It took a while to get things straightened out after that.
Miz McGee, who was cold even in the warmth of spring, stood there looking as if she were dressed for an Arctic expedition, her upper body swathed in a thick black wool sweater, a red knit cap pulled down over her white hair. She seemed to have no idea at all about what was going on, and she stared around looking for Hack.
Hack, when he saw that Miz McGee was completely bewildered, came out of his chair and climbed over two cameramen and a reporter to get to her.
Stanley had his hand on Miz McGee’s arm. Hack grabbed Stanley’s hand and pulled it away, flinging it at the librarian and causing him to hit himself lightly in the face with his own hand.
“I’ll make you think First Amendment,” Hack said. “You leave Miz McGee alone.”
Stanley made as if to take a swing at Hack, but there really wasn’t room, and by that time Lawton had arrived. He grabbed Stanley’s arm and twisted it up behind his back.
“You need to calm down,” Lawton said, trying to back Stanley away from Miz McGee and Hack.
Rhodes was watching helplessly, hemmed in by all the bodies. No one was facing him now; all he could see were backs as everyone frantically tried to focus on the sudden and unexpected activity. No one knew what was going on, but that didn’t stop them. After all, it might be news.
Rhodes opened the middle drawer of his desk and fished around inside until he found what he was looking for. He hadn’t seen it for a long time, but he thought it would be there.
It was a silver-plated police whistle that someone had given him as a joke years ago. He had carried it on a chain for a few months, but never having had an opportunity to use it, he had tossed it in the drawer, where it had lain waiting for just this moment. The chain still hung from its silver-plated loop.
Rhodes put the whistle in his lips and blew.
The shrill blast pierced the hubbub in the office and created an instant of sudden silence.
“I want everyone from the news media out of here right now,” Rhodes said. “We have some business to conduct.”
There was a babble of noise. Rhodes picked out some words that sounded like, “Now who’s violating the First Amendment?”
The words didn’t bother him. He blew the whistle again.
“All of you are interfering with a sheriff’s department investigation,” he said when silence descended. “If there’s a story here, you can have it later; but if you’re not out of here in five minutes, I’m going to have to arrest every one of you.”
The yammering started up again.
“He can’t do that, can he?”
“I don’t know, but he looks like he might try.”
“We might go, but we’re sure as hell coming back.”
“Damn right.”
Cameramen began backing out the door, mike cables slithered across the floor, reporters looked around for one last chance to ask a question and found no one willing to talk.
The office was cleared in less than the allotted time.
“Now,” Rhodes put his whistle back in the drawer and turned to Stanley. “What’s this all about?”
Lawton had released Stanley’s arm, but he was still standing by the librarian and keeping a close eye on him. Stanley edged away from Lawton now that there was room to do so and glared at Miz McGee, whom Hack had taken to his desk and seated in his chair. She still did not seem to have any idea of exactly what was going on, but she was watching Stanley with bright eyes as if she wouldn’t be surprised at anything he did.
“That woman is the guilty party,” Stanley said. “She’s the one who defaced the books.”
“Is that right, Miz McGee?” Rhodes said.
“I don’t know what he means,” Miz McGee said. She looked up at Hack. “What’s he talkin’ about, Hack?”
“Maybe you’d better tell us the whole story, Mr. Stanley,” Rhodes said.
It didn’t take long. Miz McGee was a well-known library patron, being partial to the works of Barbara Cartland, most of which were available on the library’s paperback racks rather than on the shelves of hardback books. Miz McGee regularly took home five or six of the Cartland novels, and when she had returned her most recent selection of books to the library that afternoon, Stanley’s vigilance committee inspected them.
“And here’s the evidence,” Stanley said. He whipped a book from his back pocket and flourished it triumphantly.
Rhodes took the book from him and examined it. It was a Western novel by Justin Ladd, part of a series devoted to the Kansas town of Abilene. The title of this one was The Cattle Baron.
