Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Tonight sometime. Borrow my car if you need one. Kate knows where I keep the spare key. And thanks for coming with me.”

I felt a twinge of guilt at seeing his stricken face. He’d only sought to advise me in my best interests, and what did he get for his trouble? A long drive in a hearse, all the while praying none of the “right” people saw him.

That sense of culpability passed swiftly, however. Maybe this unusual trip home would teach Willis not to try to control me. I hated men trying to control me.

The finest meals in Texas are served after funerals, and Ruth’s kitchen table attested to that fact. I had loaded up with fried chicken, sour cream-dill potato salad, baked beans, and homemade pickles, and was balancing the plate in one hand while holding a glass of fresh lemonade in the other. I headed for the porch, where callers had gathered in the late-afternoon reprieve from the heat. When I passed Ruth on my way outside, she dropped a hot biscuit on top of my chicken.

“This looks wonderful,” I said. “But aren’t you eating?”

“I know I should partake of what these fine people have provided, but I haven’t had much appetite since Ben died.”

She followed me outside, where we joined the remaining mourners. An old gentleman rose and offered his rocker, then said his good-byes. The others soon followed his lead until only Ruth and I remained.

She rocked rhythmically, the setting sun highlighting the grief in her tired eyes. “I want to thank you again, Miss Abby, for your kindness and understanding, and for bringing Ben home. He would have been most grateful. Most grateful indeed. When they find who done this, he’ll truly rest.”

“Have the police contacted you?”

“Only Sheriff Nemec. Said the city police sent him over to ask me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Oh, like, do I know anyone with a reason to harm Ben. I said, ‘Besides you, Stanley?’ He looked through Ben’s belongings, and then after he left I spent money on a long-distance call to the city. I wanted to see what was bein’ done about finding his killer, since I don’t think Stanley will be breaking his back to find answers. Lady who I talked to says I got to have a case number. Says don’t I know there’s four million people in Houston? Says how’s she supposed to tell one dead body from another without a case number? One thing’s for sure, miss. That’ll be the last time I call them folks for anything. Don’t need to pay money on no phone bill to be talked to like that.” She lifted her chin and her lower lip quivered.

“I’m so sorry.” To myself I added, Thank you, urban America.

“It ain’t your fault. Lady was probably right. He was nothin’ to her.”

“But he was everything to you.” I laid my hand on hers. “I’ll find out who killed him, Ruth. I promise.”

“You don’t need to on my account. This funeral today was more than I ever expected. I’ll be grateful for the remainder of my days.” She closed her eyes and rocked faster.

“I have another reason for wanting to know what happened to Ben. The police questioned me. Treated me like I might be involved.”

Ruth stopped rocking. “They’ve got half the pickets missing from their fence if they think you coulda had anything to do with Ben’s death.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I smiled.

She squeezed my hand.

“Did the sheriff take anything of Ben’s?” I asked.

“Nope. Nothin’ to take, that I know about.”

“And what about Cloris? Did Ben save anything that belonged to her?”

“Plenty of stuff. But Stanley didn’t even ask about her. He should have, though, shouldn’t he? Course, with Ben dead, he probably thinks nothin’ else matters.”

“Would you be upset if I looked through Cloris’s belongings?”

“Not at all, but since the trunks are stored overhead, I’ll be needin’ your help getting to them. Can’t much navigate a ladder these days, what with the arthritis.”

“You don’t need to navigate anything. Is there a space in your overhead attic for me to sit?”

“Small spot. Ben laid some plywood up there.”

I followed her inside to the hallway leading to the two back bedrooms. A cord hung from the ceiling, and I pulled down the attic ladder. Heat and dust whooshed out to greet me. Best time of day for this kind of work, I thought as I began the climb. The outside temperature had dropped below ninety.

“There’s a ceiling bulb. Just pull the string. Cloris’s trunks are black, if I remember right. While you start looking, I’ll be fetching you some water. Hotter than Hades up there.”

I turned on the light and found two footlockers within arm’s length. I settled cross-legged on the small wood platform and pulled the closest one to me. I opened the lid, and the smell of mothballs escaped around me. Neatly folded dresses and underwear, circa 1970, were piled to the top of the trunk. I began searching through the clothing—Cloris was apparently a small woman—but found nothing of interest except two miniature teddy bears that looked like they had never been touched, much less played with.

Before I could begin on the next trunk, Ruth appeared at the bottom of the stairs with the much-needed water. I was already sweating like a polar bear in Hawaii.

“Find anything?” she asked.

I climbed halfway down to retrieve the glass. “Not yet.” I gulped down half the water and turned to climb back up.

Ruth said, “I hear someone in the drive. Maybe a late caller coming to pay their respects. You be okay up there, Miss Abby?”

“I’ll be fine. You go on.”

I took the glass with me and had just dragged the second trunk over so I could look through the contents when I heard a voice I recognized. Sheriff Nemec.

I quickly opened the trunk, and this one proved far more interesting. I found several calendars, two photographs, and several sketchbooks. One photo showed a young woman standing by the gate to this house. The other picture was of Ben in an ill-fitting suit and the same woman in a simple white dress holding a bouquet of roses. I turned it over. Ben and Cloris had been penned on the back. I quickly switched my attention to the sketchbooks. Some of the colored-pencil drawings of birds and flowers were expertly detailed, stunningly realistic, but before I could examine these more closely, the sheriff interrupted me.

“You best come down from there, miss. HPD might be interested in what you’ve found.”

I turned and stared down at Nemec, who held his hat in his hand. “I believe Ruth would have given you the same chance at this stuff.”

“Might have, Miss Abby,” Ruth said. “But now I’m not so sure.”

I pushed the trunk away from the attic opening and descended the stairs.

“Nothing but some old clothes and toys anyway,” I said, brushing remnants of insulation off my linen skirt.

“Mind if I check myself?” He put a beefy hand on the stair railing and waved me aside.

Quickly I said, “Ruth, did he show you a warrant?”

“No, miss. Guess he needs one, huh?”

Nemec’s jaw tightened. “Ruth, I never had no argument with you. I’m only doing my job, just like when I went after Ben.”

“Then you do it proper and get that piece of paper,” she said.

“I was hoping you’d let bygones be bygones now that Ben’s dead and buried,” he said. “Before you took a shine to him, you and I had a few things in common, as I recall.”

“Are you thinking I forgot how you hounded Ben year after year? And you didn’t start with your tales of how he was going to hell until I turned your marriage proposal down. I take that kinda personal, Stanley.”

The sheriff frowned and stared at the thin carpet that ran the length of the hall. “I couldn’t believe you befriended a murderer. I kept telling you he done it. But I’ve been doing some thinking, and I may be willing to admit a mistake or two.” He shook his head. “Never could pin Cloris’s death on him. Been like trying to stack greased BBs all these years.”