

  I call down to Gabe LoPresto’s construction business and they tell me they’ll send somebody out this afternoon to replace the broken windo
w.

  As soon as I get to my truck, my cell phone starts its clamor. It sounds angry, although I know that’s impossible.

  “Craddock?” It’s Slate McClusky’s voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Where have you been? Never mind, we’re almost home. I got your message about the break-in. Can you meet us there in twenty minutes?”

  I swing by my house to grab some lunch, and there’s a note sticking on my door. “Mr. Craddock, I stopped by on the off chance you might be home. Everyone seems to know about your art collection, and I’m dying to see it. Can you call me when you can spare some time to show me around? Ellen Forester.”

  “Samuel! You’ve been making yourself scarce around here.” I turn at the sound of Loretta’s voice, the note in my hand making me feel guilty for some reason.

  “Come in. I’ve just got ten minutes to grab a bite to eat.”

  “Ten minutes! It’s hardly worth the effort of me walking down here in this cold weather.” But she scoots up the steps. She always moves briskly, which I envied when my knee was bunged up. But now that it’s over the worst of the healing, I’m pretty sure there’ll come I time when I can match her again.

  I make us a quick cup of coffee. Loretta says she’s already had lunch. I throw a couple pieces of roast beef between two pieces of bread slathered with mayonnaise.

  “How are you getting along?” she says, looking at the rough sandwich with distaste.

  “Being back on the job is taking some getting used to. But guess who’s offered to give me a little help?”

  “Who?”

  “Rodell.” I tell her I visited Rodell and he wanted to do something useful, although I don’t tell her the part where he said he’d go crazy if he didn’t get away from Patty for a while.

  She snorts. “Help you? With what?”

  “Figuring out who killed Gary Dellmore. If he really has cut out the drinking, he’ll have a little more on the ball. I never thought he was stupid.”

  “Maybe not, but he’s never going to give up drinking. You mark my word. I’ve known Rodell since he was a little boy. I used to babysit for him and his sister, and he never had a bit of control over himself. That mother of his didn’t know the word ‘no.’”

  “The shape he’s in, I don’t think he’s going to be out buying beer anytime soon.”

  “I’m surprised Oscar Grant stays in business with Rodell not drinking down at the Two Dog,” she says. Loretta isn’t above having a little glass of wine or a cocktail, but she has no patience for people who overindulge, including, if she is to be believed, her late husband. I never saw him drink much, but her standard of overindulging is more stringent than mine.

  “What did Gary’s wife have to say for herself?” Loretta says.

  “You know good and well I’m not going to answer that.”

  “I wondered if she’s as pleased as she seems to be that Gary is gone.” Her voice has that false innocent tone that tells me she’s got a tidbit of gossip to tell me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently she went into Bobtail yesterday and bought all new dishes.”

  “How did you happen to come by that bit of information?”

  “You’re not the only one who hears things.” Her tone is lofty. I’m reminded of my cat Zelda, when she’s managed to kill a mouse.

  “I don’t think you can read a lot into that. She might be the kind of person who makes herself feel better by going shopping.” I wouldn’t know a thing about that—I’m only repeating something Jeanne told me.

  “Still, it doesn’t look good.” She waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, she says, “Not to change the subject, but I saw some woman come up to your door earlier. She left you a note?”

  No sense in holding out on Loretta. It would make me look guilty of some vague crime. “Yes, it’s that woman who’s opening the art store. She wants to see my art collection and came by in case I was home.”

  “That makes sense,” she says, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. Trying to read behind all this subtlety tires me out more than trying to investigate a murder.

  I’m trying to figure out how to wiggle out of saying any more when I’m startled by my cell phone ringing. When I reach into my shirt pocket and pull it out, I realize I’ve already gotten used to it. “Craddock.”

  It’s Zeke Dibble. “Chief, I wanted you to know the missing girl was a false alarm. She called her mother and said she’d gone over to a friend’s house after cheerleader practice and forgot the time.”

  I’m relieved that’s one thing out of the way. As I hang up it occurs to me that it’s good to have Dibble at the station to field all those little things that we get called for every single day.