“Look at page one forty-nine,” Stanley said.
Rhodes put on his glasses, opened the book, located the correct page, and ran his finger down it to the following sentence: “‘ ,’ one puncher muttered.”
“You see?” Stanley said. “The first word in the sentence had been whited-out.”
“Did you do this, Miz McGee?” Rhodes said, walking over and showing her the book.
She looked at it and then back up at Rhodes. She shook her head. “I never did anything like that, Sheriff. I don’t even read shoot-em-ups. I must’ve picked it up by mistake someway or other. I guess maybe somebody got it mixed in with the Barbara Cartland books.”
“Don’t let her get away with that, Sheriff,” Stanley said. “She must have done it.”
“Why?” Rhodes said, closing the book and giving it back to Stanley. “When did she check it out?”
“I, uh,… “ Stanley stopped and thought about it.
“It was four days ago,” Miz McGee said. “I remember because it was right at the start of the Easter spell. I always like to have a few good books to read while the Easter spell’s blowin’.”
“That was before you started to check the books you had on hand to see if they were already marked,” Rhodes told Stanley. “You didn’t start that until today, remember?”
“I, uh, may have been somewhat overzealous, actually,” Stanley said.
“Somewhat my foot,” Hack said. “I think we oughta lock him up for false arrest.”
“I didn’t actually arrest anyone,” Stanley said, looking worried. “I just brought her here to the jail. I was hoping you’d arrest her.”
“Same thing,” Hack said. “How about harassment or somethin’, Sheriff? There oughta be some way an innocent woman can protect herself against gettin’ hauled down to the jail by a crazy man.”
Stanley drew himself up straight. “I am not a crazy man,” he said.
“Maybe not,” Lawton said, “but you sure was actin’ like one.”
“I’m sorry,” Stanley said. “I really am. I apologize to Miz McGee. It’s just that I was so upset by this matter that I let myself get carried away. I promise that it won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” Hack said, looking at Rhodes. “Ain’t that right, Sheriff?”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” Rhodes said. “You can’t be dragging in everyone who reads a book. I know you’re upset, but try doing what I said before you get so enthusiastic about dragging people to the jail.”
“I will,” Stanley said. “Can I go now?”
“You can go,” Rhodes said. “What about you, Miz McGee? You want him to take you back to the library?”
Miz McGee shook her head.
“She sure don’t,” Hack said. “I’ll see that she gets home all right. We might want to go out for a bite to eat later, anyhow.”
That was good enough for Stanley, who seemed relieved that he wouldn’t have to face Miz McGee alone. He took the book from Rhodes and left hastily.
Before the door closed behind Stanley, Rhodes looked out and saw that the crowd of reporters had thinned noticeably.
“Too late in the afternoon,” Lawton said when Rhodes remarked on the reduced numbers. “They got to get back to Waco and Dallas and Houston and all like that to do their stories on the air. Won’t be able to make it by six-thirty as it is, not if they go out to Obert and get some shots of the college. They’ll have to go some even to get their stuff on the air at ten.”
“Red Rogers is still out there, though,” Rhodes said. “He doesn’t have to worry about things like that.”
“If those reporters can stir things up enough,” Hack said, “we’ll be havin’ us a visit from the Texas Rangers.”
Rhodes nodded. He didn’t want that to happen. He liked to be in control of his own investigations, and if the Rangers came in, he would have to give the case over to them. Later, if he found that he needed help, he could call the Rangers, but he would like for it to be his own choice.
“Why would the Rangers be coming here, and who were all those people?” Miz McGee said. She had not heard about Graham’s death, living out of town as she did. Hack told her about Graham and about Rhodes and Brame finding the body.
“My land,” she said. “Was he murdered?”
“We don’t know yet,” Hack said. He knew, of course, but he wasn’t sure whether he should tell Miz McGee. “Do we, Sheriff?”
“Not for publication,” Rhodes said, just as Red Rogers opened the door and came back in.
