Chapter 19
“Joe, they must have been pulling your leg.”
“I assure you the whole thing was as serious as a heart attack. Although Spud was the most serious.”
“But they could never have expected you to drop your friendship with Tony. And they definitely could not have thought you’d go along with the nickname ‘Tater.’”
“They had some goofy idea about how each member of the gang was going to be some sort of a potato.”
“A potato? That’s stupid.”
“Well, they’d already had ‘Spud’ and ‘Chip.’ Why couldn’t they add ‘Tater’? Then ‘Frenchy,’ ‘Irish,’ and ‘Tot’?”
“Followed by ‘Wedge,’ ‘Baked,’ and ‘Mashed’? Come on, Joe! It had to be some sort of joke, and you didn’t fall for it!”
“I only hope you’re right. That would keep me from feeling like a complete fool.”
“Kids are foolish.”
“Maybe so. But I’m going to have to confess to Hogan and Hal.” Joe dropped his head between his hands. “I should have done that when ‘Tater’ first arose in that note they found with Spud’s body.”
“You can’t do it tonight. It’s nearly eleven, and I don’t think either of them wants to hear about it this late.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll call Hogan in the morning.” Joe gave a deep sigh and got to his feet. “I guess I’ll go to bed.”
I began to gather up the coffee cups. Poor Joe. It’s awful when a youthful indiscretion comes back to haunt us. It’s sure happened to me a few times. But I’m not revealing what happened or when it occurred.
I was just putting the final cup in the dishwasher when I heard Joe’s phone ring. I checked my watch. Now it was after eleven. Who could be calling?
Joe had left his phone in the living room, and all I could hear from him by then was running water in the other end of the house. I went into the living room and looked at the phone. Should I answer?
Of course, I should. I’m too curious not to. I was already picking up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hello. I’m calling Joe Woodyard.” The calm voice belonged to a woman.
“He’s unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?”
“I guess I need to start with an apology. He’s left several messages during the past couple of days, but I’ve been out of town, and I didn’t get them until I returned. Joe and I were in high school together. And I’ve been trying to sell him my parents’ house. This is Twyla McDonald.”
“Oh my gosh!” I dropped the phone, then picked it up. “Hang on! I’ll call him.”
As I headed through the kitchen and the back hall to reach the bathroom, I clutched the phone against my chest. And I yelled. “Joe! Joe!”
I reached the bathroom door ready to pound on it, but Joe threw it open. Toothpaste was dripping over his chin.
“Is the house on fire?”
“No! It’s Twyla. Twyla McDonald is on the phone.”
Joe grabbed a towel and mopped his chin. I managed to punch the speaker button before he took the phone.
“Twyla! Am I glad to hear from you!”
“Oh, Joe! I hope nothing’s gone wrong with the house sale!”
“Oh no. Everything’s fine on that front. Have you talked to Tad?”
“No, but he’s been leaving messages, too.”
“Has anyone told you about Spud?”
“I had a couple of obnoxious phone calls from Spud, but that was sometime back. Nothing lately.”
Joe quickly sketched the facts about Spud’s death. And for once someone acted normal upon hearing about the death of an old acquaintance. Twyla greeted the news with remarks such as “oh no” and “I can’t believe this.”
At the end of the tale, she gave a loud groan. “This is totally amazing, Joe. It doesn’t seem possible that anyone would actually get so mad at Spud that they would kill him.”
“It’s pretty surprising, Twyla. Of course, nobody knows why he was killed yet.”
“Oh! I see what you mean. It could have been for love, for money, for some reason other than general obnoxiousness.”
“True. Twyla, I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Sure.”
“The first question is, did your dad give Spud a right of first refusal letter on the house?”
“Spud said he did. He gave me a photocopy of it. Then I went through Dad’s desk and found a copy. But my lawyer, in Holland, looked at Dad’s copy. And he said the letter became void with Dad’s death.”
“Good. That clears up that possible problem. But I’ve got another question.”
“Shoot.”
“Funny you should say that. The second question is, did your parents keep a gun in their house?”
