Charlaine Harris - Sweet and Deadly aka Dead Dog

But he didn’t.

“Why move the body at all?” she asked out of the blue. It was a point that had been bothering her. Moving Leona seemed an added risk. There was the chance that someone would see the murderer putting the body in his vehicle. And there was the undeniable conspicuousness of anyone at all being around and about in Lowfield in the late hours of the night. Though Friday night was comparatively busy, that didn’t mean much.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said the sheriff, sounding almost friendly. “And I reckon whoever killed Leona was just trying to delay discovery of her body for as long as possible. She had plenty of neighbors. They would’ve noticed, after a couple of days of this weather, that something was wrong. But since she kept herself apart, they might not think about not seeing her for quite some time, if the body wasn’t there to let them know.”

“Maybe someone just couldn’t bear to see her lying there after she was dead,” Catherine said quietly, her hands running over the carved rosewood of the chair. “And moved her so he wouldn’t have to look at her while he searched. It had to be someone strong, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sheriff Galton said, recrossing his legs. He shifted on the soft couch, and sighed. “It was probably a man; maybe a woman, a tall woman, from the angle of the blows.”

She had never before been glad she was short.

“Or two people,” added the sheriff carefully. He lit a cigarette and leaned forward. “You think to wonder what the killer was searching for, Catherine?”

She shook her head.

“Why, Leona was blackmailing people. She had another career going, but her main line was blackmail. We’ll burn what we found so far-after we question the people involved. Just little pieces of nasty evidence she was holding for ransom; none of it criminal material. It’s her other career that concerns us even more.”

After this revelation, Catherine was literally speechless. She could only wait for Galton to continue. His eyes were resting on her intently, and she felt her hands begin to shake.

“I have one more question to ask you, then I’ll leave you to your Sunday,” Galton said heavily. “Have you gone to Leona with…any kind of problem ? Since your folks died?”

Catherine felt like a mouse being played with by a big old cat. Her thoughts were slow. She stubbed out her cigarette as she tried to recall, though she was sure she had never taken a problem of any kind to Leona. Her mind wandered. She tried to imagine herself crying on Leona’s shoulder over some girlish difficulty, and decided that tears would have just rolled off that starched white shoulder.

When she looked at Galton again, she realized her long pause had cost her something. There was once again a look of sternness in his face.

That’s not fair, she thought despairingly.

“I would never take a problem to Leona,” she said. Her voice was as weary and watchful as Galton’s. Even to her own ears, she sounded unconvincing.

“I thought it would be better if you didn’t come down to the station again,” Galton murmured. There was a sadness, a regret, in his voice. He too was remembering the days he had swung her up in the air.

Catherine gave up trying. She had done her best, had cleared herself as thoroughly as she could. There was something, or perhaps several things, that Galton wouldn’t tell her. He had obviously figured she would be more open in her own home, in a private conversation; he had made a concession to her in that respect. Somehow she had failed to meet his standards.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I honestly think”-Do drag in “honestly,” Catherine!-“I have told you what little I know. And I think what happened to Leona is directly related to what happened to my parents. I don’t blame you for never finding out about them,” she added hastily. “I know you were a good friend to my father.”

She had touched him on the quick. She wondered if she had meant to.

“I tried,” said Galton bitterly. “You’re damn right I tried! But I know why Leona Gaites was killed: she was a blackmailer, and something else too. And that doesn’t have anything to do with Glenn and Rachel.”

He sat silent for a moment, visibly collecting himself. He looked so sad and worn that Catherine was unwillingly moved.

“You need some rest,” she said shortly.

“It’ll be a while before I get any,” he said.

He rose, stretched, ambled to the door.

“Catherine,” he said, one hand on the knob, “Why didn’t you leave town, honey? What’s kept you here?”

“You know, I’ve asked myself that just recently,” she said. “I only found out yesterday. When I was telling Tom Mascalco what happened to Mother and Father. I want the person who did it to be caught. And I want him to be dead. That’s why I stayed.”

“That Mascalco’s a pest,” said Galton. “His idea of his job is way too big. About that other, Catherine: it makes me sick to say it-you know how I felt about your folks-but I don’t think we’ll ever catch who did it. There’s nothing for you here. You shouldn’t have stayed-if you want unasked-for advice, too late.”

The complexity of being sheriff and suspect, family friend and bereaved daughter, tore at them.

“You be careful,” he said finally. “I don’t know what you’ve done, or what you know. I’ve known you to do some things that people thought were crazy. Well, in the Delta we’ve got a lot of crazies; known for it. Or maybe I should say eccentrics . Okay. But I’ve never known you to be bad or crooked. There’s a lot of crookedness, a lot of badness, mixed up in this mess. So watch yourself, Catherine.”

He shut the door behind him.

She didn’t know whether she’d been threatened or warned.

SHE WAS WATCHING the sheriff ’s car back out into the street when her telephone rang. Maybe that’s Randall, she thought.

“Catherine?”

“Sally?” Catherine asked uncertainly. She pulled out one of the bamboo-and-chrome dinette chairs and sat down heavily.

“Sure is, honey. I’m so sorry for you! You should have come and spent the night with us! I know you were scared out of your wits.”

How long had it been since she had talked to Sally Barnes? Sally Barnes Boone, Catherine corrected herself.

“I’m fine,” Catherine said, and made a face into the glass of the table. Once polite lies got into your blood, you never quit telling them, she thought.

“Well, I heard at church,” Sally was saying, “and I just couldn’t believe it…that poor woman! Daddy was so upset, that she was on that land he rents from you! He’d been riding the place that morning, but not close to that field, so he didn’t see anything. I just can’t imagine who could have done it. Someone from Memphis, I bet. Going through town to the fishing camps at the river.”

“I guess so,” said Catherine, who didn’t think so at all. “How is Bob?” She remembered, almost too late, that Sally had a child. “And the baby?” A little girl, was it?

“Oh, they’re fine, just fine. Chrissy’s cutting teeth.”

“I know she’s fretful,” Catherine said sympathetically. She had heard somewhere that this was the case with teething babies.

“Oh boy,” Sally answered feelingly. “But I want to know about you . How are you? What have you been doing? I can’t believe I never see you in a town this size!”

Because I have been taking care not to be seen, she thought to herself. I have been waiting.

She could hear a baby’s wail in the background, on Sally’s end of the line.

“Sally, thanks for calling, I really appreciate it,” Catherine said hastily. “But really, I’m not scared. I just happened to find…” she trailed off. “But it’s not like it was in my yard or anything. I’ll be fine. Thanks again. I can tell you need to go.”