Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek Page 4

  Reinhardt comes out, locks up the building, and walks over to my pickup. “Let’s drive on over to Bobtail and get you sworn in.”

  It’s my turn to bring the wine to Jenny’s house for our weekly date. Since Jenny introduced me to the pleasure of good wine, I’ve joined a wine club and enjoy the selections they send me, although I stick with the reds. I take a nice California pinot noir and some salami over to her place, to go along with our usual fare of cheese and crackers.

  “Oh, Lord, what a week,” Jenny says. Her mass of red curls is loose for once and that makes her look younger. She has added a sweater to her customary after-work T-shirt and jeans and could be taken for a college student. She’s a big woman—not overweight—just tall and substantial. “I think there’s a good chance my client has been lying to me.”

  We usually sit at the kitchen table, but tonight I feel the need to prop my knee up. I’ve overdone it today, and the knee feels sore. I sit in her big, stuffed easy chair with a footstool, and she settles back on her leather sofa.

  We kick around her woes with her wayward client and then I fill her in on everything that happened this morning after Gary Dellmore’s body was discovered and the results of the afternoon meeting.

  She tells me the news of Dellmore’s death was all over the courthouse in Bobtail. “How does it feel to be chief again, knowing you have to face that investigation?”

  I know Jenny well enough that I trust her, but I’m not ready to admit to the way I really feel—past my prime and maybe biting off more than I can chew. I keep reminding myself that murder doesn’t happen all that often in a small town. But maybe I’m remembering the way things were in the past. In the last few years we’ve had quite a bit of mayhem. Greed, jealousy, and fear have always been around, but there seems to be more willingness to bring violence into the mix these days.

  There are twice as many people in the county now as there were when I was chief the first time. People have moved in from Houston, bought big pieces of land out on the far side of the lake, and set up some fine houses. And maybe they’ve brought some of their city ways with them.

  Jenny cups her ear and leans forward. “I’m not hearing words coming out. Or did you not hear the question?”

  I laugh. “I heard you. I’m not sure I can answer yet.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll rephrase my question. What’s your plan for figuring out who killed Gary Dellmore?”

  Jenny pours us both a little more wine and then sits back and props her feet on the coffee table.

  “Not much of a plan yet. Sort of playing it by ear. My first thought was that it was somebody who got bent out of shape at the meeting the other night. I’ll know more after I question everybody. I hope I can rule you out since you rode home with me. I suppose you didn’t walk back over there and kill him and steal his car.”

  “What do you mean ‘steal his car’?”

  I tell her about his missing car.

  “I can’t say I liked the man, but he and I didn’t cross paths enough for me to have a reason to kill him, and I have a perfectly good car of my own.” Jenny drives an SUV that’s a lot newer than mine.

  I’m only half-joking when I tell her Loretta’s suggestion that Gabe LoPresto shot Gary. “She said maybe Gary was sniffing around Gabe’s girlfriend. At first I made fun of her for jumping to conclusions, but I’ve had second thoughts.”

  “What second thoughts?”

  “Remember we overheard Dellmore arguing with someone after the meeting? I couldn’t hear clearly, but that voice could have been LoPresto’s.”

  “When have you ever known Gabe LoPresto to speak quietly? If it was him, he would’ve been talking as loud as Dellmore.”

  I reply with a grunt. I’m annoyed with myself for not paying more attention to my surroundings when we left the meeting. I should have noticed who was leaving when Jenny and I did—then I’d know who Dellmore was talking to. Of course, at the time I didn’t realize it would be important.

  “Come to think of it, I’m surprised you didn’t ask LoPresto to be on the committee,” Jenny says.

  “Even at his best, LoPresto can be pushy. I thought one person like that on the committee was enough. Besides, with LoPresto leaving his wife and taking up with Darla Rodriguez, I’m beginning to think he doesn’t have good sense.”

  “I’d be inclined to agree with you,” Jenny says.

