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REEBOK HAD JUST about finished the paperwork. There was always a lot of it when somebody got arrested. Especially if it was for murder. He’d looked through all those notes he’d stuffed in his pocket back in the Chief’s house, just to be sure there wasn’t anything on there that he had to remember. Nope. There wasn’t, so he ran them through the shredder. He’d completed the phone calls, one to the station in Madison where the bones were first reported, one to the state lab about the DNA report he hoped to get a copy of—whenever it was available. They’d refused, of course, so he’d called back to the officer who’d submitted the original request. And then there was the District Attorney’s office. Where he’d left a message.
It was going to take a while to figure out the jurisdiction questions. The victim lived in DeKalb County, but had been killed in Oconee County, and here was the murderer—alleged murderer—arrested in Keagan County.
"Can’t I get any food in here!"
He would have liked to ignore her request. Something about the way she’d made Miss Sadie cry like that really got to Reebok. He’d remembered, too, that Tricia Moody had had her hand on Miss Sadie’s doorknob the other night when Reebok went upstairs to get Reverend Pursey. He’d have to tell the Chief about that. Maybe it didn’t mean anything, but maybe, just maybe—Reebok pushed his shoulders back—he might have prevented something horrible from happening to Miss Sadie.
That was reason enough for him to ignore Tricia Moody’s whims.
He didn’t want to deal with an accusation of mistreatment, though. He stood and walked to the door that led back toward the three cells. So he wouldn’t have to shout.
"Tom Parkman’s bringing some food in about an hour." Tom and his restaurant had the contract for providing food to any prisoners. Not that they ever had any prisoners, but the town had luckily seen fit to provide for the possibility. About the only smart thing Hubbard Martin had ever done for the town. Reebok was glad about that. He’d hate to have to cook for that woman. Heck, he didn’t even cook for himself, but he’d have to learn how. Melody had told him she’d help him learn. After all, if they were going to get married, she’d expect him to hold up his half of the bargain.
They hadn’t told anybody yet about the engagement. He hadn’t even mentioned it to the Chief. Not until he and Melody could break it together to her parents. That was where she’d been all during this storm. He sure hoped she hadn’t gone ahead and mentioned it. Or even hinted about it.
No. Melody wouldn’t do that.
He looked at his watch. Melody’s folks lived up in Russell Gap, the only place in the valley that had cell service. He could call her on her mobile.
After a fairly long and thoroughly satisfying discussion—satisfying except that they weren’t face to face, which he would have preferred—Reebok hung up the phone and pulled out the evidence bag with Hubbard Martin’s wallet in it.
Why would a man insist on keeping his wallet in his pajamas? According to Mrs. Martin, he’d wanted it with him even after his accident, even when his mind wasn’t quite right. He opened the bag—he’d never gotten around to sealing it yet—and turned the wallet over and over checking all the contents, listing them—he should have done that right away when they first found the thing.
There was something familiar about the shape of the soft brown leather, almost like the wallet his grandpa had carried in his back pocket all those years ago. Grandpa had shown him once that there was a secret compartment, where he kept a picture of Grandma, taken one day when Reebok and his little sister were there at the old house. The three of them were cuddling on the sofa in the living room. Grandma always gave the best hugs. Reebok missed them. She always smelled like cookies and talcum powder. He was glad Grandpa wanted to keep that picture of the three of them kind of like a secret close to his heart. Only it was always about a foot lower down.
Idly, he turned Mr. Martin’s wallet on its side, bent it back right where Grandpa had taught him to bend Grandpa’s wallet, and watched in completely unexpected delight as the wallet opened its secret compartment to reveal a yellowed piece of paper.
He had to call the Chief about this. Let him know he had proof of the blackmailing that must have gone on for years. It was signed and dated. Obadiah Martin, Hubbard Martin’s grandfather, had been chair of the town council then. And here it was in black and white, just what Charlie’s great-grandmother had done.
Reebok couldn’t believe how stupid crooks were. Signed and dated, the list of her demands and the reason why she thought she could get away with it.
Well, she had gotten away with it, hadn’t she? For a long, long time.
Reebok almost felt sorry for the Martins.
~ ~ ~
I WAS DELIGHTED WHEN Ralph Peterson hollered up to tell us supper would start as soon as Tom got back from delivering food to the jail. After the candle mess, we hadn’t found anything else worth writing home about.
You are already home.
"Good." Ida said. "This’ll give us time for a bathroom break before we go down."
I headed for my bedroom. Bob was there when I walked in. I shut the door behind me and told him what Sadie had said about Tricia responding to the name Pat.
