“He pulled it out? Without asking first? What was his problem with it?”
“He says that he can’t maneuver around his gardens with that fence there.”
“The fence would be on your property, wouldn’t it? You said that Larry put it in, right?”
“Of course it was,” Marilyn said. “But Mr. Raught said that it wasn’t, and that it prevented him from taking care of his own yard. And he said it was ugly. So he just pulled it out.”
“And Larry put it back,” I guessed. That seemed predictable somehow. We had a couple little kids at work here, arguing in their sand box and smacking each other with plastic shovels.
“He did, and he even moved it a couple inches our way, too, so Mr. Raught wouldn’t have anything to complain about.”
“But he complained anyway?”
“He pulled it out again, sheriff. I couldn’t believe it. That’s so childish. And he didn’t just pull it out. He broke it up and threw it in the dumpster in the alley. He said the next thing he was going to do was rip out the flower garden, since most of it is on his property anyway.”
“And is it?”
“No, it’s not on his land. Good heavens. Larry was so angry, I thought he was going to have a stroke. The two of them had words, and Larry asked Mr. Raught how he’d like to have the cops come and check out his back yard.”
“Ah. Do I want to know about this?” From plastic decorator fence to World War III. The old dog across the street must have had quite a show.
“That’s when Mr. Raught started talking about real trouble. I told Larry that he just needs to forget all about it. Just pretend that no one lives next door. You know,” and she rubbed her nose, searching for a tissue with the other hand, “sometime that man is going to need help from somebody, and nobody is going to come to his aid. That’s not very Christian, I know. But that’s how I feel.”
“So he promised what you’re referring to as ‘real trouble.’ When was this last confrontation?”
“Yesterday morning. That’s when we found the fence had gone missing, and we found it in the dumpster. And now, Larry …” She closed her eyes. “I’m sure Mr. Raught had nothing to do with Larry’s accident. But the coincidence of it all was on my mind, and I needed to talk to someone.” She tried a smile. “You know, one of these days, I’m going to come face to face with that man and he’s going to say something nasty about Larry, and I’m going to punch him right in his fat nose. And it’s going to feel really good.” She reached out and touched my arm. “Just so you know it’s coming, sheriff.”
“Marilyn, I can’t imagine that an argument over a foot high border fence resulted in shots fired, but you’re right to mention it.” Well, yes I could imagine it. I’d responded to fights that had started over far less, but Marilyn didn’t need to know that. “We’re looking at every angle, talking to everyone we can think of. I’ll add your neighbor to my list, sooner rather than later.” I took her by the elbow and we started to wend our way back down the sidewalk.
Marilyn Zipoli stopped in her tracks, and looked up at me through her tears. “Larry’s always saying that the man probably has a backyard pot farm, what with all his walls and security. I mean, that’s exactly what Larry thinks he’s growing back there. Mr. Raught said it was just Virginia Creeper, and Larry thought that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘Virginia Creeper, my ass,’ he’d say. ‘Not in this country.’”
“Be interesting to check that out,” I said. I had a tough, valiant Virginia Creeper vine trying to survive on the back of my old, shady adobe on the other side of town, so it was certainly possible.
“Oh, let it go,” she said, and that surprised me. “I don’t care what he’s growing. I know that he was a thorn in Larry’s side, and that they’d had a confrontation, and it seemed to me that maybe that was important. And now I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t have mentioned a thing. It’s hard to keep things straight at a time like this. Someone to blame. That’s what it is, I think. Someone to blame. Something so stupid, so senseless…”
I sidestepped a bicycle that lay half in the gravel of a front yard and half on the sidewalk. I’d ignored it when we’d passed by before, but now I took a moment and nudged it out of the way. “The neighbor kids must have a good time with this Raught fellow, if he’s as contentious as you say. He’d be easy to bait.”
“I don’t know about that. I suppose he keeps pretty much to himself. I mean, we don’t see Mr. Raught all that often.”
I glanced sideways at Marilyn Zipoli. Conflicted and confused, she was a bundle of contradictions. Was Raught a neighborhood curmudgeon, or was he a recluse? Did he make a hobby of confrontations, or did he remain in the shadows? Marilyn changed course.
“You know, Larry spends a lot of time with the neighborhood kids. He works with the scouts, you know. And with the 4-H, especially when Rori was active. And there’s always a group ready to go fishing or water skiing. You’d think we had ten kids, instead of just the one daughter home now.” She stopped as if she’d walked into a stone wall. “I just don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t know what we’re going to do now.”
We had reached their property, and I glanced at the narrow flower garden sandwiched between the driveway and the neighbor’s property. In the dark with just a distant street lamp for illumination, the narrow garden didn’t look like much, but I could see where the spread of neat cactus gardens and arrangements crept right to the property line. Working in the Zipolis’ little flower garden would have been risky. Stumble and fall into the neighbor’s yard and you’d end up a pincushion. A fence might have been a good idea.
Raught’s home was dark, with one of the bedroom windows open on the street side. No doubt he could hear every word we were saying.
“Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” Marilyn offered. “We have a houseful of food, and my sister brought over that big coffee maker from the church.” She shook her head wearily. “Oh my.”
“Thanks, but I have some things that need tending to.” I gripped her shoulder and rocked her a bit, making sure I had her attention, and spoke just above a whisper. “We’re going to get through this, Marilyn. That’s the extent of what I know at the moment. We’re going to find out exactly what happened to your husband. Somewhere, somehow, somebody knows something. It’s just a matter of putting all the pieces together. If you happen to think of anything else-any little bit, no matter how insignificant-be sure to give me a call. Don’t hesitate.”
“And I know what I said, but I don’t blame my neighbor.” She glared toward Raught’s house. “Really, I don’t. I hope you don’t think that I’m just looking…”
“That’s the whole point, Mrs. Zipoli,” I said. “We are looking. Under every rock, in every dark corner. Tomorrow afternoon, when you’ve had a little time to rest, one of our officers will be by to chat again. As I said, we’ll explore every avenue. I’ll come by myself and talk with Raught. Even if the argument didn’t go anywhere, he might have heard something, somehow. Something useful.” I rocked her shoulder again. “And don’t worry. I certainly won’t tell him that you complained.”
“Oh, he’ll know.” She looked numb from fatigue and the emotional drain of this impossible day. I watched her go into the house, and then walked back to my county car. The old yellow dog stood so still he might have been a statue.
“What do you know?” I asked. He didn’t answer.
Apropos of nothing, I realized that in all the years I’d lived and worked in Posadas, in all the years I’d known who the Zipolis were, in all the years I’d had the opportunity to perhaps greet one or the other on the street or in the bank, in all those years, I had never seen them together.