  “Tell you the truth, I wouldn’t really have thought that Gabe would take up with a young girl like that. Or her with him. What she sees in LoPresto is beyond me.”

  Jenny laughs. “As I recall he struts himself around like a rooster.”

  “That would pretty much describe him.”

  “I don’t know Darla Rodriguez, but I’ll bet I can guess what attracts her to him. He owns that big construction company, and she may think he’s a good catch. Bottom line, she’s after his money.”

  “He does pretty well, but his wife, Sandy, has let it be known that if he divorces her for Darla, he’s going to walk away without a dime.”

  This sends Jenny into a fit of laughter. I can’t help laughing with her. “Why is that funny?” I say.

  “The idea of those two women fighting over Gabe LoPresto. Now if they’d been arguing over Gary Dellmore, I could see it.”

  “You and every other woman in town.”

  “So why didn’t Darla go after Dellmore? He’s got money, too.”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Or Slate McClusky? He’s the one with real money.”

  “You’d have to ask her all these subtle questions.”

  Jenny asks me for the specifics of what happened to bring Jarrett Creek to the edge of financial ruin. “I was surprised when Marietta Bryant told us how bad it was,” she says. “But she didn’t say why.”

  “It’s not hard to follow. Same thing that happened to a lot of small towns in the last few years. When the economy went bad, some businesses went under, people lost their jobs and couldn’t pay their mortgages, and they lost their houses, so the tax base contracted. Alton Coldwater thought he could attract some new business by renovating those streets downtown—and that cost money.”

  “It actually looks nice, though.”

  “Yes, and it has brought in a few new stores lately, but not in time to shore up the city’s finances.”

  “So that’s when somebody had the bright idea to build a water park out at the lake?” She shakes her head. “What a hare-brained scheme!”

  “You think so? Everybody was all excited about it at the time, but maybe that’s because Coldwater talked it up big.”

  “Seems to me somebody would have figured out that the town didn’t have the money to service the loan and keep paying its employees at the same time.”

  “Well, that’s all water under the bridge. We’re in trouble now, and it’s going to take a while to recover. I admire Rusty for trying to figure out a way to keep city services going with volunteers. I hope it works.”

  Before I know it, it’s late and I’m yawning. I get up and realize I’ve made a mistake that my doctor warned me against—I’ve been on my feet way too much today. My knee has swelled up, and it hurts to put weight on it.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Jenny says.

  I tell her my knee is flaring up.

  “You can stay here. It won’t be the first time.” I stayed at her place for several days after someone tried to burn down my house last year. She saw the flames and called the fire department before the fire could get too far, but not before my house was so smoked up that I couldn’t stay there for a while.

  I pick up my hat. “I’d better get on home, if you can lend me a hand. Tomorrow morning I’ve got a job to do.”

  It’s a good thing she’s got some heft to her, because I have to lean on her to get back to my house. She fetches me an icepack for the knee and I take a couple of pills for the swelling. When I lie down with my knee all trussed up, I feel pretty sorry for myself.

  “You’ve got so
me nerve coming over here gloating. I heard about that secret meeting where they decided you’d take over the police department. You’ve always wanted Rodell’s job. Now see how you like it. Nobody appreciates anything the chief of police does.”

  Rodell Skinner’s wife, Patty, hasn’t invited me in, so I’m standing on her porch, hat in hand. I’ve come here to see if she knows how long Rodell will be out of commission and to tell her I’ve been temporarily appointed to Rodell’s job. I was hoping to smooth things out with Rodell, but it’s not going quite as I’d planned.

  “Patty, I’m sorry I upset you. It’s a hard situation. The meeting wasn’t meant to be secret, but something had to be done—and it had to be done fast. The town is flat broke. A lot of people are being affected by this.”

  “That’s what you say. But you watch—Rusty Reinhardt will find the money to do what suits him. That’s the way government always works. They take hard-earned money from people who work for a living and use it for whatever suits them.”