"It’s certainly suggestive, but it’s not really admissible. We should have enough valid evidence, but there’s no telling what will happen in a case like this. I imagine it’ll be a long time before it comes to trial."
"Will you have to hold her here—in Martinsville?"
"No. The jurisdiction isn’t completely clear, but once the roads have cleared up, she’ll go"—he spread his hands—"somewhere else. The DA will have to decide that."
"But you’ll be called to testify?"
"Most likely."
"Okay." I changed my tone. "In the meantime, I need to figure out where I’m going to put Clara and Matthew and Nick for the night. I have a general idea, but I’ll need more sheets."
"And Anita," he reminded me. "Don’t forget about her."
"She’s taken care of. She said she wants to sleep on the couch." I stepped closer to my wonderful husband and wrapped my arms around his waist. "I know a lot of couples don’t sleep together, but you’d think as cold as it still is, they’d want to keep warm. It’s going to take a while for all the beds to heat up now that the furnace is running."
Bob shook his head, rather sadly I thought. "She must know, then."
"Know what?"
He told me about what Reebok had found out.
I had to admit, my first thought was that I was really glad my dentist was in a totally different town. "That’s why Korsi put his paw on Nick’s foot," I said. "Korsi knows."
"Yep. It must be pretty bad for him to pick up on it that fast."
"No wonder she doesn’t want to sleep with him." I thought back to my short conversation with her. "She didn’t say they didn’t sleep together. She said they couldn’t."
He pulled his head back way from my hair. "Anita must be okay, though."
"Why do you say that? Because she isn’t sleeping with him?"
"No," he said. "Because Korsi ignored her."
He was right. Korsi had walked right past Anita to get to Nick.
"Hubbard’s the one who reported Nick to the state board. Somebody didn’t black out that part of the complaint, so Nick knew about it."
I could feel my eyes widen. "Motive for murder?"
"It looks like it. I need to call Garner and tell him about the cat," Bob said. "He can add that to his notes."
"Don’t you think he already would have written it down?"
"He might not know about how Korsi works. I don’t think he’s been sick even once since he took the job."
"I can just see you trying to convince the medical examiner that he’ll have to take extra precautions when he does Hubbard’s autopsy. Because a cat told us the suspect might have been infected."
"Those ME’s are always careful. They never know what they might run into."
~ ~ ~
SUPPER STARTED OUT peaceful, once Tom got back from delivering food to the jail. Bob walked in just as we were beginning to take our places, all of us effusive over the feast our chef had whipped up. "We shoulda had you cooking for us all along," Dave blared. He could have been one of those thunderous instruments in Silas’ rendition of the wedding on the trail. Maybe the snare drum?
I thought about defending Tom’s right to some privacy—and a bit of a vacation, too, but decided to wait and see what he had to say for himself. Glaze was the one who spoke up, though. "He’s had something else on his mind these past few days." The suggestiveness in her voice was enough to leave Dave momentarily speechless.
"Take that," Pat said as she leaned against her husband’s arm, but her voice wasn’t nearly as light-hearted as it usually was. She didn’t look as light-hearted either. Her face looked stretched, somehow. The lines around her eyes stood out. I really was not happy with electric lighting now that I’d gotten so used to the softness of candlelight.
"Tell us about this Tricia person." Nick reached across Anita to the platter in the middle of the table, and I couldn’t help but see that she scrunched back into her chair as if to be sure he didn’t actually touch her. Nick didn’t seem to notice. "Did she really murder somebody?"
Bob took the casserole dish Pat was handing him. "You know I can’t talk about an ongoing case, Nick."
"Just a few details," Nick said. "Like did you know she was guilty when you invited her here?"
I took the dish from Bob. "Leave it be, Nick. It’s nobody’s business," I said.
"It sure ought to be our business if we’ve been under the same roof with a murderer."
"What I don’t see," Ralph said, "is why she was blackmailing Clara." He leaned forward so he could look around Ida to where Clara sat pushing her food around on her plate. "Want to tell us?"
Clara didn’t say anything. After a moment, Rebecca Jo said, "It was all about the Martin line. Not really descending from Homer Martin."
Clara fussed some more with her fork. "It ... it seemed so important at the time."
Dave let out a derisive sound, and Clara glared at him. "You could have tried to talk him out of it," she said.
"Whaddya mean? I didn’t know anything about it."
"Of course you did. You said the money stuff was going to stop. You said you’d fix it."
"I never—"
"Yes you did! You stood right there outside the bedroom at Matthew’s and said you’d make the blackmail stop."
"No I—"
"Yes, you did! You said you were going to call your bank."
