lightning, however, and Rhodes figured that the weather front had moved on to the south.
He parked the county car in the driveway and checked in the back yard to make sure that his main dog, Speedo, whose real name was Mr. Earl, was doing all right. Speedo poked his nose out of the Styrofoam igloo that served as his doghouse and barked once in greeting, but elected to stay inside. Rhodes didn’t blame him.
As he reached his back door, Rhodes heard a frenzied barking from inside the house.
“All right, Yancey,” Rhodes said. “Hold it down. It’s only me.”
The barking continued. Yancey, a Pomeranian that Rhodes had acquired in the course of an investigation, was fiercely protective of his territory. Or else he just liked to bark. Rhodes wasn’t sure which.
Rhodes had been afraid that Speedo might consider Yancey an intruder, which would have been unfair to Yancey, considering that Rhodes had also acquired Speedo in the course of an investigation. Somehow, he seemed to accumulate dogs; it wasn’t a deliberate strategy.
At any rate, Speedo and Yancey had gotten along just fine, maybe because Yancey was a house dog and Speedo was a yard dog. But even when they were together, they seemed to have a high old time. Yancey didn’t appear to notice that he was about a tenth of Speedo’s size. For that matter, Speedo didn’t seem to notice, either.
Rhodes opened the door and stepped inside. Yanceyswarmed around his ankles, nipping at them and barking.
“Knock it off,” Rhodes said. “I’m the master here. You’re the dog.”
Yancey ignored him, as always, but soon got tired of barking. He walked away a short distance and sat down by the washing machine, staring at Rhodes suspiciously.
Rhodes took off his raincoat and draped it over a chair back. Then he undressed and dropped his clothes in a sodden heap on the floor by the washing machine. Yancey barked at the heap.
“Hush,” Rhodes said, heading for the bathroom.
Yancey stopped barking, which was a relief. He turned from the pile of clothes and followed Rhodes.
Rhodes toweled off and went into the bedroom to get dry clothes. He had just finished dressing when the phone rang. Rhodes picked it up.
“Hello,” he said.
“Sheriff? This is James Allen.”
Allen was one of the county commissioners, probably Rhodes’s best friend among the group. He’d had almost nothing to say at the meeting where Ty Berry had appeared, but Rhodes knew exactly what the subject of this call would be.
“I hear that Ty Berry got himself killed in the Clearview Cemetery,” Allen said.
“You heard right,” Rhodes told him, no more surprised that Allen knew than that Hack had known. By now, probably half the county knew.
“You know what people are going to say about us,” James said.
Rhodes knew that the us referred to both the commissioners and to Rhodes himself, and he knew pretty muchwhat people would be saying: that the commissioners should have hired some deputies to patrol the cemeteries; that because they hadn’t, Rhodes or one of the deputies should have been there anyway; and that because of what hadn’t been done, Ty Berry’s death was all the fault of the commissioners and the sheriff’s department.
None of that was necessarily true, but that was what people would say. And after they’d said it enough, they’d believe it.
“I know,” Rhodes said.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to find out who killed Ty Berry.”
“And how soon are you going to do that?”
“As soon as I can.”
“I hope that won’t be too long,” Allen said.
“So do I,” Rhodes told him.
6
A FTER ALLEN HUNG UP, RHODES WENT INTO THE KITCHEN. Yancey was sitting expectantly by the table.
“You’ll just have to eat out of your bowl,” Rhodes said. “Besides, you wouldn’t like what I’m going to eat.”
Rhodes didn’t much like it himself, as far as that went. His wife, Ivy, had recently discovered a form of fake baloney made of
He parked the county car in the driveway and checked in the back yard to make sure that his main dog, Speedo, whose real name was Mr. Earl, was doing all right. Speedo poked his nose out of the Styrofoam igloo that served as his doghouse and barked once in greeting, but elected to stay inside. Rhodes didn’t blame him.
As he reached his back door, Rhodes heard a frenzied barking from inside the house.
“All right, Yancey,” Rhodes said. “Hold it down. It’s only me.”
The barking continued. Yancey, a Pomeranian that Rhodes had acquired in the course of an investigation, was fiercely protective of his territory. Or else he just liked to bark. Rhodes wasn’t sure which.
Rhodes had been afraid that Speedo might consider Yancey an intruder, which would have been unfair to Yancey, considering that Rhodes had also acquired Speedo in the course of an investigation. Somehow, he seemed to accumulate dogs; it wasn’t a deliberate strategy.
At any rate, Speedo and Yancey had gotten along just fine, maybe because Yancey was a house dog and Speedo was a yard dog. But even when they were together, they seemed to have a high old time. Yancey didn’t appear to notice that he was about a tenth of Speedo’s size. For that matter, Speedo didn’t seem to notice, either.
Rhodes opened the door and stepped inside. Yanceyswarmed around his ankles, nipping at them and barking.
“Knock it off,” Rhodes said. “I’m the master here. You’re the dog.”
Yancey ignored him, as always, but soon got tired of barking. He walked away a short distance and sat down by the washing machine, staring at Rhodes suspiciously.
Rhodes took off his raincoat and draped it over a chair back. Then he undressed and dropped his clothes in a sodden heap on the floor by the washing machine. Yancey barked at the heap.
“Hush,” Rhodes said, heading for the bathroom.
Yancey stopped barking, which was a relief. He turned from the pile of clothes and followed Rhodes.
Rhodes toweled off and went into the bedroom to get dry clothes. He had just finished dressing when the phone rang. Rhodes picked it up.
“Hello,” he said.
“Sheriff? This is James Allen.”
Allen was one of the county commissioners, probably Rhodes’s best friend among the group. He’d had almost nothing to say at the meeting where Ty Berry had appeared, but Rhodes knew exactly what the subject of this call would be.
“I hear that Ty Berry got himself killed in the Clearview Cemetery,” Allen said.
“You heard right,” Rhodes told him, no more surprised that Allen knew than that Hack had known. By now, probably half the county knew.
“You know what people are going to say about us,” James said.
Rhodes knew that the us referred to both the commissioners and to Rhodes himself, and he knew pretty muchwhat people would be saying: that the commissioners should have hired some deputies to patrol the cemeteries; that because they hadn’t, Rhodes or one of the deputies should have been there anyway; and that because of what hadn’t been done, Ty Berry’s death was all the fault of the commissioners and the sheriff’s department.
None of that was necessarily true, but that was what people would say. And after they’d said it enough, they’d believe it.
“I know,” Rhodes said.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to find out who killed Ty Berry.”
“And how soon are you going to do that?”
“As soon as I can.”
“I hope that won’t be too long,” Allen said.
“So do I,” Rhodes told him.
6
A FTER ALLEN HUNG UP, RHODES WENT INTO THE KITCHEN. Yancey was sitting expectantly by the table.
“You’ll just have to eat out of your bowl,” Rhodes said. “Besides, you wouldn’t like what I’m going to eat.”
Rhodes didn’t much like it himself, as far as that went. His wife, Ivy, had recently discovered a form of fake baloney made of
Similar Books
Fairy Tale Weddings
Debbie Macomber
Stolen Dreams
Marilyn Campbell
Terms of Service
Emma Nichols
The Darkest Corners
Barry Hutchison
Save Riley
Yolanda Olson
Ten Stories About Smoking
Stuart Evers
Death of a Hawker
Janwillem van de Wetering
The Hotel Majestic
Georges Simenon
Cheaper, Better, Faster
Mary Hunt