“But he was everything to you.” I laid my hand on hers. “I’ll find out who killed him, Ruth. I promise.”
“You don’t need to on my account. This funeral today was more than I ever expected. I’ll be grateful for the remainder of my days.” She closed her eyes and rocked faster.
“I have another reason for wanting to know what happened to Ben. The police questioned me. Treated me like I might be involved.”
Ruth stopped rocking. “They’ve got half the pickets missing from their fence if they think you coulda had anything to do with Ben’s death.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I smiled.
She squeezed my hand.
“Did the sheriff take anything of Ben’s?” I asked.
“Nope. Nothin’ to take, that I know about.”
“And what about Cloris? Did Ben save anything that belonged to her?”
“Plenty of stuff. But Stanley didn’t even ask about her. He should have, though, shouldn’t he? Course, with Ben dead, he probably thinks nothin’ else matters.”
“Would you be upset if I looked through Cloris’s belongings?”
“Not at all, but since the trunks are stored overhead, I’ll be needin’ your help getting to them. Can’t much navigate a ladder these days, what with the arthritis.”
“You don’t need to navigate anything. Is there a space in your overhead attic for me to sit?”
“Small spot. Ben laid some plywood up there.”
I followed her inside to the hallway leading to the two back bedrooms. A cord hung from the ceiling, and I pulled down the attic ladder. Heat and dust whooshed out to greet me. Best time of day for this kind of work, I thought as I began the climb. The outside temperature had dropped below ninety.
“There’s a ceiling bulb. Just pull the string. Cloris’s trunks are black, if I remember right. While you start looking, I’ll be fetching you some water. Hotter than Hades up there.”
I turned on the light and found two footlockers within arm’s length. I settled cross-legged on the small wood platform and pulled the closest one to me. I opened the lid, and the smell of mothballs escaped around me. Neatly folded dresses and underwear, circa 1970, were piled to the top of the trunk. I began searching through the clothing—Cloris was apparently a small woman—but found nothing of interest except two miniature teddy bears that looked like they had never been touched, much less played with.
Before I could begin on the next trunk, Ruth appeared at the bottom of the stairs with the much-needed water. I was already sweating like a polar bear in Hawaii.
“Find anything?” she asked.
I climbed halfway down to retrieve the glass. “Not yet.” I gulped down half the water and turned to climb back up.
Ruth said, “I hear someone in the drive. Maybe a late caller coming to pay their respects. You be okay up there, Miss Abby?”
“I’ll be fine. You go on.”
I took the glass with me and had just dragged the second trunk over so I could look through the contents when I heard a voice I recognized. Sheriff Nemec.
I quickly opened the trunk, and this one proved far more interesting. I found several calendars, two photographs, and several sketchbooks. One photo showed a young woman standing by the gate to this house. The other picture was of Ben in an ill-fitting suit and the same woman in a simple white dress holding a bouquet of roses. I turned it over. Ben and Cloris had been penned on the back. I quickly switched my attention to the sketchbooks. Some of the colored-pencil drawings of birds and flowers were expertly detailed, stunningly realistic, but before I could examine these more closely, the sheriff interrupted me.
“You best come down from there, miss. HPD might be interested in what you’ve found.”
I turned and stared down at Nemec, who held his hat in his hand. “I believe Ruth would have given you the same chance at this stuff.”
“Might have, Miss Abby,” Ruth said. “But now I’m not so sure.”
I pushed the trunk away from the attic opening and descended the stairs.
“Nothing but some old clothes and toys anyway,” I said, brushing remnants of insulation off my linen skirt.
“Mind if I check myself?” He put a beefy hand on the stair railing and waved me aside.
Quickly I said, “Ruth, did he show you a warrant?”
“No, miss. Guess he needs one, huh?”
Nemec’s jaw tightened. “Ruth, I never had no argument with you. I’m only doing my job, just like when I went after Ben.”
“Then you do it proper and get that piece of paper,” she said.
“I was hoping you’d let bygones be bygones now that Ben’s dead and buried,” he said. “Before you took a shine to him, you and I had a few things in common, as I recall.”
“Are you thinking I forgot how you hounded Ben year after year? And you didn’t start with your tales of how he was going to hell until I turned your marriage proposal down. I take that kinda personal, Stanley.”
The sheriff frowned and stared at the thin carpet that ran the length of the hall. “I couldn’t believe you befriended a murderer. I kept telling you he done it. But I’ve been doing some thinking, and I may be willing to admit a mistake or two.” He shook his head. “Never could pin Cloris’s death on him. Been like trying to stack greased BBs all these years.”
“Did you ever think maybe you couldn’t pin the murder on him because he wasn’t guilty?” I asked.
He stared at me. “If he didn’t do it, then who the hell did?”
“Probably the same person who killed him,” I said. “Have you pondered that since you heard about Ben’s death, Stanley?”
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
“Perhaps you were wrong about Ben?” I coaxed.
He didn’t answer immediately, and the grandfather clock ticking in the front room seemed as loud as a skeet shoot.
Finally Nemec turned to Ruth and said, “I’m sorry. I guess that’s what I came over to say. When they laid Ben in the ground today—and this may sound strange—but I was mad! I wasted years blaming him when I should have given up. My chasing after him only made you cotton to him more.” He paused and then said, “You heard me. And what in the hell good does that do anyone?”
I was beginning to think this confession could definitely do me some good. “You could make things up to Ruth, if you’re truly sorry,” I said.
“How’s that?”
“Yes, Miss Abby,” said Ruth. “How’s that? I ain’t sure I can forgive and forget, even though the Lord says I should.”
“Finding out what really happened is what’s important, right? I want to know who murdered Ben. But the Houston Police Department won’t be cooperating with the likes of me. You know how they treated you on the phone, Ruth.”
“I sure do, but what’s this got to do with Stanley?” she said.
“The police have cooperated with you, Sheriff,” I said. “I’ll bet you know a lot about Ben’s murder, don’t you? You might even be privy to more information, if you asked.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I got a full plate here in Shade. I can’t be traipsin’ off to Houston huntin’ up killers.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll do the traipsing. All I need is a little more information about Ben’s case, and a peek at the evidence from your investigation into Cloris’s death.”
The sheriff shook his head and stared at his boots. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that.”
“Stanley,” Ruth piped in, “if you help Miss Abby—who’s been very kind to me—I’d be inclined to serve you supper every now and then.” She smiled slyly, even though I would have never thought she had a sly bone in her body.
“All right,” he replied reluctantly. “For you, Ruth. Because I respect you, not because of some old pot roast.” He pointed a stubby finger at me. “You follow me to my office, city girl.”
He marched toward the front of the house, waving his hat this way and that, mumbling to himself.
And I climbed back up the ladder to gather anything belonging to Cloris I thought might help me before I met up with the sheriff.