The Right Kind of Fool Page 15

  Michael bowed his head, then looked up again. “I think maybe I do. I’ve been trying so hard to keep anyone from finding out. But now that Loyal knows, it’s kind of a relief.” He rubbed at a mosquito bite on his arm. “I’ve been feeling rotten. And Dad thinks I’m useless anyway. At least Otto’s good for something around the house.”

  Rebecca protested some more, but Loyal wasn’t paying close attention. He’d long thought Michael was a jerk. But out here in the woods he’d become someone different—someone he liked. And when he really thought about it, he guessed Michael was doing the right thing. He stood, drawing the attention of the other two, and made a fist with his right hand, his thumb sticking out. He pointed the thumb toward his belly and drew it up to his chest. As he did so, he wet his lips and spoke the word “proud.” Then he pointed at Michael.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d have said the older boy looked like he was about to cry.

  By midmorning, Bud was leading a handful of searchers down the river they’d searched up the day before while Virgil and Creed were on their way to Elkins. Earl was staying in a boardinghouse there, and Creed had some questions for him.

  “You sure it’s a good idea for you to do this on your own?” Virgil asked for the third time. “Might be better if any questions were what you’d call official.”

  “Earl waves that word official around like a cattle prod.” Creed smoothed his mustache. “I’m thinking it’s time to have a regular old man-to-man conversation.”

  Virgil gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “You gonna get me into trouble with this? And by trouble I mean worse than I’m already in?”

  Creed felt sweat prickle under his arms. Truth be told, he wasn’t all that sure about his plan. He just knew he needed to extricate his son from this mess and he was willing to try just about anything to do it. “My plan is to get us all out of trouble.”

  Virgil grunted. “We all know what the road to hell is paved with. Just try not to build too many more miles.” He pulled in at the county courthouse in Elkins, saluted Creed with two fingers to his forehead, and went inside. Creed understood that sign well enough—it said You’re on your own now.

  Well and good.

  Creed ambled down the street, considering what he knew. Eddie Minks had been shot twice while scouting for a government homestead project. Hadden Westfall might or might not have been willing to sell his land for the new community, which meant he might or might not have had a reason to shoot Eddie. The fact that he’d lied about his alibi sure didn’t look good. Otto, on the other hand, had confessed, except his motive and ability to commit the murder stretched credulity. And then there were Michael and Rebecca who had surely been at the scene that day and had ended up with the gun that was likely the murder weapon—but how?

  Creed kept circling back to the same notion. If he wanted to know who shot Eddie, he needed to come up with a good reason why someone wanted him dead. And Earl seemed the likeliest candidate to point him in the right direction.

  Swinging up onto the porch of the boardinghouse, Creed lifted a hand to knock. But before his knuckles hit the wood, the door jerked open. A woman stood there, eyes wild and hair coming loose from its twist. “Who’re you?” she blurted.

  “Creed Raines. Up from Beverly to see Earl Westin.”

  She pushed out onto the porch and eased the door shut behind her. “Do you know anything about what happened to Eddie?”

  Creed wet his lips. Who was this woman? “That’s what I came to talk to Earl about.”

  She took his arm and turned him down the steps. “Come with me,” she said. Although mystified, Creed had the sense this woman might be someone he should talk to. She led him several houses down and then turned onto a side street adjacent to a small park. She plopped down on a bench, looking back the way they’d come.

  “Sorry son of a gun won’t tell me anything.” Tears stood in her eyes. “Me and Eddie was getting married soon as he’d earned enough to set us up. I came down from Pittsburgh to see Eddie got buried proper.” She dashed away a tear that had escaped. “And to claim what’s mine. Eddie said everything he had was mine as much as his—just needed a marriage license to prove it to the world.” She laid a hand across her stomach, and Creed realized it was rounded more than might be expected. “But that ornery cuss Earl says I’ve got no claim and should leave him alone.” She turned deep blue eyes on Creed. “What happened? Who killed my man? The way he’s acting, I’d almost think Earl done it.”