"That wasn’t about your stupid Martin line. It was about Cor—" He clamped his teeth shut so hard I could hear the clunk from across the table.
"Cor?" Nick asked. "Cor what? What was it about?"
"None of your business."
Nick lowered his chin. "You been hiding something, Dave?"
"I said it was none of your business."
I darted a quick look at Bob. I could tell he was tense, ready to move if necessary, but he seemed to be willing to see where this would go. I just hoped there wouldn’t be any broken crockery involved.
"You have been hiding something," Nick crowed. "Our great Dave Pontiac has a secret. I bet it’s a dirty one."
"You’re a great one to talk," Anita said, and Nick turned to glare at her.
"She’s right," Clara said. "Nick Foley. Always number one." She flared her eyebrows. "All your life you’ve always had to be number one. Except when Cornelius was alive. He was ten times better than you. He was ten times better than anybody."
"Corndog sure was better than Nick," Dave smirked.
"Corndog," Nick said. "Is that what you were about to say? It was about Corndog?"
Dave set his palms flat on the table. Bob pushed his chair back a foot or so. At the other end of the table, Tom did the same.
"This has nothing to do with Corndog!"
"Maybe you were the one who pushed him out of that tree."
"I was not. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to step on his hands."
"Then why’d you run away after you did it?"
"Nobody knew I was there!" Dave’s face was turning purple. "How’d you know I was there?"
"I ... Somebody said you were."
"I never told anybody, and Hubbard swore he never did." Dave’s voice lowered to a dangerous rumble. "You saw it, didn’t you? Corndog was still alive when I ran away."
"No he wasn’t!"
"He and I were supposed to meet you that day, but you didn’t show up. You came late. You were there. You saw it. You must have been the one who killed him." Dave launched himself across the table. "You dirty lousy scumbag! You killed my friend."
Bob and Tom got to them in time to prevent bloodshed, but the plates and cups were another matter altogether. My special mug with the red Dewey Decimal numbers was among the deceased. Boy, was I ticked off.
~ ~ ~
1952
NICK WAS SUPPOSED to meet Dave up on the corner, but his ma had held him up. "Clean your room or else."
He saw the whole thing. The three boys climbing up, Corndog crashing down, Hubbard shinnying down as fast as he could. From where Nick stood, tucked in behind a tree, Corndog looked like he was sleeping, only his head was twisted toward one side, and it looked like his leg might be broken.
"He lost his grip and fell," Nick heard Dave say. "That’s what happened."
"No! I saw you. I saw what you did."
Nick wondered what that could have been.
Dave grabbed Hubbard’s arm and yanked, hard. "He lost his grip, right?"
"No!"
Harder, harder, until Hubbard yelped. "Okay, okay. I gotta go get Mama. She can help him."
"Swear first."
Nick watched—and listened—as Hubbard swore it was an accident, really, it was.
Sure had looked like an accident to Nick. He wondered what all the fuss was about. Hubbard took off in one direction and Dave split off running in the other.
Nick looked around him. This early on a Saturday morning, nobody else was in sight. He lounged across the street and looked down at the boy sprawled on the ground. God, he hated Corndog. Always lording it over Nick. Always better in school. Always better with the girls. Always winning the games. Class president, while Nick had to settle for VP. He’d probably get all the scholarships, too, when that time came. Nick hated being in second place. Second place for everything.
Corndog’s neck was twisted funny. And his eyelids were fluttering. It looked disgusting. Nick reached down, grabbed Corndog’s hair in one hand and his ear in the other, and twisted. Hard.
The next year, Nick was elected class president. The year after that, he won all the scholarships.
~ ~ ~
WE HADN’T EVEN STARTED to pick up the broken plates and shattered mugs, to say nothing of the remains of Tom’s feast before Clara spoke up. "There’s one more thing," she said to the rest of us after Bob and Tom left to take Nick up to the jail. I was glad City Hall had gone through that remodeling job last year. It meant there were three cells available now. With one cell full of Tricia Moody, and now a second one for Nick Foley, Reebok was going to be busy with his watchdog duties. Before he left, Bob told me he’d be back fairly soon. He and Tom would wait until tomorrow to go back to the station to give their statements about what had just happened.
"It won’t be much of a honeymoon for Tom," I’d told him.
I brought my mind back to what Clara was saying.
"... don’t understand," she was saying, "why you said you’d stop Tricia from blackmailing us."
"I never said that," Dave insisted.
"But you knew about it."
Clara could be as determined as a bulldog when she wanted something. I sure hoped this wouldn’t devolve into another fistfight, but I doubted it would go that far. Dave wouldn’t hit a woman, would he? In the meantime, I wondered where it was leading. He sounded pretty truculent.
