“I see your point. But could anyone besides Ben have tampered with the medicine?”
“I suppose, but no one had a motive ’cept for him. Course, he had himself a convenient alibi. Doing carpenter work up on Ridge Road in front of six men the day she died. But I always said he coulda snuck that poison in anytime.”
“There was no real proof he murdered her, though?”
“No signed confession. No fingerprints on the medicine bottle. No cyanide in the shed. None of that. So, much as I tried, I couldn’t pin anything on him.”
“But you still think he killed her?”
“Sure as hell’s hot.”
“Did Ben have any relatives besides Cloris?”
“They had no kids, and he had no other kin I know about, but he remarried not long ago. Local widow named Ruth Sawyer. Fine person, too. What she saw in him is the real mystery here.”
“He had a wife?”
“Yeah. They was newlyweds.” He said this last word with undisguised contempt.
“You disliked Ben?” I said, thinking it odd that a newly married man would work so far from home. Had he come back here on his days off?
“Disliked Ben?” the sheriff was saying. “Nah, I hated him. Made his life hell after he murdered Cloris. Figured if I couldn’t stick him in jail, I’d make him feel like a cell might not be such a bad idea. Better than livin’ with me hounding him day and night. To this very day, I don’t understand why he stayed in this town.”
“Did he ever offer an explanation?”
Nemec nodded and spit again. “Oh, sure. Told me every chance he got how he’d never leave until he proved me wrong. Then he goes and marries the widow of the guy who sold him all that insurance on Cloris. I considered that more than a little fishy.”
“But his wife’s death was years ago. Did Ben even know Ruth Sawyer then?”
“Course. Everyone knows everyone here in Shade.” I’m sure they did. “Seems Ben’s wife is the person I came here to find. Could you tell me where she lives?”
“I already broke the news to her after HPD faxed the first report yesterday. She’s pretty tore up, so you best leave her alone.” He leaned back in the chair, his gut hanging over his belt. Rusty-brown tobacco stains dotted his dingy shirt, along with whatever he’d had for lunch. Something with mustard, I decided.
“I want to speak to her, so if you don’t mind—”
“I do mind. I don’t want you bothering the woman. She’s been widowed twice now.”
I rose. “Since everyone knows everyone here, I suppose plenty of other folks in Shade could point me in the right direction.”
Nemec stood and placed his chunky hands on the desk, his jowled face dark with anger. “Don’t go bringing up that murdering no-good’s name around my town. Just go back to Houston and leave us be.”
“I wouldn’t have to bring up his name if you’d simply help me out,” I replied sweetly, countering his agitation with a calmness that surprised me. For some reason, I had gained an advantage with this man, though I wasn’t sure why.
He stared at me for a second, his lips pursed, eyes narrowed. “Okay. I’ll tell you where Ruth lives if you have to know. But you’ll need to answer me one thing first. The fax from HPD said Ben was poisoned, nothing else. Exactly how did that son of a bitch get his?”
“Cyanide,” I answered quietly.
His mouth spread in an unpleasant smile, revealing stained, uneven teeth. “Finally got a taste of his own medicine, huh?”
Not long after I left the sheriff’s office, I sat down with Ruth Grayson in the small front room of her one-story wood-frame home. Our comfortable twin chairs with their worn upholstery offered a view out a large picture window. A round oak table covered with lace doilies sat between us.
After I’d offered my condolences and told Mrs. Grayson what I could remember of Ben’s last day on earth—which was precious little, unfortunately—she wanted to fix me tea, even offered to cook me an early supper, but I persuaded her I needed nothing more than time to talk about Ben.
Twisting a blue tissue with arthritic fingers, she said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know this is difficult,” I said, “but I visited the sheriff first and he was telling me that—”
“Oh, I know what he said, that my Ben was a killer. That he murdered Cloris. Isn’t that right, miss?”
“Well... yes.”
“Let me set you straight, then. Ben loved Cloris with all his heart. That’s one reason I didn’t marry him when he first asked me. Her ghost was still perched on his shoulder. The man missed her something awful.”
“And this is the woman he was accused of killing?”
“Don’t make sense, do it? But Miss Rose, I’m not sure Ben would be happy with me talking about Cloris. That was his business, like he always told me.”
“Okay, let’s talk about Ben, then. Why are you so certain he was innocent?”
“You married, Miss Rose?”
“I have been, yes.”
“Because if you’ve been married, then you know that if you live with a man, see how he does you day in and day out, how he handles what the Lord sends him, well... you know if he’s a liar. Ain’t that true, miss?”
“Yes,” I said, silently adding, though sometimes not right away. “But why didn’t Ben leave Shade? He could have started over in a new town.”
“He feared the insurance company would think he was guilty if he ran off. You see, they tried to wangle out of paying after Cloris’s death, seein’ as how he was a suspect and all.”
“Sheriff Nemec mentioned an insurance policy,” I said.
The weather-worn skin over her prominent cheek-bones took on color. “He told you about that, did he? Bet he didn’t mention how Ben only bought that insurance to help my first husband out. We were losing our shirt with the farm and started selling policies on the side. So Ben—and plenty of others, I might add—bought insurance he didn’t even need. And that was the Ben Grayson I knew.” She nodded, her mouth drawn into a stubborn pucker. “He was never no wife killer. Not never.” Her chin quivered and she fought back tears, then said, “It’s okay, Miss Rose. Don’t look so worried. I’m all right.”
“Please, call me Abby.” I reached across and touched one thin arm. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I want to help. How can I do that?”
“You could help me bring him home so I can put him to rest. I never been to Houston. Wouldn’t know where to start if I had to go there and... find him.”
“I’ll arrange everything. You won’t have to leave your home.”
“You’d do that for a stranger?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
She studied my face, then said, “You’re one fine lady, Miss Abby. Even if you do come from the city.”
I smiled. “I take that as a high compliment. I have one more question. Ben was using the name Garrison while he worked for me. Why did he change his name?”
She blinked her red-rimmed eyes several times, looking as if she’d put a bucket down a well and brought up Coke instead of water. “He was using some other name? He never said a word about that.”
“When did you speak to him last?”
“About a week ago. He called, said he was making progress. Sounded happier than I think I can ever remember.”
“Making progress? On what?”
“Well, I assumed on finding out who killed Cloris. That’s why he went to Houston in the first place. He’s been trying to find the person who killed her ever since she died. Sometimes he’d follow a lead for weeks and come back with nothing. But this last time was different. He’s been gone long on three months.”
I leaned back in the chair, questions flying through my brain like gnats. “I-I guess I assumed Ben came to Houston to find work.”
“Oh, no, Miss Abby. We had plenty of money since the insurance finally paid him what they owed—with interest, I might add.”
So Ben had ended up at my house to search for the truth about his wife’s murder. What clue had led him to us? Had he found the proof to clear his name? And was he killed because of what he’d learned?