Countdown (18 page)

Yeah, I know. Probably not.

So why did Drew kill Darrell? Why do people kill? Love or money, the two biggies. Darrell had a double-wide with a mortgage, a ten-year-old pick-up truck and part ownership in his sister Marge’s dead husband’s car repair shop. I figured they’d done an OK business these last couple of years as a lot of high-end cars had gone missing in the county and the Blantonville Car Repair had had its lights burning way into the night. It’s just a theory I hadn’t yet been able to prove. But even if it was true, seven Blanton cousins owned the place so how much money would the newest partner be entitled to? I just wasn’t sure how liquid Darrell’s assets might be at a given moment.

That left love. OK, I thought. Darrell said Joynell had been messing around on him – that’s why he killed her. Who was she messing with? Drew Gleeson? Could be, I thought. Why not? Drew was a good-looking dude, a hell of a lot more interesting in looks, personality and potential than Darrell Blanton. But how did Darrell find out Joynell was doing the dirty on him? Did he know it was with Drew? So why didn’t he shoot Drew instead of his wife? Because he was a Blanton, and Blantons didn’t hold much stock in their womenfolk. And, I figured, Darrell was apt to figure killing Joynell, a tiny woman who was already kowtowed by her husband, would be a hell of a lot easier than killing a big old guy like Drew.

Well, that settled it, I thought. Pretty damn obvious: Drew Gleeson and Joynell Blanton were having an affair; Darrell found out and shot his wife. When Drew found out Darrell shot Joynell he went back in the cells and used that digitalis stuff to kill Darrell.

I called Emmett into my office and explained all this to him in vivid detail. ‘Hum,’ he said.

‘Hum hell!’ I said back. ‘That’s what happened!’

‘And you’re going to prove this how?’ Emmett asked.

I blustered for a minute, then said, ‘We’ll check that bag the EMT guys carry and see how much digitalis is gone. Then we’ll canvas Blantonville and the hospital to see if anyone knew they were having an affair.’

‘Why the hospital?’ Emmett asked.

The man is getting stupid in his old age, I swear to God. ‘Because,’ I said, slowly and succinctly like I was talking to Johnny Mac when he was four years old, ‘Drew works for the hospital. He and Joynell had to meet somewhere, right? Why not the hospital? She was visiting a relative, or maybe she was a patient in the ER. God knows I wouldn’t put it past Darrell Blanton to have roughed up his wife.’ I smiled. ‘Hell, maybe he beat her up bad one time and the ambulance had to come out. I can just see it,’ I said, my mind conjuring up the scene. ‘Pretty little Joynell, all beat to hell, lying in a pool of blood. The big, good-looking EMT comes to her rescue.’ I continued to smile. ‘This is good!’ I said.

‘If you’re writing a romance novel,’ my second-in-command, soon to be unemployed deputy said.

The door to the library opened and Penny the maid came in, carrying a tray.

‘Oh, goody!’ Vivian said, clapping her hands. ‘Scones!’

The tray was silver, the tea service on the tray was silver and the silverware was silver, while the teacups and saucers, the serving plate the scones resided on and the small plates for service appeared to Jean to be Wedgwood – as were the two matching little pots that held butter and jam. Penny the maid set the tray on the delicate rosewood table in front of the sofa and backed out of the room.

Constance poured and handed a cup of tea to her mother first, then to both guests, along with a monogrammed linen napkin, a plate on which she had placed a scone, a small spoonful of butter and another of jam. A silver butter knife rested serenely on the small plate.

Jean glanced at Jewel but her sister-in-law appeared to be enthralled with the entire ceremony.

‘You know,’ Vivian said, after a sip of tea, ‘we normally, under such circumstances, would have the bishop of the Anglican church preside at the funeral, but he died in another woman’s bed several years ago—’

‘Mother,’ Constance said for the umpteenth time, having obviously had this bit of family dirty laundry brought up before.

‘Oh, Constance, darling, don’t be so childish. Men stray. It’s their nature. God only knows how many women your father bedded over the years. I lost count when I lost interest. I believe that was in the early seventies.’

‘I hope the tea is to your liking,’ Constance asked her two guests, swiftly changing the subject.

‘Perfect,’ Jewel said. ‘Although I have to disagree with you, Mrs Carmichael—’

Jean, who was sitting to the left of Jewel, used her good right leg to kick her sister-in-law. Jewel stopped talking.

