The Treacherous Teddy (11 page)

Fifteen minutes later, Kitch was in the backseat of the Aztek, hanging his head out the open window, savoring the universe of new scents. Before I went to the Tice farm, I made a short detour to the Food Lion supermarket in Elkton, where I went inside to try to confirm one of the bits of information that Kurt Rawlins had given us.

The store manager was puzzled that I was asking questions about a two-week-old event that had never been reported to the sheriff’s department. He told me he hadn’t seen the encounter, but that one of his cash register operators had. It was obvious that folks still didn’t know about Rawlins’s death, and I wasn’t going to break the news. Witnesses usually feel less compelled to embellish their statements if they think they’re describing a minor crime.

The register operator was a middle-aged woman who continued to scan groceries as she talked to me. She told me she knew both Everett Rawlins and Wade Tice and said there was no doubt in her mind that Tice had provoked the fight. Furthermore, she remembered that Tice had shouted words to the effect of that he would get even. I thanked her and the store manager for their help and returned to the Aztek, where Kitch had been busy tinting the passenger windows.

I drove south toward Kobler Hollow Road and, playing a sudden nasty hunch, made a quick stop at the Rawlins farm. I’d half expected to find that the bullheaded Kurt had returned, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps I’d misjudged him . . . or simply come by too soon. I continued on to Wade Tice’s farm.

Unlike the Rawlins farm, the Tice homestead looked down-at-the-heels and forlorn. The driveway was deeply rutted and could have used about two tons of fresh gravel, the cedar planking on the cabin-style house was in dire need of a fresh coat of stain, and one of the tall grain silos adjoining the ramshackle barn was leaning like the Tower of Pisa. An old International Harvester tractor was parked in the yard. Half of the tractor’s engine was missing, and from the metallic clanking coming from the barn, I guessed that Wade was undertaking the motor repairs. I don’t know much about agriculture, but it was obvious to me that this farm was in serious financial trouble.

I parked the Aztek and raised the rear windows to prevent Kitch from jumping out and finding some barnyard muck to roll in. Getting out of the car, I caught sight of a bemired four-wheel ATV parked on the other side of the house. However, that didn’t necessarily mean it was the vehicle that had left the muddy tracks on the road. A lot of the farmers around here had quad-runners.

A moment later, a middle-aged man with a large flat-head screwdriver in his oil-stained hand emerged from the barn. The man looked to be about five feet, ten inches tall, with a stocky physique, grayish-black hair, and a shaggy iron-colored beard. There was an old brown briar pipe stuck in the right side of his mouth, and a tendril of white smoke rose from the bowl, reminding me of a volcano that was mistakenly thought to be extinct. He wore faded jeans, a sun-bleached blue ball cap, and a ragged old military flight jacket that had about as many holes in it as the plots of the
Star Wars
movies.

“Help you, mister?” asked the man, in a voice that didn’t sound particularly helpful.

“Are you Mr. Wade Tice?”

“Look, if you’re from the heating oil company, my wife told the woman at your office that I’ll have the money to you on Monday.” Wade’s teeth tightened around the pipe stem.

“No, sir, I’m not from the oil company. I’m Brad Lyon, and I’m an investigative consultant with the sheriff’s office.” I pulled the badge case from my jacket pocket and showed him my ID card.

Wade glanced from the card to my cane. “You’re Lolly’s son-in-law that moved here a few years ago from California, right?”

“That’s right,” I said, hoping the family connection would breed some goodwill.

The pipe sagged slightly as his jaw relaxed and he said, “What can I do for you?”

“If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Is it about that ruckus last night?”

“What ruckus?” I asked, just in case he wasn’t referring to the police response to the Rawlins farm.

“All those sirens from out on the road.”

“So I take it you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“That Everett Rawlins was killed last night.”

Wade Tice folded his arms across his chest. “Huh. That’s a damn shame. But what does it have to do with me?”

Tice was cool, I thought, but the body language suggested he was hiding something. However, rather than directly confront him with the potentially damning facts about his conflict with Rawlins and his longtime experience as a bow hunter, I decided on an oblique approach. I said, “You’re his neighbor, and I know you want to help. Did you notice any suspicious-looking people or vehicles around here last night?”