  I stand up and drain the last of my coffee. “I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to be meeting the McCluskys at their place.”

  “What for?”

  “Somebody broke into their house last night. They were out of town and I called them so they could come back to see if anything is missing.”

  I can tell Loretta’s not happy with being whisked out of my house, so I suggest we go out to eat next week. “I’ll take you to that new Italian place in Bobtail.”

  “That would be fun. Martha Jenkins said she didn’t think it was very good, but she’s particular about what she eats.”

  I have to give Loretta credit. She likes to experiment with new dishes when we go out. I’m more in line with Martha Jenkins. Give me a good steak and I’m satisfied.

  When I drive up, Slate McClusky is listening to Truly Bennett, his head cocked to one side, smiling, eyes on the ground near Bennett’s feet. He starts to nod, and when I park at the curb, I see him clap his hand on Bennett’s arm in a friendly gesture. Angel is nowhere to be seen.

  McClusky turns to me as I get close. “Bennett here was explaining to me how he found the backdoor open and went down to the station to alert you.” I’ve never seen McClusky dressed the way he is now. His jeans look like they’ve been dragged through the dirt, and there’s stubble on his chin. His eyes are sunken in as if he could use a good night’s sleep. But he’s still got that benign smile plastered on his face.

  “I was hoping Angel would come with you so she could see if anything is missing.”

  “She’s already inside. She was worried that somebody might’ve stolen her jewelry.”

  “I didn’t see anything disturbed when I looked around, but I wouldn’t have known what to look for.”

  Angel comes out the backdoor, looking flustered. “There’s nothing missing as far as I can tell, but I feel so violated that somebody has been in here. What do you suppose they wanted? Oh, wait! My gold records.” She runs back inside and we follow her and find her standing in front of them.

  “At least they didn’t take these. They’re about the last valuable thing I own.”

  “Honey, now settle down. You’re talking crazy.” McClusky tries to pat her shoulder, but she shies away.

  He turns to me. “Do you take fingerprints when you have a break-in?”

  “No, I’d be surprised if whoever did this has prints on file. I’d guess we’re looking at kids poking around for the hell of it.”

  “Kids!” Angel says. “How did they get in here?”

  “You saw the broken window at the backdoor? It’s never a good idea to have a window next to a door lock.”

  She stares at me. “My God, I never thought of that. Criminals are so sneaky.”

  “I’m glad I was able to get hold of you two,” I say. “I tried several times this morning. And I called the Marriott, too. They said you weren’t there.”

  “The Marriott?” She frowns. “Did Slate say we were staying at the Marriott? I’m so sorry. That’s where we usually stay, but Slate had some business to take care of and we needed to talk to a title company, so we stayed in Marble Falls.”

  “For future reference, where do you stay there?”

  “At a little Holiday Inn over there. It’s not the greatest place, but it’s co
nvenient.”

  She shoots a glance at McClusky, and for some reason I get the feeling she’s not telling the truth. Why would she lie? Why would it matter where they were last night?

  I don’t have many occasions to dress up, but Jenny roped me into escorting her to a formal affair in Bryan tonight to honor a judge who is retiring. “I have to put in an appearance, and I hate to walk in by myself,” she said when she invited me. “So I want you to figure out if you’ve got something decent to wear and go with me.” This was a month ago and I put it out of my mind, convinced the time would never really get here. But it has, and tonight is the night.

  After I talk to the McCluskys, I head home and go through my closet to find something to wear that won’t disgrace Jenny. She laid down the law when she invited me. “If you need me to go with you to buy something, then I’ll do it. I don’t want to. But I want even less to have an escort who looks like he’s picked through the ragbag for his clothes.”

  I have a more or less respectable suit that I wear to funerals around town, but in the back of my closet is a fine suit I haven’t worn in a long time. Jeanne picked it out for me when we went to a big museum event in Houston before she got sick. I put my foot down and refused to buy a tuxedo, but she said a good suit would do as well. She said it was “classic.” She teased me, saying, “In case you don’t know, that means it’s always more or less in style.” Not that I would know the difference, but now I’m glad I have it. I don’t want to embarrass Jenny in front of her peers.