“Absolutely not! Why are you asking that?”
Joe briefly described the situation when Digger and I found the Peacemaker pistol in the basement. He did it without comment, and Twyla didn’t comment in her reply.
“No, Joe. Mom and Dad didn’t keep a pistol in the house.”
“You’re sure they didn’t get one after you left home?”
“Absolutely.”
Joe didn’t reply, standing there silently for long enough that Twyla spoke. “Joe? Are you there?”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out how that pistol got there.”
“I can’t solve that one. But I can assure you of one thing. That pistol wouldn’t have been owned by either of my parents or by Tad.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes. It’s in the family lore. When my mother’s brother—our uncle Frank—was ten years old, he found a pistol in our grandfather’s bureau drawer. He was just a little boy, Joe. He took it out to look at it.”
She took several deep breaths. “The pistol went off. Uncle Frank was killed. Since that time no one in my grandmother’s family has ever owned a pistol. It’s an absolute no-no.”
Joe assured Twyla that he certainly understood that reaction and that he would tell Hogan as much.
“Though Hogan will probably want to hear all these things himself,” he said. “He just asked me to track everybody down.”
“That’s fine,” Twyla said. “I’ll be glad to talk to him.”
They said good-bye after assuring each other that the house deal was still alive.
Joe immediately went to the bathroom sink and rinsed toothpaste out of his mouth.
I waited for him to finish, leaning on the doorframe. When he stood up, once more dried the toothpaste off his chin, and turned to look at me, I spoke.
“Interesting,” I said, “that the family has this universal revulsion at ownership of a pistol.”
“Understandable.”
“It certainly is. But I wonder how the family reacted when Tad, Twyla’s brother, put that revulsion behind him and became a professional soldier. I understand that they are required to learn to use pistols.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “For tonight I don’t give a darn,” he said. “I’ve got worrying to do. Tomorrow I need to tell Hogan and Hal about one of the most embarrassing things that I ever did.”
Joe didn’t talk a lot more about his “Tater” complex, but he was mighty quiet before breakfast the next morning. He didn’t look at all happy as he put the mysterious letter in his pocket and headed out the door.
I felt sorry about his embarrassment, but I felt certain that the friendship between Joe and Hogan would stand the strain. A little yelling, maybe. A complete split, unlikely.
So I was surprised when Joe came by my office at midmorning and reported that the interview had gone badly.
“Ouch!” I said. “So what did Hal have to say?”
“It seems I’m a lousy piece of something disgusting, and the murder of Spud Dirk would be solved already if I had admitted I was Tater when the name first came up.”
“But you weren’t Tater, Joe.”
“I don’t think Hal believes that.” A slight smile came over his face. “I think he was going to tell me to get a lawyer, but just in time he remembered that I am one.”
I smiled back. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor—completely.”
“It’s going fast. But once Hal had used up all his smart remarks, we had a long talk about the main problem the introduction of Tater into the situation brings up.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.”
“And what’s your conclusion?”
“The problem is, who knew you were Tater? That person is the one who wrote the two notes. Does it have to be one of the Sharks?”
“That would appear to be the case.”
“Maybe not, Joe. I’ve been giving the situation some thought, and there are other possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“Family members, among others. If you think about how curious a kid like Digger must have been, can you believe he didn’t spy on his older brother?”
Joe laughed. “No, I can’t. Digger would have been eavesdropping whenever Chip was on the phone.”
“Or a sister? Twyla? Or how about girls the Sharks dated? Or parents?”
“Teachers? Unlikely, but that’s another possibility. And I’m sure Hogan and Hal are thinking about this.”
Joe leaned forward and tapped on my desk. “But, Lee, Hal definitely thinks I’m the most likely suspect at this point. I think the only thing that stood between me and the third degree is the fact that I brought the letter in voluntarily.”
“Yes, that’s in your favor. But the real question is why? Why does the letter writer think he can scare you off simply by invoking the name ‘Tater’? And why is he so insistent that you stay out of the whole affair?”
I leaned forward. “What does the letter writer think you know?”