“Nope.”

“How about a vehicle up on the ridge?” I pointed toward the hill with my cane.

Wade shot a quick disinterested glance at the hill. “Nope. I was in the house with my wife all last night.”

“In the past, have you ever noticed any vehicles up there?”

“Sure. Hunters go up there looking for deer, but it don’t bother me none. There’s plenty of deer and I figure I can’t begrudge a man if he’s hungry.”

“Getting back to last night, did you hear any strange sounds?”

“Just the sirens. Lots of sirens.”

“Is your wife here? Maybe she noticed something.”

“Nope, Marilyn is at work.”

“And where is that?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I need to ask her these same questions, and I’m just trying to save myself a trip out here later tonight.”

Wade removed the pipe from his mouth and used the screwdriver to dig out some ash. Finally, he said, “She works at the lodge as a maid.”

“The Massanutten Crest Lodge?” I asked. I found this new link to the lodge mildly intriguing, but after a few seconds of consideration, I was inclined to dismiss it as a coincidence. A farmer’s wife usually doesn’t have much experience boosting cars.

Wade said, “Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing that my wife has to clean up after other folks, but it’s been a bad couple of years and we need the money.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, and I’ll finish up here as quickly as possible so you can get back to work. What was your relationship like with Everett Rawlins?”

“There ain’t much to say. We wasn’t exactly what you’d call close friends, but we got along okay, I guess.” Wade tried to sound casual.

I gave him a long thoughtful look and then gently said, “That isn’t what I’ve heard, Mr. Tice.”

“You calling me a liar?”

“No, sir, but I’m confused. You say that you got along okay with Mr. Rawlins, but other folks have told me that you were extremely angry at him for making your well go dry.”

With a sudden flick of his wrist, Wade Tice hurled the screwdriver blade-first into the ground. “Oh, I get it! Some rich farmer dies and the law can’t move fast enough to falsely accuse a poor man of his murder! Get off my land, you damn rich man’s whore!”

“I will, though I’m sorry you feel that way. But nobody is accusing you of murder.” I kept my voice calm, while taking note of how quickly and thoroughly Wade was losing his temper.

“Yet. And ain’t it amazing? That greedy bastard stole my water and the sheriff’s office couldn’t spare me the time of day! Civil problem, they said. Can’t do nothing. But, you sons of bitches pull out all the stops when a rich man stubs his freaking toe!”

“He didn’t stub his toe, Mr. Tice. He was ambushed and shot in the chest with a hunting arrow.” I turned as if to go back to the Aztek and then paused to add, “And come to think of it, the other thing I’ve heard is that you’re an expert bow hunter. A regular William Tell. Do you mind if I look at your bow and arrows?”

Wade Tice’s face was white with fury. “Screw you!”

“Ouch, that hurt,” I sneered. “What happened, Mr. Tice? Couldn’t you stand the fact that Mr. Rawlins had mortified you in front of everyone in the Food Lion? Is that why you put a big hunting arrow in his chest?”

“I told you, get off my land! And don’t come back!” Wade bent to snatch up the screwdriver.

Even though Tice had armed himself, I made no move to grab my gun. It’s a little-known fact, but edged weapons, and that includes screwdrivers, are far more lethal than firearms at distances of less than fifteen feet. If Wade decided to, he could stab me eleven or twelve times before I got the pistol from its holster. I decided not to do anything to further escalate the situation.

“I’m going, but let me offer a word to the wise,” I said, my voice suddenly deadly earnest. “At some point I will be back, and you don’t want to have that big old screwdriver in your hand when I arrive.”

Nine

I deliberately turned my back on the enraged farmer and limped to the Aztek. That was probably a stupid thing to do, considering that Wade Tice’s temper tantrum had just turned him into the prime suspect in Everett Rawlins’s murder. However, my pride took precedence over caution. I would rather have died than let Tice know he’d spooked me.

When I got to the car, I found Kitch lying on the backseat with his head between his front paws. He’d been frightened by the shouting, but he perked up when he saw me. By the time I was behind the wheel, Tice was gone, and I assumed he’d gone into the house to call his wife. He and Marilyn needed to get their stories straight before I could arrive to interview her.