"No, I didn’t."
"You must have. You’re the one who mentioned blackmail."
"Only after you asked about it."
Clara looked at him like he’d said something fascinating. "No, I didn’t. I specifically made a point of not saying that word, because I wasn’t sure how much you knew about it."
"How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t know a thing about it."
"You’re lying."
"All I know is what Hubbard told me."
"My husband told you we’d been blackmailed?"
"Yeah. And all that stuff about new dresses."
New dresses? What was he talking about?
"New dresses?" Clara’s voice got louder with each syllable. "There’s only one time he said anything about new dresses. That was up on the path the night he—the night he fell."
I couldn’t help the thought. It popped right up out of nowhere. Did you shove him off the cliff, Clara?
She pointed a bony index finger at Dave. "You were there."
"Yeah, so what? I was there. I saw you push him off the cliff."
"You couldn’t have. I shoved him and he fell down, but we were back on the path when that happened, nowhere near the edge."
"So, he threw himself off the cliff after all that nasty stuff you shouted at him."
"He did not! He wouldn’t have done that!"
They were yelling so loud I had the feeling they’d forgotten the rest of us were in the room.
Bob’s mug was the next one to get broken.
~ ~ ~
SEPTEMBER 26, 2000
DAVE DIDN’T USUALLY walk on the path along the top of the cliffs, but this afternoon he felt like he needed some extra exercise. He’d been eating entirely too much of those hearty breakfasts Melissa always served. And too much each lunchtime at the Delicious, and too much at Tom’s restaurant every evening. This retirement living could be dangerous. He’d had to let his belt out an extra notch just this morning. Maybe he’d walk the mile down to Enders and back two times instead of just the one time he’d planned on.
He made it down and back in record time. When he turned around to head back for another round, he slowed down considerably. No sense in rushing it.
When he got to the cliff above Enders, he stopped for a while, catching his breath. One more mile back to Martinsville, and then it would be time to take Pat to Tom’s. Maybe tomorrow he’d try for three round trips. Six miles.
He wasn’t one to pay much attention to the scenery, but on the way back along the well-worn path, he noticed how luxuriant the kenaf crop was in the extensive field to his left. Surely it would be time to harvest the eight-foot-tall stalks pretty soon. He wondered what kind of money a crop like this brought in.
He’d gotten almost as far as the top of the narrow rocky path that led down from the cliff-top into the town when he heard somebody huffing and puffing up the steep incline, and saw Hubbard Martin’s distinctive thatchy hair come into view. Hubbard was the last person Dave wanted to see, so he stepped quickly into the enveloping cover of the kenaf. There was just enough space between the rows to give him room, but the leaves were thick enough to hide him.
He’d have to be sure not to move too much. Otherwise the leaves would rustle and give him away.
Hubbard paced for a while. Dave began to wonder if he was going to have to bite the bullet and walk past Hubbard, the bastard. But just as he readied himself to step out of his hiding place among the kenaf stalks, someone else came up the path.
"About time," Hubbard said.
Charlotte Ellis—Dave recognized her. He’d never spoken to her, but he’d seen her around town and Pat had told him who she was. She held out her hand and Hubbard handed over a thick envelope. "It makes sense to help those in need," Charlotte told Hubbard.
Then she just turned and walked away from him.
Dave risked a peek around the kenaf and saw her pause a few feet along the narrow path. A moment or two later, after Charlotte disappeared from view, Clara Martin stepped from behind a tree.
"Hubbard Martin! What is going on? Why were you sneaking around up here with that woman?"
Dave listened with glee as Hubbard explained what had been going on for the past three years. It was about time Hubbard got some of his own poison back.
"She’s been blackmailing you?" Clara sounded like she could hardly believe her ears. "Why did you ever agree to put up with that?"
"I did it for you. I know how much it means to you that I’m a direct descendant of Homer Martin. I’ve known that all along."
"But to pay blackmail? Is this why I haven’t been able to buy any new dresses for the past three years? The money’s been going to her?"
Dave sure hoped Pat never poured out so much scorn on his head. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it. Of course, if Pat ever did anything like that, he’d just divorce her.
He couldn’t see much of Hubbard’s face. Just the profile with that enormous nose of his sticking out. But the tone of his voice told how skeptical he was.
"You want me to stop, then? Okay. Tell you what, Clara. I’ll pull those fangs of hers. I’ll march into the council meeting next week and announce that I’m not a descendant of Homer Martin. Neither was my father or his father or anybody else back up the line. We’re all descended from Sayrle Endicott."
"You wouldn’t dare."
