Killerfind (30 page)

 hope
Billy Dan
takes
Ricky to the clinic in town. I know how stubborn she can be, and probably won’t
want to admit her arm is broken, just so she won’t have to wear a cast.” Rhetta
had climbed out of the Artmobile and was leaning against the front fender. She
stuffed her hands into her pockets to prevent them from groping their way to
the cigarettes in Ricky’s truck.

In her lust for cigarettes, she’d forgotten about
the Baggie with the paint chips. She pulled it out and held it to Randolph.
“Our whole escapade wasn’t in vain. Look at this.”

He reached for the Baggie.

“Those are paint chips from the front of the truck
inside the shed.” Rhetta strolled over to the doorway they’d come out of,
pocketed the padlock she’d cut and began closing the door. “I think this should
be shut when the sheriff gets here.” The door slid into place just as she
spotted dust billowing on the gravel road. She hurried over to stand by
Randolph. He handed her the Baggie and she slipped it back into her pocket just
as the approaching vehicle skidded down the driveway.

When it stopped, Sheriff Frizz Dodson heaved himself
out of the passenger side of a battered white Chevy Tahoe bearing foot high
black lettering on each front door that said,
Bollinger County Sheriff
.
The lawman was wedged into a tan uniform shirt that bore large half-moons of
sweat under the arms. His radio crackled from his shoulder and he paused,
slapping at the transmitter to reply.

Sweat drizzled down his face as he lumbered toward
them. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked, swiveling his big head, taking
in the surroundings. He wiped an absurdly oversized handkerchief across his
wide forehead before stuffing it into his back pocket.

Randolph signaled for Rhetta to begin.

“My friend Ricky asked me to accompany her here
because she wanted to try and get the cabin listed for Mrs. Griffith,” Rhetta
said. She glanced at Randolph. His expression remained blank.

“Uh-huh,” Dodson said. “Where is she now?”

“When she began running, she fell and twisted her
ankle, so Billy Dan Kercheval took her into town to the clinic.”

“Uh-huh,” Dodson repeated. “Billy Dan, you say?’

“That’s right. We said we’d stay here and notify you
and report the shooting. We had to go down to the highway before we could get a
signal. We drove back to meet you here.”

“Do you want to see where the slug landed in the
building?” Randolph asked and began leading Frizz to the shed.

Dodson gazed around and shrugged and then groaned
with the effort of stooping to look at the hole where the bullet had been. He
stood, removed his cowboy hat and wiped more sweat from his brow. “I don’t see
as how there’s anything to report. Folks out here in the country shoot guns all
the time. I expect somebody was target practicin’ from over yonder, and the
bullet strayed this way.” He waved dismissively toward the trees.

Randolph stepped forward, and extended his hand. The
sheriff glanced at it for a beat before he returned the handshake.

“I think you’re probably right, Frizz. You know how
city folks are. Hearing guns automatically makes us nervous,” Randolph and
smiled.

“Well, then, I’ll be getting along.” The sheriff
screwed the hat on his sweaty head and touched the stained brim in a farewell
gesture.

 Rhetta frowned, but remained silent.

Frizz lumbered back to his Tahoe, and stuffed
himself in behind the wheel. He powered down the window. “I came out here
because it was you, Judge. I don’t see anything to report, so that’s it, then.
Have a nice day.” The window slid back up, the car started and Frizz sprayed
gravel as he made a big show of leaving. Apparently, the sheriff wasn’t
interested. But he was obviously irritated.

“Hearing guns makes us nervous? Only when they’re
shooting at us,” Rhetta said, spinning toward Randolph. “Why on earth did you
say that?”

“To get him to leave. I decided we’re better off
figuring this out for ourselves. I don’t think Frizz cares much for either one
of us, so he’s not going to bust his butt to help us in any way.”

Rhetta nodded. Sheriff Frizz Dodson had made it
clear that he was certain Randolph’s drunk driving caused his accident earlier
in the year and spread his misinformation all over the county. He had yet to
apologize to Randolph. Rhetta had once pointedly reminded the sheriff of that.
He’d only scowled and muttered.