However, there was a tiny chance that Tice wouldn’t be able to contact his wife immediately. The couple was obviously in dire financial straits, which might mean they couldn’t afford the additional expense of a cell phone. If so, Tice would have to telephone the hotel housekeeping supervisor and request that a message be passed along to his wife for her to call him back ASAP. That would take time, and I could be at the Massanutten Crest Lodge in less than ten minutes if I ignored the posted speed limits like everyone else around here. I started the Aztek and roared from the farm.

As I drove, I asked Kitch, “So, what do you think, pal? Do we have enough information to get a search warrant for Wade Tice’s property?”

Kitch began to pant.

“You’re right. Of course we don’t,” I said. “There’s no way to link those muddy tracks to the ATV, because yours truly screwed up and got us thrown off the property before I could get a closer look at the tires. And we both know that his being a bow hunter doesn’t translate into a reasonable suspicion that he’s the one who fired the arrow.”

Kitch yawned and rested his moist chin on my shoulder.

“I agree. Wade
did
lie about his relationship with Everett, but that still isn’t enough to get us a search warrant. And it keeps getting better and better.”

Kitch smacked his lips.

“How? Well, while I rush over to interview a wife who’s undoubtedly going to tell me to go to hell, Wade is probably getting rid of his bow and arrows somewhere on the mountain.”

A minute or so later, I was speeding northbound on the Stonewall Jackson Highway and soon approached the turnoff that would take me through Remmelkemp Mill and on to the hotel. However, as I made the left turn, I heard the yelp of a police siren. Glancing at the rearview mirror, I saw the flashing blue lights and muttered a curse. A state police car was behind me, and the trooper wanted me to stop.

I pulled over to the side of the road, shut off the engine, and put my hands on the steering wheel so that they’d be visible. Looking into the side mirror, I watched the trooper get out of her car and slowly approach the Aztek. She was young, but her alert demeanor and officer safety tactics told me that she knew how to conduct a traffic stop. The trooper placed herself just behind the doorpost, so that I had to look over my left shoulder to see her.

“Good morning, sir. I’m Trooper Fuller and I’ve pulled you over for speeding. I want your driver’s . . .” The young cop suddenly paused to take a deep and prolonged sniff of the air coming from inside the Aztek. Then she said, “Sir, just how much marijuana do you have in this vehicle?”

“None. Look, I can explain. I’m a civilian investigator for the Massanutten County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Riding around with your sheepdog and a load of weed. Right.” She was extremely suspicious, and I couldn’t blame her. Marijuana cultivators seldom look like Cheech and Chong anymore.

“Yeah, I know it looks strange, but let me show you my department ID.” I began to reach for my badge case inside my jacket.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Fuller commanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” There was no need to see the trooper’s gun to know it was pointed at my head. I inclined my head slightly toward the walkie-talkie that stood in the center console drink grommet. “I can prove I’m with the sheriff’s office. That’s a police radio.”

“Or a scanner. Every dope dealer I’ve arrested had one. Now, I want you to get out of the car very slowly.”

I grimaced. “Which brings up something else I probably should’ve mentioned right away. I’m carrying a . . . gun.”

Faster than you can say
The French Connection
, I was disarmed and facing the back of the Aztek with my arms outstretched and my legs spread. I told Fuller that my leg really was injured, but she didn’t believe me and ordered me to stand still. Again, I couldn’t blame her for distrusting me. It’s a common ploy for crooks to pretend to be injured. Meanwhile, Kitch jumped into the rear cargo compartment and pressed his nose and slobbery muzzle against the back window to watch the fun.

The cop had radioed for backup and removed my badge case from my jacket when I heard the sound of a big diesel pickup truck slowly pass. The vehicle then pulled over to the side of the road in front of the Aztek. A moment later, I heard a voice I recognized. It was a man with a cultured British Oxbridge accent, and he sounded positively tickled as he said, “Trooper Fuller, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’ve given me a moment that I shall treasure for many years to come.”

It was ironic that Tina had been worried about me teasing Sergei about the forthcoming trip to Disney World. He was as committed to MAD—mutually assured derision—as I was. Although I couldn’t see my smart-mouthed friend, it was easy to envision him with his twinkling blue eyes, steel-gray handlebar moustache, and a wicked grin of delight.