  Creed debated what to say. “Well, the sheriff’s investigating Eddie’s death as a murder, and there’s a fella who’s confessed to doing it.” She put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “He says he thought Eddie was trespassing on his boss’s land and was just trying to scare him off.”

  “Why wouldn’t Earl tell me that? He acted like it was all a big secret.”

  Creed shrugged. “Most folks know that much. The fella’s trial is supposed to start on Monday.”

  Her eyes took on a steely shine. “You say that like there’s more to know.”

  “Maybe. Hey, can you tell me how long Eddie’s been working for the government?”

  “’Bout two and a half years. But he just started this scouting business when Earl talked him into it. He had a nice comfortable office job before.” She rubbed along the side of her belly as though something ached there. Creed remembered Delphy doing the same thing when she was pregnant with Loyal. He felt a pang for this woman and her grief. “Eddie said the job paid a whole lot better and we could get married that much sooner.” She sighed. “And I believed him when he said we’d be wed by now.” She ran a hand over her belly again, sorrow cutting lines at the corners of her mouth.

  “Don’t guess I ever thought about government jobs paying all that well,” he said. “Steady work, sure, but not the sort of thing that’d make you rich.”

  “Yeah, me neither. But Earl, he flashed money around and got Eddie excited about it. They used to meet up of an evening and ‘make plans’ as Earl called it. Never did understand why they couldn’t do that on regular work time. Took Eddie away from me many an evening.”

  The combination of easy money and off-the-clock planning made Creed think he might have hit on something important. He just wasn’t sure what it was. “Can you think of anyone who would’ve wanted Eddie dead?”

  “No,” she said, tears rising again. “He might’ve aggravated somebody now and again. He had a wicked tongue when he let it get the best of him or when he’d been drinking. But I don’t think he ever made anybody that mad.” She gripped Creed’s arm. “Do you think he suffered?”

  Creed pictured the hole in the man’s chest. “No. I think it was quick.”

  She nodded and released his arm. “Why’d you want to talk to Earl anyhow? You the police? You think he knows something important?”

  “I’ve been giving the sheriff a hand, but I’m not the police.” He patted her arm. “We’re going to figure out who did this and why.”

  “Can I have Eddie’s things?”

  “What things? Do you mean his suitcase from the boardinghouse?” As far as Creed knew, Virgil still had the small bag with its toiletry kit and a change of clothes. Maybe it was sentimental to this woman.

  “I mean his gold watch that belonged to his daddy and that little notebook he carried around.” The ghost of a smile softened the lines in her face. “He mostly used it for work, but he did these little sketches for me sometimes—flowers, animals, things he saw when he was out looking for property. He could draw the purtiest pictures.”

  “I, well, I guess I can let the sheriff know you’d like to have them. Say, what’s your name?”

  “Christine Mankin.” She shook her head. “Wasn’t going to be hard to switch from Mankin to Minks. Now . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I’m real sorry for your loss,” Creed said. “I’d best be getting back, though. The sheriff will wonder what happened to me.”

  She nodded and shrank back agains
t the bench. “You go on then. I’ll leave my forwarding address at the boardinghouse when I go. The lady what runs it let me use Eddie’s room since he’d paid in advance, but that runs out on Monday.”

  Creed felt like there should be something more for him to do for this woman, but he couldn’t think what. He stood and took a step away, then turned back. “We’ll find who did it.”

  “I hope you do,” she said. “’Course my knowing won’t put food on the table.”

  Creed bit his lip and headed back the way they’d come. He guessed there were harder things than having a son who couldn’t hear.

  twenty

  Creed didn’t go back to the boardinghouse. Instead, he went to the courthouse. He wanted to hash out what he’d learned with Virgil. But the sheriff was in a deposition, and the petite woman with bobbed hair at the desk said he couldn’t be disturbed. But she said it with a warm smile and a look that made Creed feel warmer than even the August afternoon suggested. He settled himself on one of the ugly chairs and mulled over what Christine had told him.

