Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music Read Online Free PDF Page B

Lundy.
    Orvan was well known throughout Park County and beyond as a petty thief and part-time brewer of moonshine. He was suspected of many worse crimes. As far as Tony knew, the only crimes the man had never confessed to were the ones he actually committed. Tony was torn. He knew deep down this would be a waste of time, and he didn't anticipate learning anything he could use. On the other hand, there was often an element of truth hidden in Orvan's tall tales that led to the solution of minor problems.
    “Mr. Lundy.” Tony paused at the doorway, holding the door open with his shoulder. “Would you care for a cup of coffee before we get started?”
    The little man rose from his metal chair. “Why, that's right sociable of you to offer something like that, Sheriff.” Licking his chapped lips in anticipation, he peered up at Tony. “I don't suppose you could add a bit of flavoring to it?” Since his faded blue eyes always had a glassy sheen, Tony couldn't be sure if the old man had already been in the moonshine.
    Tony just shook his head and waited.
    “Well, I didn't think so.” Cocking his head to one side, Orvan appeared to be listening to something only he could hear. When, at length, he must have heard the end of the message, he said, “I'll take the coffee.”
    A nod from Tony sent Ruth Ann on the errand.
    Tony let his office door close, and leading the little man down the hall to their interrogation room, he took the seat directly opposite from Orvan. The faded little man didn't look capable of crossing the street on his own, much less killing a man, but Tony knew inside the shrunken exterior was a man in his seventies who was as strong as hickory. Resting now on the surface of the inexpensive metal table, Orvan's gnarled hands looked crippled. Decades of outdoor labor had tanned his skin like cowhide and, although suffering from arthritis, he was still capable of caning the seats of the ladder-back chairs he made completely by hand. When he stood up straight, which he rarely did, he was about five foot eight. He might weigh a hundred and thirty pounds. Wearing his habitual denim overalls, he had spruced up for the interview by rubbing shoe polish on the top of his iron gray hair. Since he obviously hadn't consulted a mirror, the polish did not extend down the sides or back. The end result was he appeared to be wearing a very greasy black beret above a sunken-cheeked face as weathered as his hands.
    Orvan was the first to speak. “I doubt you realize, Sheriff, but I dye my hair.”
    Startled, Tony pulled his eyes from the unusual hairstyle and back to Orvan's leathery face. “Why tell me?” What he wanted to ask was more along the line of wondering why their conversations almost always began the same way.
    “I just want to be square with you, sir. You should know I'm an honest man.”
    Ruth Ann came in carrying three cups of black coffee and set them on the table in front of the men. Judging from the expression of disbelief Tony saw on her face, it confirmed she had heard Orvan's statement and believed that while the hair was obvious, the claim to honesty was a lie. For the moment, she seemed to be too intrigued with the hair topic to even give Tony a mean look about delivering coffee. With her eyes still focused on Orvan's hair, she backed toward the door.
    Wade came in right behind her, thanked Ruth Ann for the coffee and settled into the third chair. He cleared his throat as he pushed a paper across the table. “Orvan Lundy, do you remember me reading you your rights?”
    “Yes.” Orvan gripped his coffee cup with both hands.
    “Would you like a lawyer?”
    “Hell, no.” The faded eyes seemed brighter. “Can't stand the mealy mouths. Never say what they mean. I wouldn't trust one of them with my trash.”
    Tony had to raise his hand, palm forward, to stop the tirade. The little man's lips slammed together, and he glared as if annoyed that he didn't get to finish his discourse.
    Wade pressed on.