“I see that all the department business is over,” Rogers said. “So tell us, Sheriff, how soon can we expect an arrest in the Graham murder?”
“I didn’t say it was murder,” Rhodes reminded him.
“You didn’t say it wasn’t, either,” Rogers said. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid.
“We’ll keep on investigating,” Rhodes said. “You’ll be the first to hear if we find out anything.”
“I know,” Rogers said. “Everyone else has left.”
Rhodes was glad to hear it. He had enough to worry about without reporters dogging his footsteps. Rogers alone was bad enough.
Knowing that he wasn’t going to get any more information, Rogers left, too, just before the phone rang. Hack answered it, and then Rhodes had even more to worry about. It was Oma Coates, and she wanted Rhodes to come out to her house. There was someone there who wanted to talk to him.
“Ask her who it is,” Rhodes told Hack.
Hack asked, but Miz Coates wouldn’t say. “She just says to come on out there. And to bring your woman deputy.”
“Where’s Ruth?” Rhodes said.
“There was some trouble between two fellas about a dog poisoning in Milsby. She’s over there tryin’ to get it straightened out before they beat each other up.”
Rhodes looked at the clock over his desk. It was four-thirty. “I’ll take Ivy,” he said. “If she’ll volunteer.”
Ivy had not started supper, so she didn’t mind driving out to Obert with Rhodes. On the way, he told her about his conclusions in Graham’s death and about the stolen cattle. He told her about Marty Wallace and Mitch Rolingson as well, though he did not mention Marty’s looks.
“It sounds like you’ve had a busy day,” she said as they swung around the wide curve up Obert’s hill. She looked out the car window. “Look at the bluebonnets. There are some primroses, too.”
Buttercups, Rhodes thought automatically. But he didn’t say it.
Oma Coates met them at her front door, still wearing her letter sweater. She looked closely at Ivy.
“She ain’t the deputy,” she said.
“No,” Rhodes admitted. “She’s my wife. But she’s worked with me before. You can talk in front of her.”
“It’s not me that has somethin’ to say. Y’all better come on in, I guess.”
They went into the living room, which had a slickly waxed hardwood floor. There was a brownish-gold sofa, and a coffee table sat in front of it on a throw rug. There was a Lane recliner near the sofa, facing an old RCA color television set, not turned on. There was also a rocking chair, and that’s where the woman was sitting.
It was late afternoon. There wasn’t much light in the room, and Rhodes couldn’t see the woman’s face very well, but he didn’t think he knew her.
“This here’s Leona Appleby,” Oma Coates said.
Leona Appleby looked at Rhodes and Ivy silently.
Oma Coates stood there for a second and then flipped a wall switch. The overhead light came on, and Rhodes could see Leona Appleby’s face better. He didn’t like what he saw.
Her left eye was swollen nearly shut, and there was a large purple bruise around it. Her lips were swollen, too, and the bottom one was split open. A dark reddish-brown scab had formed on it.
Ivy went over to the woman and knelt down, putting her arm around her shoulder. “Who did this to you?” she said.
The woman remained silent.
“Says it was her husband,” Oma Coates said after a few seconds had gone by. “Says it’s not the first time.”
Not feeling well, Rhodes thought. That’s what the daughter had said. Not feeling well.
“You can talk to us,” Ivy said. “We won’t let anything else happen to you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You ain’t got to live with the man,” Oma Coates said.
“She doesn’t have to either,” Ivy said.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Oma Coates said, shaking her head. “Where’s she gonna go, then? You gonna take her in?”
Ivy looked up. “Yes,” she said.
They took her to Ivy’s house, which had a “For Sale by Owner” sign in the front yard. They had hoped to sell it before now, but the real estate market in Clearview was not exactly on the boom.
“No one will bother you here,” Ivy said as she showed Leona Appleby around the house. She pointed out where the towels were and apologized that she had taken the best ones with her when she moved.
She also apologized for the fact that there was no food in the house. “We’ll bring you some, though,” she said.