  I don’t bother to tell her that the salary I’m getting is a token dollar a year. Finding that out would stir her up more. I don’t know what more I can do here. “Patty, my intention was to extend a hand to Rodell,” I say. “I’d appreciate knowing when he gets back from rehab.” I turn around, clapping my hat on my head. I’m barely two steps away before the door slams behind me.

  The way Rodell has always carried on, I don’t know why Patty is such a big defender of his. I suspect she’s so mad at him she can barely see straight and thinks if she doesn’t defend him everybody will guess how mad she is.

  Alan Dellmore’s house, one of the oldest and grandest in Jarrett Creek, has a sedate, comfortable feel to it, with rocking chairs on the wide porch and potted plants in the corners. The Dellmores both grew up in Jarrett Creek and are not inclined to put on airs.

  I raise my hand to knock on the door, but I hear loud voices inside—angry voices. I hesitate, not wanting to intrude on a family argument, but I remind myself that I’m no longer a private citizen. I’m the chief of police. I have to do the job even if I’m walking in on an embarrassing situation.

  Before I can knock, though, the front door opens and Barbara Dellmore shoves open the screen door. I dance backward to avoid her running into me.

  “Oh! You startled me. I’m just leaving.” Barbara’s face is flushed and her voice is sharp. She barrels past me and down the steps to her car.

  I don’t try to stop her, but I do wonder what has her so flustered. I hold the screen door open and call out, “Hello? Clara, Alan?”

  When Alan comes to the door, he’s a pitiful sight. His face looks like somebody has gouged furrows in it. His wrinkled corduroy pants and baggy sweater look like they’ve been slept in. “Come on back,” he says. “Clara and I are in the den.” I follow him inside and he shuffles in front of me like an old man. He’s several years older than me, but I wouldn’t have thought of him as old until today.

  The den is a big TV room with a picture window that draws my eyes out onto the bleak-looking backyard with its patchy stubs of dead grass and stark, bare trees. There are a few bushes along the back fence, but no garden.

  Clara is sitting on a plump sofa. She’s a small woman. I’ve known her since we were young. A few years older than me, she was a pretty girl with an unexpected deep dimple when she smiled. She’s not smiling now. Her face is gray, her eyes puffy, but she still manages to convey dignity.

  I lean down to take her hand and tell her and Alan how sorry I am about Gary. “I’m intruding, but I have to ask you some questions.”

  I explain that as of yesterday afternoon I’m acting chief of police. “It’s up to me to find out who did this to your son.”

  Alan starts to speak, but it comes out as a croak. He clears his throat before he starts again. “Thank you for coming. It’s been a terrible shock.”

  Clara gestures to an armchair. “Samuel, why don’t you take a seat. Can I get you something?”

  “No, no, you stay there. Don’t get up. I’m fine.” I sit down facing her.

  Dellmore lowers himself onto the sofa next to his wife. “What kind of questions do you have?” he says.

  “Let me get a little background. When did you last see Gary?”

  Clara puts a hand to her lips and closes her eyes. Alan answers. “I see Gary every day at work, and Clara saw him over the weekend. He stopped by.”

  “Did everything seem all right with him?”

  Alan hesitates but then nods. “Same as usual.” He glances at Clara. There’s something he’s reluctant to say, but I’ll get at it.

  “Do either of you know if Gary had a falling-out with anybody recently?”

  Clara draws a sharp breath. Dellmore takes her hand. He looks at me, his eyes full of pain. “You might as well hear it from me. Gary and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on things, and…” he pauses and swallows. “We had a fight last Friday, and then again Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him!” He hangs his head.

  Clara puts her other hand on his arm and squeezes. “You can’t blame yourself, Alan. People have arguments all the time. You can’t keep things to yourself for fear that somebody might…”

  Dellmore puts his hand up to stop her. “The problem was I flew off the handle and called him out right in front of everybody at the bank. I should have talked to him privately.”

  “What was the argument about?”

