“I was going to ask you that,” Roger said. “You know I’ve always said that if you want to find where somebody hid something, you’ve got to think like he does. You know him best, Bud. Where would you get rid of it if you were him?”
Bud thought a moment. “He’s worked down at the foundry for years and years. He’s likely got a key. The breadman got it about six. He might have had time to go down there and destroy that gun before anybody came into work. Or, he hunts all down through Fish Hook Lake, and there’s all them bottomless pits and pools down through there. He might have had time to pitch it in one of them. Either way, we’ll never find it.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Roger. “Anyway, even if we knew he had it in his bedroom, we ain’t got enough evidence to make probable cause for a search warrant. Let’s go get on with it. We need to search that laurel patch and do a bunch of other stuff.”
Bud started the car. When they had passed the barn and were out of sight of the house, but not yet to the road, the sheriff spoke.
“Stop a minute and flip open the trunk,” she told Davis.
Bud turned off the engine and pushed a yellow button in the glove compartment. As the trunk lid opened, the sheriff got out of the car.
“Don’t look around,” she ordered.
“Why not?” Roger Dale asked.
“I’m going to change clothes,” she answered. He studied her a moment. She was wearing the same uniform silver-tan slacks and military shirt that her deputies were, unlike her male predecessors, who had always worn dark business suits to distinguish them from the rest of the department.
“What are you fixing to change about them?” he asked.
“I keep some civilian clothes in a garment bag in the trunk, just in case I need them during the business day.”
Roger Dale nodded. “I do the same thing with a fishing pole in the bureau car,” he said.
“Now, don’t look around,” she told them again.
“Wait a minute,” Roger said. “You can order your deputy not to look, but you have to ask me.”
“Don’t look around, please,” she amended.
“Yes, ma’am,” Roger said.
A few minutes later she stepped back into the car wearing a simple blue dress and carrying a pair of pumps and a purse. As she slipped off her black uniform shoes and slid her feet into the pumps, Roger Dale commented:
“That’s the kind of outfit my wife would say you could wear about anywhere.”
She nodded. “I never know where I’ll need to wear it.”
“One of the few places you wouldn’t want to wear it is out to that laurel patch on the face of Blue Rock Mountain.”
“I’m not going there,” she said. “You and Bud may be, but I’m not.”
She took a comb out of her purse and began to frizz out her crisp hair. “I’m going to stop at Flo and Dolly’s and ask them to work me in for a trim.”
“You’re what?” Bud exploded.
“Jubal’s wife fits into this mystery somewhere or other,” Sheriff Taylor said, “and I’m going to find out more information about her at the beauty shop than we could anywhere else in this county. In every picture he has of her, she looks like she’s just had her hair done — done well, too. I bet she’s in there every week. Even if she isn’t, they’ll have other customers who talk about her. You guys go climb the mountain. I’m going to get my hair done.”
As Bud drove down the hill, Roger spoke. “I ain’t sure we ought to go up on that mountain, either. We can radio Seth and Billy to do that ground search. Me and ol’ Bud might do more good to run over into Tennessee and see what we can find out about why some fellow would want to kill Gregory Haynes.”
“Either way,” the sheriff told him, “leave me at the beauty shop for a couple of hours. Whether they can work me in or not, I can be talking and listening to them and their customers.”
As Bud pulled up in front of the shop to let her out among several parked cars, he asked, “Why did you bother changing clothes? Everybody in this county knows you’re the sheriff in or out of uniform.”
“They’ll know it when I go in,” she said. “But if they don’t have the uniform to remind them, by the time I’m in the chair I’ll be just one more gray-haired lady in a blue dress. And everybody will be relaxed and talking.”
“I believe we’ve just had a couple of lessons from her,” Roger told Bud.
“I don’t much believe they’ll be the last ones,” Bud said.
Sheriff Taylor stepped out of the car and started toward the shop. Then she turned and called back to Fornby, “Oh, and thanks, Roger Dale.”
“What for?” he asked.
“For not looking around when I was changing clothes,” she answered.
“You’re welcome,” he responded. “And thank you, too, Louise.”
It was her turn to ask what for.
“For not remembering how many mirrors there are on this police car,” he called through the open window as Bud pulled back onto the asphalt and headed toward Tennessee.
A little more than two hours later, Bud and Roger drove back to Flo and Dolly’s. It was nearly dark, and most of the other cars were gone. Louise Taylor came almost running out as soon as they pulled up. Her bright blue eyes were dancing, and her lips were fighting against a smile.
“You look like the cat that didn’t only just eat the canary but knows where there’s another one with a busted wing,” Roger told her as she hopped in. “We done all right over in Tennessee, too. You tell us yours, and then we’ll tell you ours on the way back to see Amon at the store.”
“You suppose Amon will still be there?” she asked. “That would be a long day if he opened this morning.”
“He’s there about sixteen hours a day,” Bud said. “Six, sometimes seven days a week. He’ll be there.”
Sheriff Taylor began to spill her news. “Donna Scroggs is a regular customer, as I guessed. She’s been in every Thursday for the last two years except yesterday. Says she wants to look her best on Friday. Sometimes she borrowed their phone and made long distance calls. She always got the time and charges and paid them for it. The number that showed up on their bill was in Tennessee. They had a recent bill, and I called it. It was the East Tennessee Bakery. Wasn’t that who Greg Haynes drove for?”
“Yeah, it was,” Bud said. “It sure was. And Amon said they delivered on Tuesday and Friday.”
The sheriff went on. “The only problem is, they heard her call a name a few times, and it wasn’t Greg, or Gregory.”
“Was it Frank?” Roger asked.
“Yes!” she cried out. “What have you found out?”
“Louise, did I tell you your hair looks good?” he teased.
“Roger, now!” she almost shouted.
“Here we are at Amon’s store,” he grinned as Bud turned off the road.
A customer was leaving, but Amon was otherwise alone. Fornby turned the Open sign around so that it told the world that the store was Closed.
When Amon saw that the officers were back, he sank into his chair. He did not look any of them in the eye. He did not speak.
“Amon,” Fornby said, “we need to ask you some more questions.”
Still he said nothing.
“This morning you said the bread company delivered Tuesday and Friday, right?”
Amon nodded.
“But Greg Haynes didn’t come Tuesday and Friday, did he?”
Roger Dale got out his notepad.
“I need you to speak up so I can write it down,” he told Amon. “Was that a ‘no’?”
“That’s right,” Amon mumbled.
“Haynes just came on Tuesday, right?”
Amon nodded.
“Speak up,” Roger Dale told him.
“Yeah,” Amon said. “Just Tuesday.”
“Another fellow come on Friday, didn’t he, Amon?” Fornby asked.
“Yeah,” Amon answered.