Rhodes was skeptical. “Did Elmer know you were visiting over there after he went to work?”
“Probably not,” Barrett said, quiet again. “We weren’t doin’ anything wrong, but he might not have understood that. There was no harm in him not knowing.”
Rhodes had several doubts about that, but he had another question to ask. “How about the night she was killed, Hod?”
“I swear to God, Sheriff, I had nothing to do with that! I’ve told you the truth. Surely you couldn’t believe that I. .”
“I’m not saying what I believe or don’t believe, Hod. What I want you to tell me is if you were over at the Clintons’ house the night she was killed.”
Barrett’s answer was interrupted by a voice calling from the main part of the store. “Hod! You better get out here. You got customers climbin’ the walls! Some of ‘em want to check out!”
Rhodes walked around the toilet tissue boxes and stuck his head out the storeroom door. “He’ll be out in just a minute, folks. Hod’s store got robbed the other night, and I have to conduct an investigation.”‘ He went back to where Barrett sat on the pineapple.
“Well, Hod?”
Barrett nodded wearily. “Yeah, Sheriff. Yeah. I was there.”
He’d gone over about twelve-thirty, maybe a little earlier, made the usual jokes with Jeanne about his insomnia (the reason he gave for being out walking so late; he’d never told the real one), had a soft drink, and walked back home.
“That’s all it was, Sheriff. That’s all it ever amounted to. We’d just talk, have a Coke, and I’d go home. I never laid a hand on her, never.”
“And your wife knew about-this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been sleeping in the spare bedroom for so long, I don’t even know if she was awake. She goes to bed and reads her Bible and turns off the light pretty early. I think she’s been asleep when I’ve left the house.”
Rhodes thought for a minute. “All right, Hod. You go on out there and wait on your customers. I haven’t got any reason to hold you now. Just don’t think about making any trips to Mexico in the near future.”
Barrett got up and started out of the storeroom. “I’m not going anywhere, Sheriff. But I didn’t kill Jeanne. And I didn’t rob my own store. You forget that there was more than one crime here in Thurston that night?”
“No, Hod, I haven’t forgotten. And if you’re thinking that there might be a connection between them, you may be thinking right. We’ll see. I may be slow, but I usually get the job done.”
Barrett had recovered some of his antagonism. “Save that for the campaign speeches,” he said. “I go by results, myself.”
So do I, thought Rhodes, so do I. I just wish I had some.
It was shortly after noon when Rhodes got back to Clearview, so he drove by his house for a sandwich and a glass of milk. Attached to the door of the refrigerator by a magnet that looked something like a pregnant ladybug with red wings and a black head was a note from Kathy, written in her precisely formed characters:
“Ivy Daniels called this morning before I left for school. She wants you to call her back when you get a chance. She didn’t leave any other message. Think she wants a date?”
There was a phone number at the end.
Rhodes smiled at his daughter’s question. It was hardly likely that Ivy Daniels wanted a date with him. She probably had a busy enough social life without having to look for men on her own.
He wondered what she did want, though. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened at Milsby last night.
Rhodes opened the refrigerator and got out a plastic jug of low-fat milk, a package of thin-sliced bologna, and a jar of Gulden’s mustard. He’d hoped for a slice of cheese, but there was none in the usual spot. Kathy had forgotten to buy it. He made a sandwich with whole wheat bread and poured a tall glass of the milk.
After he ate, he would call Ivy Daniels.
Chapter 6
After Ivy Daniels’s husband had died in an automobile accident in another state, she’d immediately found a job. The husband had been a salesman of farm implements, had earned a good salary, and had been well insured; but Ivy was not the type of woman to sit around the house and live off insurance payments. She had an active mind and wanted to feel useful, which was also why she was running for justice of the peace.
Finding a job had been easy. She had happened to remark to Stan Pence, the owner of the independent insurance agency who had handled her husband’s policies, that she would like to go to work. Pence, who had been looking for a second secretary, hired her virtually on the spot. Ivy had been working for Pence for three years, and he secretly hoped that she would lose her political race. He would have a very hard time finding someone to replace her, because her efficiency and quick intelligence had made her almost indispensable to his office.
The office was where Rhodes reached her after he finished his lunchtime sandwich. “My daughter left a note asking me to call,” he explained after the first secretary had put him through to Ivy.
“Yes,” she said. “I. . I don’t really know how to put this, Sheriff, but it’s related to what happened at the forum last night.”
There was a pause.
“Well,” Rhodes said, “sometimes it’s best just to come right out and say what’s on your mind.”
“That’s true, but since I called earlier, I’ve thought it over. It’s not something I’d like to discuss on the phone. “
What do you know? thought Rhodes. Maybe she does want a date after all. But he didn’t say it. “If that’s the case, maybe we could get together after you get off work,” he said, and stopped. He found himself almost embarrassed. It had been quite a while since he had talked to a woman about meeting him after work. In fact, he’d never done it. The idea of the date began to grow in his mind, and he found himself feeling more and more like an adolescent. He glanced down to make sure that he wasn’t digging his toe into the rug. Why should a simple conversation with Ivy Daniels affect him this way?
He ended the awkward silence by saying, somewhat to his surprise, “I could pick you up about seven. We could have dinner.”
“‘Why that’s a very nice idea, Sheriff,” Ivy Daniels said brightly. It was clear that she was a little surprised herself.
“Don’t dress up,” Rhodes said quickly. “I mean, don’t. .”
“I understand, Sheriff. A man in your position wouldn’t have time for anything fancy. “
“Uh, it’s not that. It’s, well, never mind. We’ll go to Jeoff’s. Is that all right?”
“That would be very nice. I’ll see you at seven, then.”
“Yes, seven,” Rhodes repeated and hung up the phone. He wondered what he might be getting himself into.
At the jail that afternoon, Hack had the report on the bloodstains on Billy Joe Byron’s shirt. “Type A,” he said. “Same type as Jeanne Clinton.”
“And Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked.
“Plain old type O, is what our records show.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rhodes said. He sat down in a rickety desk chair. There might be all kinds of good reasons why Billy Joe had type A blood on his shirt, or there might not. Could Billy Joe be a murderer? To Rhodes it just didn’t seem possible. Billy Joe might peep in a window, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“What do you think, Hack?” he asked.
“I ain’t the sheriff,” Hack said. “I don’t get paid enough to do any thinkin’.”
“Pretend you’re getting a bonus this year.”
“In that case, I might think that it just don’t seem possible that a harmless sort of a fella like Billy Joe could murder somebody like Jeanne Clinton. Seems like if somebody like her told him to go away and leave her alone, he’d just go away and not say another word.”