At the top of the hill, Rhodes stopped at Oma Coates’ house. He’d been thinking about his conversation with her concerning the night of Graham’s death, and he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that she had been holding out on him.
When he saw her, however, he forgot what he had been going to say.
She came to the door carrying a .12 gauge automatic shotgun. Her right forefinger was curled around the trigger, and the barrel was cradled in the crook of her left arm.
“Oh,” she said when she saw Rhodes. “It’s you.”
“It’s me, all right,” Rhodes said. “You don’t seem very glad to see me.”
She looked down at the gun. “This ain’t for you. You can come in if you want to.” She shouldered the gun, looking oddly military as she did so, and opened the door for Rhodes with her right hand.
Rhodes stepped inside and for the first time that morning got a good look at her.
She was still wearing the letter sweater, but the entire right side of her face was red and swollen.
“Appleby?” he said.
“Yep. But you don’t have to look so worried, Sheriff. He can’t hit me like that without gettin’ hit right back. No man can do that.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Rhodes looked at the shotgun. “What did you hit him with?”
Oma Coates smiled and looked at the shotgun. “You think I hit him with this?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh-uh.”
“Well, did you?”
“I would have, but I don’t generally carry a shotgun to meet visitors. That Appleby knocked early this mornin’, and when I opened the door, he jerked open the screen and hit me in the face. Didn’t say a word. Just hit me. Pretty good pop, let me tell you.”
“But you hit him back.”
“I said so, didn’t I? But I guess you could say I didn’t hit him, exactly. I kneed him, is more like it.”
“Kneed him?”
“Right in the family jewels. I wish you could’ve seen him backin’ up. He was suckin’ air, too. Looked like he’d swallowed a grapefruit.”
Rhodes smiled. He wished he could have seen it, too. “Did he leave after that?”
“Nope. He came right back at me, soon as he’d got his breath, but by then I’d locked the door and gone for the shotgun. He was rattlin’ the door when I got back, but when I showed him the shotgun he backed up faster than he did when I kneed him, even if he did have to walk a little crooked and bent over. He knew I’d use it.”
“You should have called my office,” Rhodes said.
“What for? I didn’t need any help.”
“I know you didn’t. But you still should have called. We could have arrested Appleby for assault.”
“Wouldn’t do no good. He’d be right back out on the streets in a day.”
Rhodes thought that like a lot of other people, Oma Coates watched too much television. There weren’t any streets to speak of in Obert. On the other hand, what she said was true enough in principle.
“People like Appleby don’t deserve to get away with anything,” Rhodes said. “If I pick him up, will you file charges?”
“Nope. He might file on me for kneein’ him. Might say I shot at him. Get him a good lawyer, he might keep me in and out of court for years.”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“Didn’t what?”
“Didn’t shoot him.”
“Nope. But I would’ve if he hadn’t left right fast. And I will if he comes back. How do you reckon that he knew his wife came here?”
Rhodes thought it was probably Twyla Faye who had told, maybe because she was afraid Appleby was going to start in on her if she didn’t, but he wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” he said. “You call if he comes back. Don’t shoot him. I want to talk to him.”
“Well, now’s your chance,” Oma Coates said. “If you can catch up with him.”
Outside the door a red pickup careened along the road down the hill, gravel spewing from beneath the tires.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Rhodes said. He jogged out the door and got into his car to follow Appleby.
Appleby was on the porch of his house, threatening his daughter, who was standing toe to toe with him.
“You little bitch. You oughta know better’n to let anybody get into that pasture. I’m gonna—”
Rhodes slammed the door of the county car and cut off Appleby’s words.
“You’re not going to do anything to anybody, Appleby,” he said.
Appleby whirled around. “You son of a bitch. This is all your fault. You come snoopin’ around here, and ever’body gets upset. My wife goes off and leaves, my boys are off hidin’ somewhere—”
Appleby clamped his mouth shut in a tight line. He was apparently tired of talking. He jumped off the porch and charged across the yard at Rhodes.
Rhodes didn’t think that even Oma Coates’ shotgun could slow Appleby down this time.
“Appleby!” Rhodes said, stepping forward and trying to get the man’s attention.
Appleby was not listening. He had concentrated all his rage and frustration on Rhodes.
Rhodes tried to step out of the way, but the mud slowed his feet, and he slipped. Appleby plowed into him, wrapping his arms around him and planting his Angels’ cap squarely in Rhodes’ midsection.