‘About what, my dear?’ Vivian asked, raising the Wedgwood teacup to her lips.

‘Nothing,’ Jewel said, then smiled brightly.

‘I think she believes you might be wrong in your statement that all men stray,’ Constance said. ‘There are honest, loving men out there, Mother.’

Vivian made a derisive sound. ‘And they’re not worth the powder to blow them up,’ she said. ‘A real man is insatiable. A real man needs more than one woman to satisfy him.’

Jean noticed that Jewel’s smile was looking a bit ragged. She put her hand on Jewel’s and squeezed. Jewel squeezed back.

Jean stood up. ‘Thank you so much for your hospitality and the wonderful scones—’

‘Aren’t they divine?’ Vivian said.

‘Definitely,’ Jean said, trying on her best smile. ‘But the flight was crowded and we really need to rest for a bit—’

‘For God’s sake, Constance, get these girls upstairs to their rooms! Call Penny!’ Vivian said.

Constance got up and rang another bell, this time with ‘maid’ written in the same bold, black handwriting.

Penny arrived, was told to escort the women to their rooms and led them off.

I had Anthony Dobbins check the hospital records for any indication that Joynell Blanton had ever been a patient there. But he came back empty handed.

‘They need a warrant, Milt,’ he told me when he entered my office.

I sighed. ‘So go get one,’ I told him.

‘Well, I tried that, Milt. I went to Judge Schnell with what we’ve got and he said it wasn’t enough.’

I sighed again. This was gonna be harder than I’d thought. ‘OK,’ I finally said. ‘Just go to the ER and ask around. See if anyone there knew Joynell or if they’d seen Drew Gleeson in the company of a woman of Joynell’s description.’

Anthony pushed himself up from one of my visitors’ chairs. ‘Will do,’ he said, and headed back out the side door to his squad car.

Although it wasn’t a productive day as far as catching Darrell Blanton’s killer, it worked out well in other ways. Like, Dalton got to a wreck on Highway Five faster than anybody else and was able to pull a guy out of a car that was on fire only seconds before the gas tank blew. Score one for the good guys. Jasmine, although off-duty, was going into the Stop ’N Shop just as two guys wearing ski masks and carrying a sack of cash came rushing out. She tripped one, kneed the other in the nuts and had her side arm out and the boys under arrest in less than two minutes. Score two for the good guys.

Then all hell broke loose – yet again. The rescue team of Longbranch volunteer firefighters was still working up in Bishop, trying to recover, if not people, then at least bodies. It appears they were excavating one site when four of the five fell into a hole a story deep. In Oklahoma we don’t do basements much, which is why we have to build storm cellars out in the backyards. But this particular house
did
have a basement, and that’s what they fell into. I had to call all my guys and gals in to rescue the rescue team, and by the time we got them all to the hospital with another team of EMTs – not Drew Gleeson and his partner this time, thank God – the ER was much too busy for Anthony to interview anybody about whether they’d seen Drew Gleeson with Joynell Blanton.

All of which put us back another day. I just wanted to wrap this business up. Get Drew Gleeson behind bars with the mama and brother of the man he killed and see what transpired. Personally, I didn’t think he’d survive anywhere near Eunice Blanton.

Who, by the way, was being treated like a queen. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were being provided by one of many Blanton women who’d come in, shoot dagger stares at me then sit in the cell with Eunice while she’d eat and shoot the shit. Sometimes they brought knitting or crocheting with them, sometimes a deck of cards, dice or dominoes to keep the old lady busy. The only Blanton women who didn’t show up were Eunice’s daughter, Marge, and her granddaughter, Chandra. Eunice never mentioned their names.

I wasn’t happy. None of my people seemed all that fired up to find Darrell Blanton’s killer, and I think I knew why. They just didn’t give a shit. Because of Darrell Blanton’s own stupidity, my people and/or their loved ones were held hostage for many hours, and one of the party had been shot in the back. Who cared who killed Darrell Blanton? That was what I was thinking my people were thinking. And I sort of understood that. Hell, even I hadn’t cared much at the time. My wife had been one of those hostages, and her friend had been murdered by Earl Blanton. It had been a horrible ordeal for everyone involved, and it was all Darrell Blanton’s fault. If he hadn’t killed his wife I wouldn’t have had to arrest him, and if I hadn’t arrested him, his mama wouldn’t have thought it wise to invade Holly’s bachelorette party and hold everybody hostage. And if she hadn’t done that, all of our womenfolk wouldn’t be experiencing nightmares and trauma, and Paula would still be alive and at my house, insulting me and my redneck ways.