  “Say, maybe you could help me—” he glanced at the little nameplate on the woman’s desk—“Mrs. Wilkins.” She looked up from her typing and raised her eyebrows. “Do you happen to know what kind of pay somebody scouting for one of those homestead projects might expect to get?”

  She looked at him through her eyelashes and smiled. Rolling her chair back, she stood and walked with small, precise steps to a filing cabinet in the corner. “It just so happens I have a federal pay scale in my files.” She ruffled through some folders and plucked one out. She flipped the folder open, licked a finger, and ran through pages until she came to the right one. Then she minced over to where he sat and perched on the chair beside him. She leaned forward farther than seemed necessary—especially considering the cut of her blouse—and held the folder open to a neatly printed page. Her arm brushed his as she ran a painted nail down the column of numbers. “There you go,” she said. “That would be in the vicinity of starting pay for a position like that.”

  Creed read the figure. It was decent pay, but Eddie must have been making peanuts before to think this was a big increase. “Guess it pays better than a desk job,” he said.

  She laid cool fingers across his wrist. “I suppose if you were entry level it would. Someone with tenure, though, could certainly make more.” She ran her nails along his arm like a splash of unexpectedly cold water. He forced himself not to recoil. “Are you looking for employment?” The way she said the word made him think she meant something other than government work.

  A door opened and voices burst into the room. Creed stood like he’d been scalded and took a step away. Mrs. Wilkins snapped her folder shut, returned it to the file cabinet, and resumed her seat.

  Then Virgil was standing in front of Creed with a look like he wanted to bust out laughing. “You done investigating?” he drawled.

  “Sure enough,” Creed said with a croak. He cleared his throat. “Picked up some interesting tidbits.”

  “So I see.” Virgil turned back to the other man and shook his hand, saying he’d see him soon.

  Stepping out into the August sunlight made Creed feel as though he’d come up for air even with the heat and humidity.

  Virgil chuckled. “She’s a doozy, ain’t she?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Wilkins. ’Course nobody’s ever known of a Mr. Wilkins, but I guess it keeps her respectable.”

  “I’m not talking about her,” snapped Creed.

  “Sure enough. You two didn’t seem to hardly be talking at all.”

  “Aw, cut it out, Virgil. I think I might’ve found out something important.”

  Virgil sobered and appeared ready to listen. “You talk to Earl, then?”

  “No, I ran into somebody way more interesting.” He looked around and drew Virgil into the shade of a nearby building. “Eddie was getting married. His girl’s in town and she’s . . . well, she’s going to have a tough time without a man to help take care of her and the little one on the way.” Virgil let out a low whistle. “She was hoping to get ahold of Eddie’s personal effects—she mentioned a watch and a notebook.”

  Virgil nodded. “He had a watch on him. It’s back in my office. Can’t give it to her until after the trial, but if no one else claims it I don’t see why she couldn’t have it.” He swiped at the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “As for a notebook . . . I don’t know anything about that. We packed up the contents of his room—which wasn’t much—and I didn’t see any notebook. Why’d she want it?”

  “She said he used it for work mostly but that he also drew pictures in it—drawings of flowers and such. I guess she’s sentimental about the pictures.” He shrugged. “Maybe Earl will have it.”

  “Maybe.” Virgil stared at the ground like he was trying to puzzle something out. Then he looked up at Creed. “Anything else?”

  “She said Eddie took the homestead job because he was supposed to be piling up money for them to get married on.” He made a face. “That’s what Mrs. Wilkins was showing me—a federal pay scale. Unless she’s way off, the amount Eddie was making wasn’t all that impressive.”

  Virgil nodded, looking thoughtful. “Are you suggesting Eddie was piling up money some other way—under the table maybe?”

  Creed tried not to get too excited. “If he was doing something shady, that might be a reason for him to get killed.”

