Читать книгу Murder in Mayberry - Jack Branson - Страница 17

Chapter 6

Stress Grows

Jack’s family can best be described as stoic. We arrived at Iva Ray’s to find no tears over her sister’s death. No quivering voice. No outward grieving. But I’d known the Winsteads for thirty-five years, and I understood that she was hurting.

“Start locking your doors,” Jack warned his mother as he carefully hugged her fragile five-foot-three body against his six-foot frame. She nodded, but we both knew she wouldn’t change her small-town pattern.

Earl lived a half block from Iva Ray, so we walked across the snow to his one-story yellow brick house, upper class thirty years earlier but now solidly middle class.

His son, Russell, answered. We only came to Madisonville for funerals, and I was surprised at how much Russell had changed since Carroll’s funeral nine years earlier. He’d shaved his mustache, maybe because he now had more gray hair at thirty-seven than Jack had at fifty-four. He looked much thinner than I remembered him, probably 175-180 on his six-foot-one frame.

Russell looked exhausted as he hugged me and shook Jack’s hand. We were all tired, and our ordeal had just begun.

Earl was sitting in an overstuffed chair in his den. The utilitarian room was void of a woman’s touch. Earl’s wife, Sue, had died fourteen years earlier, and he’d sold the house they shared and eventually moved to this one. The only touches of warmth in the house were family photos, and I was certain Earl’s son and daughter had supplied them.

I glanced around, imagining the touches Sue would have added to the house. Her home was always neat but cozy and welcoming. One day, she woke up with a fever and went to see her doctor for medication. The next day, she felt well enough to mow the yard, using a riding lawn mower.

But halfway through mowing, her fever rose again. It was Saturday and her doctor was unavailable, so she drove herself to the emergency room. Moments after being admitted, most of her major organs shut down and she was dead. Her body swelled and darkened, and it was necessary to have a closed coffin at the funeral. Iva Ray later told us doctors suspected a rare blood disease but that she never felt the cause of death was clearly identified.

Earl had a girlfriend, Betty, for the past several years, but obviously she had not helped decorate his house. She had, however, helped keep Earl trim and youthful. He’d begun running, and we often teased that his exercise regiment was an effort to stay lean for a lady friend ten years his junior. Today, in spite of his weariness, Earl looked boyish and young. With graying blond hair and a height and build similar to Jack’s, he looked more like Jack’s brother than his uncle.

Jack and I sat on the nondescript couch opposite Earl. Russell sat on the arm of the couch.

“How’re you holding up?” Jack posed the question to Earl.

Earl responded with a cracked voice that skipped back and forth between octaves, much like a boy in early puberty. Jack’s mom once told us Earl was afflicted with spasmodia dysphonia, a disease that affected his vocal cords and intensified under stress.

Earl just referred to his condition as “bruised vocal cords caused by a virus.” Whatever it was, that day it was difficult to understand him.

“Okay, I guess. I’d be better off if I could cry. But you know our family. We don’t show no emotion…” Earl’s voice faded.

“You found her?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t go down the stairs. Once I seen she had blood on her, I let the police handle it.”

Jack’s usually smooth neckline began to swell with purple veins, and I could see the veins pulsing as he imagined Ann covered with blood. He chose each of his next words carefully, and he said them one at a time.

“That’s…one…execution…I…want…to…see. I want to watch…the lights…go out in the eyes…of whoever did this.”

“You’ll have to get in line with the rest of us,” said Russell. Rising from the edge of the sofa, he walked over to Earl and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Dad, since you’ve got company, I’d better get home to Terri and the kids.”

Earl placed his hand awkwardly over Russell’s. “You go. I’ll be fine. Thanks for stopping by, son.”

As the door latched behind Russell, Earl began talking business. A few years earlier, when Ann finally accepted that Jack and I had no plans to return to Madisonville, she appointed Earl as executor of her estate. He had helped Ann with a lot of business details in the past years and was probably best-suited to handle her affairs.