But the law was the law and as sheriff of Prophesy County, Oklahoma, it was my duty to find, arrest and deliver to trial the person who took Darrell Blanton’s life, for whatever reason. Now, if a jury of his peers decided that Drew Gleeson did the only responsible thing, then so be it. I’d live with it. But until that time I was responsible for finding enough evidence to at least arrest the sucker.

It’s my job, like it or not.

The elevator they took up to the third floor of the mansion was as smooth a ride as any Jean had experienced in high-rise buildings. But the walk was a bit strenuous. The center building of the large home had wings coming off it and each of those wings had a wing. Penny the maid led them to the left, down a long hall, turned right, down a longer hall, then another left.

‘The forest room,’ Penny announced as she opened the door of the first room on the right and indicated to Jean that she should enter.

It was aptly named. There was a mural on the east wall of a beautiful green forest with sunlight pouring through an opening in the treetops. The bed, a gigantic king, was a four-poster with posts carved to look like tree trunks that reached to the ceiling, where leaves and birds had been painted at all four points. The duvet was a brilliant green silk. The five-drawer-tall chest was painted with forest scenes that included pixies and fairies, and the lamps on either side of the bed were made of branches and covered in shades that resembled birch bark. There was a chaise lounge in the same brilliant green silk as the duvet, and a small claw-foot table with two delicate rosewood chairs. This arrangement was set by the French doors that opened to a small balcony that overlooked the estate’s backyard – if one should call such an expanse merely a yard.

The whole thing was so over the top that Jean had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Penny the maid indicated to Jewel to follow her out of Jean’s room, but Jewel turned for one last look at her sister-in-law and rolled her eyes, which made Jean cough to cover the laugh that escaped her lips.

When the door closed behind them, Jean noted her bags were on a stand near one of the two doors in the room. She opened it to find a closet as big as her office back at the house, empty except for a fluffy white terry robe – just like one you’d find at certain high-class hotels but without the price tag. She moved to the second door to find an opulent bathroom with a large glass brick enclosed shower, the largest claw-foot tub she’d ever seen and a double sink with bowls above the counter. The forest theme had been carried through to the bathroom. The sink bowls were a coppery green resting on a brown marble counter top. The floor was a mosaic tile depicting both flora and fauna – the fauna being mostly birds. The outside of the claw-foot tub was painted with another mural of forest life, and the walls were covered in a moss-like substance. As large as the room was, Jean felt instantly claustrophobic. Stepping back into the bedroom, she opened her suitcase with the intention of unpacking but her cell phone rang. Picking it up, she saw it was Jewel.

‘The bedroom was bad,’ she said, ‘but you’ve got to see the bathroom.’

‘After you see my room,’ Jewel said. ‘It looks like a decorator threw up in here.’

Jean giggled. ‘Open your door and stand outside so I can find you,’ she said. She hung up her phone and stepped out into the hall. She saw Jewel standing about three doors down on the opposite side of the hall, and headed in that direction.

‘I’d say shut your eyes then I’d drag you in, but I’m afraid seeing all of it at once might give you a heart attack,’ Jewel said, ‘so just go in. Penny called it the rose room.’

Jean stepped over the threshold into Jewel’s quarters. The walls were covered in Pepto-Bismol-colored silk, with a pink-on-pink embossed design of small roses. The four-poster bed was painted white and draped with white velvet swatches with rosebuds adorning them. The duvet was a matching white velvet with rosebuds, and the bed-skirt matched the Pepto-Bismol pink of the walls. The bedside lamps were tall and had skinny green ‘stems’ with shades made to look like a bouquet of white roses. There were vases upon vases of roses sitting atop anything that didn’t move. The floor was white-painted hardwood with a large rug adorned with – guess what? – roses. The furniture was basically the same as that in Jean’s room: a five-drawer tall chest painted with leaves and roses, a chaise lounge covered in the same white velvet/rosebud design as the duvet and bed drapes, and a small claw-foot table painted white with two white-painted Louis-the-whatever chairs. The vase of roses on top of the table was the only receptacle with real roses in the room, and there were so many in the large pink vessel that dwarfed the small table that the scent was nearly overpowering. French windows led out to a balcony overlooking the front of the estate.