“I wish you wouldn’t go to the trouble.” Leona Appleby’s voice was soft and subdued.
“It’s no trouble,” Rhodes said. The whole situation made him uncomfortable, as similar situations had in the past. He could never quite make himself understand why the women who were abused by their husbands didn’t simply leave the situation. Just get up and go. He said as much to Leona Appleby, who looked at the floor and said nothing.
Ivy told Rhodes that he should know better by now. “Women in that situation can’t get away,” she said. “It’s not as easy as you men seem to think.”
Leona Appleby certainly agreed. “He watched me all the time, and he told me that if I ran, he’d get me. Sooner or later, he’d get me. And when he did, he’d do a lot worse than this.” She reached up and touched the tender side of her face with her hand.
Rhodes shook his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen it before. He had, too often. But how anyone could beat another human being for absolutely no discernable reason was almost beyond his understanding.
“I’m not going to press charges,” Leona Appleby said. “it was just that he hurt me so bad this time, I had to get away for a while. If I go back of my own free will, he won’t hurt me for leaving. And I have to go back in a day or two. If I don’t, he’ll start in on Twyla Faye.”
Rhodes clenched his fists. “Has he ever done that before?”
“Once, just once. He didn’t mean to.”
“Yes he did,” Ivy said. “And he’ll do it again.”
“No,” Leona Appleby said. “He promised. He won’t do it again.”
Ivy looked at Rhodes. They both knew rationalization when they heard it.
“Can’t you bring him in just on the basis of what we’ve seen here?” Ivy said.
“I could, if I could find him, but it wouldn’t do any good,” Rhodes said. “Not if his wife won’t testify against him. He’d be out tomorrow, and he’d be mad as a wet hen. It might just make things worse.”
Leona Appleby didn’t say anything, but Rhodes could tell by looking at her downcast eyes that she agreed with him.
“What about those cows?” Rhodes said. If he couldn’t get her to press charges for abuse, he could put Appleby away for something else.
“What cows?” she said.
“The new ones, the ten new ones,” Rhodes said.
“He told me he bought those,” Leona said.
Rhodes looked at the wall, then at the floor. He wanted to hit something himself. Or someone. Preferably Cy Appleby. He wondered if that made him as bad as Appleby. Maybe it did, but right then he didn’t care.
“I’m going to the store,” he said. “Anything you need especially?”
Leona Appleby shook her head, not looking at him. “I wish y’all wouldn’t go to all this trouble,” she said.
“It’s no trouble,” Ivy said. She turned to Rhodes. “Don’t get bologna and Dr Pepper. Get some ground meat and some chicken. Some bread and milk.”
Rhodes left, feeling calmer. He rarely allowed himself to get personally involved in official business, though he had always cared about the people involved, but this time his objectivity was in real danger. There had to be some way to get Appleby, and he was going to find it. He told himself that he was going to find it soon.
It was Ivy, however, who came up with the idea.
“I was reading in the paper about a rape case in Houston,” she said as they were driving back home, having made Leona Appleby as comfortable as they could. “They can take the blood or semen samples and prove it came from a particular person, and they can prove paternity by DNA testing. Could you do that with calves?”
Rhodes didn’t know. “You mean do some kind of DNA testing on the stolen calves to see if they came from Appleby’s bull or Adkins’ bull?” He thought about it. It seemed logical enough. “I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. I’ll try to find out tomorrow. Did I ever mention that you were probably a lot smarter than I am?”
“Nope,” Ivy said. “But now that you bring it up, I can ride a motorcycle better than you, too.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Rhodes said. “Where do you want to eat tonight?”
“Tired of meatloaf?”
“No. I just thought you might like to eat out.”
“How about the Dairy Queen? They have those Blizzards on sale for ninety-nine cents.”
Rhodes thought about his waistline for about a tenth of a second. Then he thought about how a Heath Bar Blizzard would taste. “Sounds good to me,” he said.