Once Frizz left and the dust settled, Rhetta watched
as Randolph squatted near the bullet hole in the shed, examining it again. Then
he withdrew the spent bullet from his pocket, and studied it carefully,
returning it to his pocket as he stood. He walked slowly around the shed one
more time. “Looks like the shot came from above, angling downward. Whoever was
shooting had a spot higher than the shed.”

Rhetta turned to scope out the surroundings. Her
eyes landed on the dormer window at the back of the cabin. The white lace
curtain had been pushed aside and its ragged bottom edge fluttered out through
the bottom, where the window was definitely opened a crack. Had that window
always been open? Rhetta knew she hadn’t really studied the cabin closely when
she and Ricky had arrived. They were intent on the shed. Had someone watched
them from up there? Was the window open enough to slide the barrel of a rifle
through? Turning back to Randolph, she pointed upward to the window. “Maybe
from there?”

“Let’s check the doors,” Randolph said. “Maybe
someone broke in, and was using her cabin. Maybe they just fired a warning shot
to scare you off.”

“Mission accomplished,” Rhetta said. “The scaring
part, anyway. But then the cavalry arrived—you and Billy Dan—and we still
didn’t leave right away.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think
someone could still be in there?”

They mounted the front steps, and tried the sturdy
metal door handle. Locked. They rounded the small cabin, and rattled the back
screen door. It was locked from the inside.

“If anyone’s been in here, they left by the front
door, and locked it behind them,” Rhetta said, as they returned to the front of
the cabin, and to their truck.

“Unless someone is still inside.” Randolph glanced
back at the cabin.

Gooseflesh erupted on Rhetta’s arm at her husband’s
words. Could the shooter still be inside? If so, who was it?

“Let’s get out of here. We need to get back to town
anyway, so we can check on Ricky. Can you drive her truck? We’ll leave it at
Merc’s.” Randolph broke into her thoughts.

Rhetta nodded, and jogged to it. Beckoning to her
from the seat was Ricky’s opened pack of cigarettes. Rhetta thought Ricky
wouldn’t miss just one. The pack stayed on the seat only as long as it took for
Rhetta to reach a spot in the road where Randolph couldn’t see her.

She tossed them out the window.

he
afternoon sun had
warmed Ricky’s truck to a toasty temperature. Rhetta blasted on the cold air,
and, finally, the cab cooled down enough to allow her to gulp fresh air as she
bumped along the county road in a dust cloud behind the Artmobile.

Randolph stopped at the stop sign at Highway 34 and
waited for her to catch up. She pulled in behind him, glancing down at her cell
phone to see if she had service. The screen displayed a message that she had
two missed calls.

Randolph sauntered over to her window, and leaned in
after she rolled it down. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why?”

He glanced around the cab. “I saw you throw
something out.”

Crap. Busted
. “I did.”

He arched his eyebrows.

“Her cigarettes. I didn’t want to be tempted.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then returned to
his truck.

He knows me so well
. Rhetta shook her head and
grinned. She was a lucky woman. Who else would put up with her? She thanked God
every day for him, and for Rosswell Carew, another judge and mutual friend who
had introduced them. She and Carew volunteered together on the fund raising
committee for the local Humane Society. He’d insisted she and Randolph meet.
He’d been sure they’d hit it off. He was right. They did.

She also prayed for Carew, whose descent into an
alcohol-filled chasm had nearly caused his death from a violent crash into a
tree. That happened a few months before Randolph had his accident. Randolph had
then quit the bottle.

Rhetta glanced at her phone and remembered the two
missed calls. They were both from Ricky’s cell phone. Ricky’s message sounded
almost cheerful as she told Rhetta the good news that her arm wasn’t broken,
but the bad news that she’d sprained some “tendons or ligaments or something”
and would have to wear a wrap and keep her arm in a sling. Billy Dan was taking
her home, and would Rhetta mind dropping her truck off sometime in the next day
or so?

That made Rhetta grin, since she doubted the sling
would last very long if it got in the way of the sanding block. The wrap might
not last either.