Rhodes went back and down, gasping and sliding through the mud on the seat of his pants. Chickens scattered out of the way, clucking loudly in surprise and protest, pin feathers flying. Appleby clung to Rhodes and continued to butt him in the stomach with his head.
Rhodes struggled to get his breath, wishing that he could knee Appleby right where Oma Coates had.
He couldn’t, however. Appleby had his legs pinned.
Rhodes jerked an arm free and swung at Appleby’s head. He succeeded only in knocking off the baseball cap, exposing the top of Appleby’s head, which was shiny, white, and bald. The hair that curled from under the cap was all on the sides of Appleby’s head, and it was all he had. There was nothing at all on top.
Appleby was now trying to butt Rhodes in the chin. Rhodes, still struggling for breath, took a handful of the side hair and jerked as hard as he could. None of it came out, but Appleby gave a satisfying yell and loosened his grip.
Rhodes jerked again and this time succeeded in pulling Appleby off and to the side.
Rhodes tried to stand, but Appleby grabbed his legs and pulled his feet out from under him. Rhodes fell again, this time landing full length on his back. The soft mud cushioned his fall, but Appleby, quick as a cat, straddled him and hit him twice in the face with his big hands. The back of Rhodes’ head whacked into the mud.
Rhodes could feel his pistol mashing into his back, but he could not reach it. Even if he could have, he wouldn’t have drawn it. The fight was silly and stupid, but Rhodes knew that it had to be finished the way it had begun. That was the only thing Appleby would understand.
He grabbed a wad of Appleby’s shirt and heaved him to the side, then rolled over to grapple with him.
Appleby tried to force Rhodes’ face into the mud, but Rhodes stiffened his neck and resisted. He got a hand on Appleby’s muddy face, turned it, and got his fingers in Appleby’s nostrils. It was an unpleasant hold, but an effective one. He pulled up, hard, and thought he felt something give.
Appleby yelled and let go of Rhodes. He tried to slither away through the mud, but Rhodes had his fingers hooked firmly in the nostrils.
He got up slowly, first kneeling in the mud, then rising to his feet, pulling Appleby up along with him, forcing his head back and down.
Appleby had his broad back to Rhodes now, and Rhodes slipped his free arm around Appleby’s neck.
“Now then, Appleby,” Rhodes said, breathing raggedly, “just calm down, and—”
Appleby planted his feet in the mud and pushed back. Rhodes fell again, Appleby on top of him, but he didn’t lose his grip. He yanked on the nose as hard as he could, trying his best to tear it off.
Appleby thrashed and screamed on top of him, but Rhodes kept his hold on Appleby’s neck and gave another strong yank. He felt the slickness of blood on his fingers. Or maybe it wasn’t blood. Maybe it was just mud.
“Arrrggggghhhh!” Appleby said, and then he went limp.
Rhodes waited a while before trying to get up. He wasn’t going to be fooled again. Appleby didn’t move.
“Need any help?”
Rhodes looked up. There was mud in his eyes and plastered to his face, but he could see well enough to recognize Dr. Slick and the assistants standing not far away.
“Now now,” Rhodes said. He shoved Appleby off and stood up, then pulled Appleby up as well. All of the fight was out of him now, and he stood with his head down. There were dark streaks of blood mixed with the mud on his face.
“How long have you three been standing there?” Rhodes asked Slick.
“We just got here,” Slick said. “We’d have come back sooner if you’d just told us there was going to be mud wrestling.”
“I hadn’t planned on it, to tell the truth,” Rhodes said. “Did you get what you came for?”
“Sure did. The calves cooperated a lot better than your friend here.”
“He’s not my friend,” Rhodes said, muscling Appleby toward the car. He stepped on something and looked down. It was Appleby’s cap. He decided to leave it there.
Appleby mumbled something that sounded like, “Ah’ahnt mah cap.”
Rhodes bent down and picked up the cap. They had rolled on top of it, and the bill was permanently cracked in the middle. There were mud and chicken droppings mashed into the felt, and the red A was almost covered with mud. Or something.
Rhodes put the cap on Appleby’s head, not trying to straighten it.
“Feel better now?” he said.
Appleby nodded, and Rhodes got him to the car, opened the back door, and helped him get inside.
“How long for that lab report?” he asked Slick.
“Maybe tomorrow if we can get the samples out on a bus this afternoon.”
“Good. You all can go on now. Give me a call when you get the results.”
