Charlaine Harris - Sweet and Deadly aka Dead Dog

“What was he driving?” Galton asked.

“His blue pickup. I don’t know makes and models. But it was him; he waved at me.”

“Where do you reckon you were when you saw him?”

Catherine thought back. Her morning before she had entered the shack was blurry to her now.

“He was fixing to turn onto the highway, just as I was turning off,” she said. “You know, there are a couple of houses there. One that Jewel Crenna rents. The other one’s empty now.”

“The turn-off to the shack,” Galton observed mildly.

“Yes,” said Catherine and took a deep breath. Despite her every-man-for-himself resolution, she was still dressing things up. She didn’t want to point any fingers.

Galton said intuitively, “Catherine, someone did this. Maybe someone you know.”

“And maybe it was you,” whispered the silence that fell after he spoke.

“How long since you saw Leona?” he asked abruptly.

“Tom and Randall asked me that yesterday,” she said nervously. “I honestly don’t remember.”

Do drag in the word “honestly,” she congratulated herself savagely. By all means .

“If you mean saw her around town,” she rattled on, “I guess a couple of weeks ago in the drugstore. If you mean saw her to speak to, it was a few months ago-about three months-when Tom was going to move into the house in back, Father’s old office. She called me-” Catherine stopped short.

“She called you?” nudged Galton.

“Yes,” Catherine said slowly. “It was really kind of strange. Miss Gaites said she had heard that someone was moving into the old office, and she knew there were some things in there that Jerry Selforth hadn’t wanted to buy. She wanted to know if I needed help moving them.”

Catherine remembered smothering her dislike, to preserve the false face of friendliness she and Leona had always worn when they dealt with each other.

A waste of time, Catherine thought now. And it had been funny-peculiar, her calling like that.

Catherine really had needed help getting those filing cabinets up the collapsible folding stairs that let down from the attic in her father’s old office. And she had still been suffering from the “be nice to Leona, she has no family” syndrome. So she had accepted Leona’s help with protestations of gratitude.

Though why someone with no family would care to haul heavy things up flimsy stairs, any more than a person with seventy relations, is more than I can figure out, she said to herself.

“What did you talk about that day, Catherine?” asked Galton.

“Well.” She hesitated. “The largest things that had to be moved were filing cabinets that Father kept patient files in. Some people still haven’t asked for their files, to take over to Jerry’s new office. Leona was saying how nice it was that some people were so healthy that they hadn’t needed their records for such a long time; that now that the files were going up in the attic, it would be a lot of trouble when someone finally got sick and realized she had to have her records…I think I asked Leona if she had applied to be Jerry’s nurse; and she said no, she had heard he had a friend who was getting the job, a girl who was going to commute from Memphis. That’s all I remember.”

The sheriff ’s only response was a small movement of his huge hand. Catherine wondered if he had been listening. Then she thought clearly, He’s trying to decide how to ask me something.

Catherine grew nervous at this hiatus and lit a cigarette. To break the silence, she asked quietly, “How did she die?”

“She died in her house,” Galton said heavily. “She was beaten to death. With something rounded and heavy; like a baseball bat.

Catherine went very still and bit the inside of her mouth. Anything she could say would be inadequate.

“Catherine.”

Her eyes were blurry with tears of shock. She blinked and Galton came into focus again. She was warned by the sharpness in his face. Something important was coming up.

“Did you sell any of your father’s equipment to Leona?”

If she had formed any idea of what Galton’s question would be, that was not it.

“What? Why would Leona want anything from the office? I sold almost everything to Jerry.”

“What didn’t you sell to Jerry?”

“Besides those filing cabinets in the attic-” Catherine made an effort to concentrate, but she was too confused to remember. “Leona knew. She did all that, made the list for the lawyer. Father’s estate. I was too upset,” Catherine said miserably. She had always felt some guilt for shoving the task off on Leona, though Leona had certainly been more qualified to do it. “Maybe there’s still the list of stuff for the lawyer? That you could check against what Jerry has now?”

Galton didn’t comment on her weak suggestion, or explain why he had asked her, she noticed uneasily; but the mention of estates had given her something to chew on.

“Is there anything I ought to do? About Leona’s house? Or about having her buried? She didn’t have any kin, you know.” Catherine hated to offer, but knew she had to. It was the least and last thing she could do for Leona.

“Her lawyer, John Daniels, will handle all that, Catherine. She left a will. It’s a few years old; and it’s kind of surprising,” Galton said smoothly. “She left everything-house, money-to your father. Now, I guess, it’ll come to you. John Daniels says for you to call him.”

“Shit,” said Catherine. “Is that what this is all about?” She was angry now, red hot. “Come on, Sheriff! Leona didn’t have doodly-squat. I know Father paid her what he could, but that wasn’t all that much; and she hasn’t worked since he died.”

“As a matter of fact,” Galton said calmly, “Leona had quite a bit of money. But she was kind of informal about it. She had little wads stashed all over the house. The only thing she bothered to put in her checking account was her social security check and a little income from a pension plan she belonged to through some nurses’ association.

“And,” Galton continued, his eyes searching Catherine’s face, “someone else besides me knows that. Sometime Friday night, before you found Leona Saturday morning, someone took his time searching Leona’s house: either before or after carrying her out to that shack on your place. Your inheritance is a little depreciated. Mattress slashed, chairs ripped open. But the money, and a few other peculiar things, are still there. Strange kind of thief. Didn’t kill Leona for her money, but he looked mighty hard for something in her house after he-or she-killed her.”

Catherine shook her head. “I don’t know; no, I don’t understand what you mean. If you think”-and her flame of anger flashed through the smoke of bewilderment-“I killed Leona for money, I hate to say this, but you’re crazier than I am. I can’t believe we’re sitting here talking about this. I’ve known you all my life. My father left me lots of money; my mother left me lots of money; there was insurance besides, and we-I-own the land. In fact, I’m a rich woman. I did not bash Leona on the head so I could come into her bits of money. I did not search her house to make her death mysterious. And if you think I”-and the sweep of her hand down her body pointed out its smallness-“could or would pick up a baseball bat or something, and beat a woman twice my size to death with it, you’re just plain damn dumb.”

She sank back in her chair feeling clean. Something like a flushed toilet, she told herself bluntly and inelegantly.

Galton was eyeing her with amazement and a reluctant grin.

“I guess you let me have it with both barrels,” he said.

Catherine hoped he would add, “Of course I don’t think you had anything to do with Leona’s murder.”