"I wouldn’t? Just try me. Once everybody knows, she won’t have any sort of hold over me, and then you’ll have your precious money." He stopped and seemed to put some effort into collecting himself. "I did it for you. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you, only you’re never happy."
Dave watched in fascination as Clara clenched her fists. "You did it for me? So I can trail around in dresses that are three years old? Well, let me just ask you this. What’s going to happen to me if everybody knows you’re not really a Martin? How will I ever hold my head up in public?"
"At least your dresses will be up-to-date."
"Cornelius was five times the man you are. I wish you’d been the one to die, instead of him."
Dave watched in disbelief as Clara struck out at Hubbard, so hard that he stumbled backward and ended up flat on the ground. She stalked off between the trees that marked the downward path.
Dave waited until he was sure she wasn’t going to come back. He stepped out into the open.
"You’ve been using the money I send you each month to pay that Ellis girl?"
Hubbard started and hauled himself to his feet. "What’s it to you?"
"So you’re not a Martin, huh?"
"None of your business."
"I’m through with this blackmail," Dave said. "You’re not getting any more money from me. You can’t prove anything about what happened to Corndog. It’ll be your word against mine."
"I’m the town chairman. They’ll believe me."
"And if they do, then I’ll expose the way you’ve been blackmailing me. Why do you think I set up that automatic deposit each month into your account? I’ve got the bank records going all the way back to February 1979 when you first called me. Every one of them shows the blood money I’ve been paying you."
"You wouldn’t dare! You’re a dirty rotten murderer, Dave. You killed my brother. He wasn’t dead yet when I ran to get Mama. You killed him, you lousy—"
Hubbard lunged at Dave, who simply stepped aside. As Hubbard barreled past, Dave aimed a vicious kick at Hubbard’s back side. Hubbard teetered on the edge of the cliff for just a moment before toppling off into the void.
"I should have done that twenty years ago." Dave didn’t even bother to look over the edge. No sense taking the risk of anyone seeing him. He walked all the way back toward Enders, just in case anybody else might be headed up the path. He stood for a few minutes overlooking the town with its wide lake, turned around, walked back past the kenaf fields, and down the rocky path. Once he got to Azalea House, he changed his clothes and took Pat out to dinner. He planned to eat a lot. All that exercise—six full miles—had worked up his appetite.
~ ~ ~
AS SOON AS BOB AND Tom returned, they got to arrest Dave Pontiac for aggravated assault on Clara and Hubbard both. It was only dumb luck that Hubbard hadn’t died when Dave pushed him over the cliff. There went the third cell. Clara was stretched out on the couch, having her bruises and her bloody nose attended to by Doc. Anita was a driveling mess. Glaze looked like she was in shock. Carol’s braid was askew from when she’d grabbed Dave’s shoulder to pull him off Clara. The poor woman had obviously gotten more of a sabbatical than she’d expected. And I? I picked up Marmalade and hugged her so hard I was halfway afraid I’d crack one of her little ribs.
You would not hurt me. Even all this sad water will dry eventually.
Was Clara right? Had Dave been the one to shove Hubbard off the cliff? It sure sounded like it from what Dave had been shouting at her, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could remember all the details of who said what and when. Bob was going to have a devil of a time sorting all this out. At least there were a lot of witnesses. Maybe between the lot of us we’d piece together everything that was said. Shouted.
I wiped my tears as best I could, set down Marmalade, and went into the kitchen to try to clean up the mess.
Glaze joined me, soon followed by Sadie, Rebecca Jo, Melissa, Ida, Henry, and Father John. Ralph came in to help, too, which surprised me completely. The others were probably still sprawled on various chairs in the living room.
~ ~ ~
REEBOK SPENT HOURS completing what he knew would be only the start of all the documentation. He’d taken statements from the Chief and from Tom, noting down everything that they could remember of the arguments, not only what everyone had said about this one between Dave and Clara, but the earlier one with Dave and Nick.
"You can do this tomorrow, Chief," Reebok had told him, but the Chief insisted, saying he wanted to get it all out before his memory started blurring the details.
"Fine. You’re the boss." Reebok knew he’d have to interview everybody else who was there. Tomorrow. He’d tackle that tomorrow.
Tom went first and Reebok took tons of notes. He didn’t trust that little recorder thing. What if it failed? He didn’t want any holdups on this, but he really felt like he needed some sleep. He had to concentrate extra hard on his notebook.
The Chief finally finished. It was completely dark outside by then.
"I’ll be back tomorrow, Garner. We have a lot to do." On his way out the door, the Chief looked back at him. "Well done."
Reebok figured he could keep going for a couple more hours at least.