“Right.” Slick and his partners got in the pickup. Slick leaned out the window. “Anytime you need any help subduing a suspect, just let us know. We’re available.”
Rhodes managed a grin. “Thanks. I will.”
They drove out of the yard, and Rhodes looked toward the porch. Twyla Faye was standing there.
“Have you had time to think about what I talked to you about earlier?” he said.
“I’ve thought about it some. Mama can come home, now, can’t she?”
“As long as I have your father, I guess so. But I still think she needs counseling.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” Twyla Faye said. “Maybe we’ll do it.”
“What about your brothers?” Rhodes said. “What’s this about them being off hiding somewhere?”
“They go off like that all the time,” Twyla Faye said, looking off toward the pasture, avoiding Rhodes’ gaze. “They’ll be back.”
“I want to talk to them, too,” Rhodes said. He didn’t think the twins would be afraid of their father. There had to be another reason they were avoiding the house.
“I’ll tell ’em,” Twyla Faye said.
Rhodes didn’t know whether to believe her or not.
He got in the car. Appleby was slumped in the back seat behind the mesh. He didn’t say anything when Rhodes looked back, and he didn’t say anything all the way back to Clearview.
Rhodes knew that he looked a sight. There was mud in his hair, mud on his face, and mud all over his clothes. There were other things, too, like little bits of straw and an occasional chicken’s pin feather. The only thing he had to be thankful for was that he hadn’t gotten stabbed by a piece of baling wire. There was no telling what kind of bacteria from the yard might have gotten into an open cut.
In spite of the way he looked, Rhodes really didn’t think Hack had any call to laugh so hard. Lawton came in, too, and they were both so tickled that Rhodes didn’t think they would be able to get Appleby booked.
“Assaultin’ an officer,” Hack said. “I can see that, all right. What did he assault you with? A compost pile, or a hog pen?”
Lawton, who didn’t get such a kick out of Hack’s wit as a general rule, seemed to think that was one of the funniest things he’d heard in years.
“Don’t get choked,” Hack warned him. “The sheriff might have to give you CPR, and Lord knows what-all he’s got on his clothes.”
Lawton thought that was funny, too, and he laughed even harder.
Appleby didn’t think any of it was funny. Mostly he whined about his nose and demanded a doctor.
“First thing you need’s a good shower,” Lawton said. “Come right on, Mr. Appleby. You’re gonna like our little jail.”
“You want me to call the doctor for him?” Hack said when Lawton had led Appleby off to his cell. “We don’t want to get ourselves sued again.”
“You can call the doctor,” Rhodes said. “What else has been happening today?”
Hack looked at him critically. “You right sure you want me to tell you? Right now, I mean. You look to me like you could use you a hot bath.”
“I’ll bathe later. What about it?”
Hack told him, but the day’s activities didn’t amount to much, unless you counted another incident at the Covered Wagon.
“Fran Newly again?” Rhodes said.
“Yep,” Hack said. “She went out to dump some trash, and sure enough—she’s done been mooned again.”
Rhodes didn’t think Fran had been mooned in the first place, technically speaking, so she couldn’t have been mooned again; but he didn’t try to explain that to Hack.
“Is she in the habit of going out there every morning?” he said.
“What’re you tryin’ to say? You tryin’ to say Fran went out there hopin’ to see that fella again? I’m disappointed in you, Sheriff.”
“Well, did she?”
Hack laughed. “Prob’ly did, truth to tell. Anyway, she saw ’im. He scooted off just as quick as he did the first time, though, or maybe quicker. You know how a fella can scat in them tennis shoes.”
Rhodes didn’t know. He hadn’t owned a pair of tennis shoes since childhood, and he hadn’t been able to run very fast in them even then.
“Have Buddy drive by there late tonight,” he told Hack. “See if he can make an arrest before morning.”
“Lordy,” Hack said. “You know what Buddy’s like. Sometimes I think he has the idea dogs and cats oughta wear clothes. You don’t think he’ll hurt the fella, do you?”
“He knows better than that,” Rhodes said. Buddy was a good deputy, even if he was a little prudish. “I’m going home and clean up. Phone me if you need me.”
“I’ll sure do that,” Hack said. Then before Rhodes got out the door, Hack called to him. “Hey, Sheriff, I was wonderin’ one thing.”
Rhodes turned back. “What?”
“Where do you reckon that nekkid fella spends the day?”
Rhodes opened the door and went out. He could hear Hack laughing as the door swung shut.