  Virgil pursed his lips. “Could be. Or he could’ve been stringing that poor woman along.”

  Creed felt like Virgil was letting the air out of his tires. “Yeah. I guess so. But seems like it’s worth looking into.”

  With a sigh, Virgil started walking back to the street and turned right. “You sure do have a knack for making more work for me.”

  “Nobody can say we don’t need you around with all this work to do.” Creed grinned. “I’m just making sure you stay employed.”

  Virgil rolled his eyes. “Wish I could say thanks, but until we round up Earl and nail some of this information down, I’m going to withhold my appreciation.”

  “We going to talk to him now?”

  “No time like the present.” Virgil shot him a dark look. “But let me do the talking.” Creed made a motion like turning a key at his lips and smiled.

  Loyal and Rebecca persuaded Michael to wait until evening to turn himself in. He’d promised to show them how to use the compass he had in his pack. The plan was to use it to find Father’s cabin. And if Father was there, he could take Michael into custody. If he wasn’t, they’d just walk on into town and go directly to the sheriff. Michael wasn’t hard to convince—he seemed relieved by the idea of telling Creed what he’d done before he told the sheriff. Loyal could see how his father would be easier to talk to than someone wearing a uniform and a badge.

  Michael explained how the compass worked, made what he figured was a good estimate of the direction they needed to go to find the cabin, and the trio set out. They took turns carrying the compass. Loyal liked the feel of the cool metal against his palm. It fit nicely and it was fun to try to keep the needle pointed in the right direction. He was so focused on the dial that he didn’t realize Michael and Rebecca had stopped. He turned when he realized they weren’t keeping up and froze.

  Two men with untrimmed hair and stubbly chins stood on either side of his friends. They carried rifles and wore serious expressions. One pulled a twig from his shirt pocket and began to chew it. Rebecca’s eyes were wide and darted from one man to the other. Michael had his arms crossed over his chest, and while his expression was stern, Loyal could tell he was scared. Rebecca motioned for him to come back to them. He debated running away—he was pretty sure he could find his way back to the cabin and his father—but the thought of abandoning his friends felt wrong. He closed his hand around the compass and moved closer, keeping a wary eye out.

  Neither man spoke, but one of them motioned toward a trail Loyal hadn’t noticed before. While the two men didn’t point their gun
s at them, Loyal felt like they might if the three of them didn’t go along. Loyal forced a smile for Rebecca, who managed one in return. He signed an o and a k. She nodded. Michael must have been watching, because he nodded too and made a come on gesture.

  They started down the trail with the two men following behind as if this were all part of their plan for the day. Loyal pretended to stumble and dropped the compass on the ground. Maybe someone would come looking for them.

  When they knocked, Earl flung the door open. “I thought I told you—” He stopped talking and narrowed his eyes. “What do you two want? And where’s that boy of yours? Tom can’t stick around forever waiting to do this interview.”

  “I’ve got a couple of follow-up questions for you. Want to come down to the parlor and talk?” Virgil peeked into the untidy room. “Or we can step inside here.”

  Earl looked like he was chewing the insides of his cheeks. “Give me a minute and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  The woman who kept the boardinghouse asked if they wanted some lemonade, but they declined. “Won’t be cluttering up your parlor but a few minutes, ma’am,” Virgil said as Earl slunk down the stairs and into the room. Virgil escorted the landlady out and eased the door shut on her disappointment.

  They took seats as far from the door as they could get and motioned for Earl to join them. “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “I don’t suppose you’d know what happened to your partner’s work notebook?” Virgil said. Eddie paled, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Could have been the closed-up room, but Creed doubted it.

  “Wh-what notebook do you mean?”

  Creed started to speak when Virgil shot him a look that he thought might have been fatal if he’d taken it full in the face. He clamped his lips.

  “Eddie’s betrothed seemed to think he kept a notebook for work details. Didn’t find it on him or in his room. Thought you might know something about it.”