"I'll be glad to swear out a statement on the aggravated assault charge, if you decide to go for it."
"Dwight?" he asked disbelievingly. He poked the bag with his finger, staring at the contents. "You're sayin' it was Dwight who set those fires?"
I nodded. "The probation officer said for you to call her if you've got any questions about his prior. It appears that he fell out with an auto mechanic in Fredericksburg and fired his garage-and just happened to burn down the senior citizens center next door."
"Sure coulda fooled me," he muttered.
"The only trouble is that I didn't see him around during
last night's fire," I said. "I figure he was probably back in the cedar brake, watching."
"Did ya see him this morning?"
I shook my head. "Could you track him down? And would you let me know when you and the county attorney have decided what to do about that assault charge?"
I was about to push my chair back when we were joined by a gray-haired, deeply tanned man in a dark sport jacket and string tie. He might have been in his sixties, but he was tall and lean and handsomely distinguished.
"Mornin', Stu," the man said.
Walters gave the man an uneasy grin. "Mornin', Mr. Townsend."
Ah. Carl Townsend, I presumed. I held out my hand. "Good morning, Mr. Townsend," I said pleasantly. "My name is China Bayles. I'm visiting out your way and drove past your ranch yesterday. Beautiful-a real showplace."
I was watching for a flicker of recognition when he heard my name, but I didn't see it. If he'd paid Dwight to take a shot at me, you'd never guess it from his smile. He took my hand, holding it a second longer than necessary.
"You like the place, huh?" He took off his hat, pulled out a chair, and sat down. His smile showed a lot of teeth. "We've put plenty of work into it."
The deputy was about to interject something-probably a remark about who I was-when Bernice yelled that he had a phone call. With a narrow-eyed glance at me, Walters left the table. Another piece of luck, I thought. I'd better take advantage of his absence.
"Yes, a great spot out there," I said. I leaned toward Townsend. "Perfect country for tourists. In fact, I hear there's some interest in developing the area. A retreat center, conference center, something like that?"
Townsend hesitated, as if h% were debating how to handle my question. But I was friendly and he was by nature a boastful man. He was also a man who enjoyed women. He moved his leg an inch toward mine. "So you've heard
what they're plannin' to do with the monastery on the other side of the river?''
I nodded. "The garlic farm, you mean?"
"That's what the nuns are doin' right now," he said. "But the head honcho of the order-she's out in El Paso- has talked to me about the possibility of turnin' it into a resort. Golf, tennis, swimming, conference facilities, even a heliport." He settled back comfortably and his leg came another inch closer. "Of course, she's thinkin' mainly about invitin' the Pope for a vacation, but I'm thinkin' about all those bankers and business types in Houston and Dallas." The smile showed more teeth. "Folks are tolerant these days. No reason we can't mix and mingle."
"Well, sure," I said. "And any kind of development out that way is going to enhance the value of the neighboring ranches. And I understand that vacation ranches are big tourist attractions these days. More money in that kind of thing than there is in cows."
"You bet." He was emphatic. "I tell you, the best is yet to come. This little town, it's gonna see some real changes. We're all gonna get rich." He waved at Bernice. "Hey, darlin', how about some of that black tar you're pourin'?" Bernice bore down on us with the coffeepot.
"And you're on the County Commissioners Court, aren't you?" I said admiringly. "With you behind the idea, the development will be a lot easier. You can push the highway improvements and handle the environmental stuff that usually gives developers fits. I'm sure there won't be any delays with you at the wheel, so to speak."
"You got it," Townsend said sunnily. "Fixin' to jump on it like a frog on a pond lily. Soon as we get word from the big chief nun that she's goin' to dump some dollars into the project." He circled Bernice's waist with his arm as she poured his coffee. ' 'Hullo there, Bernice. Been missin' me, darlin'?"
"Not too much, t' tell th' truth." Bernice wriggled out of his grasp and took a safe step away. "Say," she said to
me, "how you doin' out at the monastery? Got that bucket by your bed the way I told you?"
Townsend frowned. "Monastery?"
"You get tired of that nun-type food, you just come on in here and I'll feed you," Bernice said cheerfully. "Y'hear now?''
Townsend's warmth had cooled faster than a blue norther. "You're one of that bunch out there?" he demanded. "Why didn't you let on? You pumping me for information or something?"
I pushed my chair back and stood up. "It was really nice meeting you, Mr. Townsend. Sorry I can't stay to chat." I was just leaving when Stu Walters finished his phone call and strode back to the table.
But I didn't quite make my getaway.
"Hey," Walters said. He was grinning, not pleasantly. "You know whut, Miz Bayles? Turns out yer wrong 'bout Dwight. He didn't do it. He's cleaner'n a whistle. Like I tole you, it's gotta be one o' them nuns."
I stopped. "He didn't do it?"
"Didn't do what?" Townsend asked.
"What do you mean he's clean?" I demanded.
"What the hail didn't he do?" Townsend roared.
Walters gave his belt an uneasy hitch. "Set them fires at the monastery. Miz Bayles was hired to find out who done it. She fingered Dwight."
Townsend fixed his eyes on me, all geniality gone, a scorpion about to strike. "Who hired her?" he growled.
"The nuns," the deputy said.
Townsend's face was getting red. "Sheriff know about this?"
"Yessir, he does," Walters said uneasily. "He an' me, we figgered it couldn't hurt none, though. She wadn't likely to come up with anythin'." His grin showed a gold tooth. "We was right too. There was 'nother fire last night. An' Dwight, he was somewhere else."
"How do you know?" I asked.
" 'Cause that was Joe Bob on the phone jes' now." His voice was filled with triumph. "Joe Bob is the night-shift deppity. He picked Dwight up 'bout nine last night in Bimbo's parkin' lot. 01' Dwight was drank as a skunk, an' Joe Bob pitched him in jail to sleep it off. He's bin there all night. Fact is, he's there right now."
It was one of the more humiliating moments of my recent life. I had been so dead-set on proving that Walters was wrong and the arsonist wasn't one of the sisters, that I had violated a rule I had learned a long time ago: God will forgive you for fooling the judge and the jury. God won't forgive you for fooling yourself.
I got out of there as fast as I could. But when I reached the door I could hear Walters and Townsend guffawing. The sound was still ringing in my ears when I got to the Carr County Hospital, on the east side of town.
The hospital was a small, one-story building on the corner across from the elementary school. There were a half-dozen cars and pickups in the front lot, but no other sign of life. Inside, the small lobby was empty except for a fax machine, a phone, and a computer, angled so I could see the monitor. A yellow happy face was bouncing around the blue screen, urging me to "Have a Heart-Healthy Day."
I checked my watch. It was nearly nine, and mere were several more items on my list of errands. I didn't have time to waste. I went to the double doors at one side of the lobby, pushed them open, and walked down the empty hall to the nurses' station. I was greeted by a starched nurse in wire-rimmed glasses with the scowl of someone annoyed with the world in general and her corner of it in particular.