“Her rent houses are valued at a million two. We may have to sell them off one at a time. I might give her house to the church since it’s right across the street. They could use it for visiting missionaries and pastors.

“She had insurance policies for all the siblings,” Earl continued. “And she had a nice one for you, too…Ya know you were her favorite.”

Jack nodded solemnly, but I knew how much that assurance meant to him right now. Still, he was more interested in solving the murder than disbursing the estate.

“Do you think the handyman or housekeeper could have done it?” asked Jack.

Earl shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know about the handyman. Heard he’s got a temper. He does work for Iva Ray, too, and he’s been working for them both for a long time.

“Judy, the housekeeper, she’s a good woman. Besides, she’s got a bad back and probably couldn’t have done that kind of damage.”

“What about Knight, the crazy renter?” asked Jack.

“Nah, I know him. He’s a little off, but he couldn’t do nothing like that.”

“We’re all capable of worse than we think,” observed Jack. Jack rose from the couch and walked to the chair where Russell had laid our coats.

“Is anyone behind in their rent?” Jack continued to run through possibilities.

“Yeah,” said Earl. “A couple. One hasn’t paid since July.”

Earl paused, then said with finality: “I imagine it was a drifter that killed her. That railroad behind her house and all.”

I could tell by the way Jack refocused the conversation that he already felt strongly that the killer was no drifter: “There hasn’t been a violent murder here since Ann Granstaff. Except for that jogger who was stabbed in the park—just a mile or so from here.”

“That woman stabbed in the park was my daughter’s mother-in-law,” said Earl. “Actually, ex-mother-in-law.

Jack was silent for a moment, and then to me, “Come on, hon. We’d better see what we can do to help Mother.”

Earl rose slowly from the chair and stretched out his hand to Jack. “Thanks for coming by,” he said in his signature cracked voice. “Guess I’ll be stopping by Iva Ray’s later tonight. I’ll see you if you’re gonna be there.”

Iva Ray’s house was beginning to fill with food from friends and church members. She insisted we eat something from the enormous spread. Perched on the edge of a stool and herself eating like a bird, Iva Ray periodically pushed large bowls of salads and vegetables our way.

She talked brightly of all the people who had been by, the flowers, the food, the cards. I wanted to scream, “Your sister’s been murdered!” Instead, I took another helping of fruit salad, smiled and nodded. I knew Iva Ray was dealing with the nightmare in the only way she knew. Stoically.

After supper, I approached Jack with an idea I’d been thinking about all day. I’d once asked him if the police cleaned up the blood after a murder so the family didn’t have to see the crime scene. He said that, unfortunately in most instances, that was left to the family.

“Honey?” The next words to Jack were some of the most difficult I’ve ever uttered. “I’d like to volunteer to clean up the crime scene. Until the housekeeper’s cleared as a suspect, I wouldn’t want her to do it. And I don’t want any of the immediate family to go through that.”

Jack objected, but I could see from his face that he was relieved. He knew what a crime scene was like, and he knew what it would do to Ann’s sisters and brothers—and to him—to clean it. After I assured him that I could handle the job, he wrapped his arms around me and said softly in my ear, “I’ll call Hargis.”

Jack placed the call. I listened as he told Hargis about my offer. Then, as he listened to Hargis’ response, his expression changed from solemn to baffled.

“Really?” asked Jack. After his initial surprise, he pressed for more information: “Do you know what Ann wore to church? Whether she’d changed out of her church clothes can give us an idea of when she was murdered.”

Jack paused, then: “You could ask some of the people at the church if they saw her or sat near her. Someone may remember what she was wearing.”

I was waiting eagerly to hear Hargis’ side of the conversation. When Jack hung up the phone, he turned to me.

“There’s nothing to clean up,” said Jack quietly. “Hargis said the crime scene was completely cleaned.”