  Dellmore looks off in the corner and runs a hand over his mouth hard like he’s trying to wipe away the words he has to say. “Cookie Travers told me last week that Gary was paying one of the girls the wrong kind of attention. Flirting with her. Could be considered harassment, she said, and it needed to stop. Friday I confronted him.”

  “Who was the girl?”

  “A teller. New girl. Rusty Reinhardt’s daughter Jessica. She started working for us last summer, straight out of junior college. Nice girl, pretty. Made me mad that Gary would do such a thing. He’s a married man and everybody knows it! He was making of fool of himself, not to mention the girl and the people who saw what was going on and had to pretend they didn’t notice.” His voice grows more vehement the longer he talks.

  Clara has been sitting frozen, but she gives herself a little shake and says, “Now Alan, you’re going to get your blood pressure up. There’s no need to go over this again.”

  Dellmore lowers his head into his hands and shudders. “You’re right. But I hate to think…”

  “Stop,” she says firmly.

  I wonder what he was going to say—does he hate to think their argument was one of their last exchanges or that his son had flouted the rules? “You said it could be considered harassment. Did Jessica threaten to bring any charges or anything like that?”

  Dellmore manages a tired smile. “No, according to Cookie it was a mutual flirtation. Like I said, Jessica is young. I guess she didn’t realize how it looked. Cookie said she had to bring it up because people were starting to gossip. Apparently Jessica told Cookie that it was no big deal, that Gary was simply being friendly.”

  “You said you had another argument Tuesday?”

  Dellmore hits his knee with his fist. “Gary was right back at it. Tuesday morning I walked in, and there he was in her cubicle again like some teenager with hormone problems. I told him I wanted to talk to him in my office, he gave me some back talk, and it escalated from there.”

  Suddenly from the doorway, a woman’s voice says, “What’s going on? I thought you two were going to lie down for a while. We’ve got people coming into town once we make funeral arrangements. You’re going to need your strength.”

  A young woman who’s the image of Clara is standing in the doorway.

  Alan says, “Annalise, come on in here.” The girl walks a few steps into the room. “I don’t know if you remember Mr. Craddock. He’s been appointed temporary chief of police. He’s investigating your brother’s death. Samuel, this is our daughter, Annalise Whittier. She lives in San Antonio with her husband.
”

  Annalise strides over to me and shakes my hand. She has a more confident manner than Clara. “I remember your wife from the front office at school. She was always so nice. I was sorry to hear she passed away.”

  “Thank you. She did enjoy the students. I’m glad you remember her. And I’m sorry about your brother.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when Daddy called me. I still can’t believe it. As soon as I heard, I came home to help Mamma and Daddy.” With her brisk tone, she strikes me as the kind of person who will always take charge in a crisis.

  “Where’s Mikey?” Clara asks, rising from the sofa.

  “He’s having a snack in the kitchen.”

  “He shouldn’t be left alone when he’s eating,” Clara says, moving toward the door. “He might choke or fall out of his high chair.”

  “Mamma, he’s fine. He’s all strapped in, and you know how he likes to eat.”

  In the doorway, Clara pauses. “Samuel, do you need me for anything more?”

  “No, you go on and see about the baby. I’ll talk to Alan a few more minutes.”

  I ask Dellmore if there were any other incidents between him and his son, and he hesitates. “Not really incidents.”

  I wait. He’ll tell me.

  Dellmore studies his hands, gathering his thoughts. “You know, Gary didn’t plan to come back here and work for me. You may remember that Barbara’s daddy had a tractor/trailer business over in Bryan-College Station. When she and Gary got married, her daddy hired Gary to handle the financial side of things. Said he was grooming Gary to take over. But somewhere along the line, things took a downturn and the business went under. After that, Gary had trouble finding another job. He didn’t want to come back here, but I offered to hire him, and frankly I was surprised when he said yes. He never thought he was cut out to be a banker, and I’m afraid I have to agree.”

  “I was under the impression that your son was going to take over the bank when you retired.”