This was clearly different from Bert Ramsey’s death, though. Cullens had been tortured. There was generally only one reason for torture, and that was to gain information. What information did Cullens have that Rapper wanted? And had Rapper gotten it?
Rhodes tied up the nameless man with a belt he found in the chest of drawers. Jayse was still out. He hoped they’d be able to answer his questions. He’d give a lot, sometimes, to be like the stereotypical Texas sheriff in movies and cheap novels, with a sadistic deputy and a cattle prod to use on recalcitrant prisoners. Unfortunately, he couldn’t work like that.
He went back out on the porch. The dog was still there, and he rubbed its head. He figured the dog could tell him a lot if it could only discuss things with him. It could probably have told him, for instance, where Wyneva was. Obviously, she hadn’t come back here after the funeral fiasco at Ballinger’s chapel, which was probably for the best. Rapper might have finished her off, too. He might be looking for her even now.
Rhodes’s back ached. He knew he’d have a huge bruise on it by the next day. Besides, he was covered with mud. If Cullens had had indoor plumbing, Rhodes would have washed off, but there was only an old well in the backyard.
Thinking of the well put another, much less pleasant, thought in Rhodes’s mind. He went around to the back, the dog at his heels. When he got to the well, he lifted the cover off and looked down. It was just a well, and he could see light reflect off the water below. For a minute, he’d been afraid that Rapper had thrown Wyneva down there.
Since he was already there, Rhodes let down the galvanized bucket and drew it back up. The water was clear and cold, and he washed off his hands and face as best he could.
Then he heard the motorcycle returning and went back around to the front. He still found it a little hard to believe that Ivy could ride the bike so well.
She came to a stop near the porch, got off, and reported. “Hack’s sending Ruth Grady, and the ambulance and J.P. are on the way.”
“Good,” Rhodes said. “I’d like to get this all settled out.”
“I’ll bet,” Ivy said. “Easier said than done.”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. A pain shot across his back and he winced. “I seem to get a lot of roughing up without getting very good results.”
“You’ve got two prisoners,” Ivy reminded him.
“And another corpse,” Rhodes said.
“Not to mention a dog,” Ivy said, looking at the animal, which had followed Rhodes around to the front.
It sat a few yards away, its tongue hanging out. It was looking at Rhodes expectantly.
“Oh, no,” Rhodes said. “Wait a minute.”
“Somebody has to take care of it,” Ivy said. “Surely you weren’t planning just to leave it here to starve to death.”
“Ah, well, I hadn’t really thought about it, to tell the truth,” Rhodes said.
“Well I had,” Ivy said. “I think you should take it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Rhodes said. “How was Mrs. Ramsey doing?”
Ivy’s face clouded. “I’m not sure. I told her a little of what was going on here, and she started in about ‘that Greer woman being to blame’ and about how Bert had been a fine man until he met her. She was still upset about her being at the funeral, I could tell. She looked stony hard to me. I wouldn’t want her coming at me like she went at Wyneva Greer this morning.”
“I know what you mean,” Rhodes said. “Let’s check on our prisoners.”
Neither man was in any condition to talk, but Rhodes figured they would both be in pretty good shape by the next day. He just hoped that he would. Now that he’d had time to stiffen up, it hurt him even to take a step. “What time is it, anyway?” he asked.
Ivy looked at her watch. “Nearly two o’clock.”
“Seems like I never eat lunch anymore,” Rhodes said. “Now that you mention it. .”
“I guess in all the goings on, I kind of forgot,” Rhodes said. “To tell the truth, I never thought about eating until right now.”
“Me either,” Ivy said.
The dog barked. “Him either,” Rhodes said. He was almost resigned to having to adopt the dog. Then he remembered how the dog had come out from under the porch the first day he’d driven up. “Don’t you need a good watchdog?”
“Watchdog?” Ivy was incredulous. “He didn’t do Buster Cullens much good, did he?”
“I guess he didn’t at that,” Rhodes said. He shook his head and looked at the dog.
Then he looked down the road and saw the ambulance coming.
Chapter 12
Rhodes did not like to ride in the car with dogs. He insisted that if it would be safe to leave the motorcycles in the country overnight, it would also be safe to leave the dog. “He’s used to it here,” he said.
It didn’t do any good. Neither Ruth nor Ivy would listen to him, and so the dog was riding back to town with them in the county car. The fact that Rhodes had to share the back seat with him didn’t help. “After all,” Ruth told him, “you’re at least as dirty as the dog.”
Rhodes didn’t point out that Ivy wasn’t much cleaner. Probably, Ruth would have put the dog in front if he had. Ruth listened to the radio as she drove, a country station. Rhodes had once liked country music, but now it all sounded to him as if the singers were trying to get a job in a Vegas lounge. Occasionally there would be a song he’d like, but not often. It was the same with rock music. Rhodes had grown up with rock, and he had listened for hours to songs like those he’d played for Ivy a few nights before. But somewhere rock music had taken a turn that he had missed. The road forked, and he had taken the wrong fork. He seldom turned on the radio anymore.
So, what with having to sit in the back seat, the prisoner’s seat, Rhodes thought ironically, and having to share the seat with the dog, and having to listen to Kenny Rogers croon through a forest of syrupy violins and cooing backup singers, Rhodes wasn’t in a particularly good mood. Besides, he was dirty, and his back was sore. On top of everything, Rapper and Nellie had gotten away.
It didn’t improve things when Ruth brought up Clyde Ballinger’s latest telephone call. “Hack said you wouldn’t like it,” she said, explaining that Ballinger wanted to talk to Rhodes. Apparently, there was a hitch in the burial plans.
“Just drive by there right now,” Rhodes told her.
“Now?” Ruth looked at him in the mirror.
Ivy turned in her seat and looked back through the grille that separated them. “Are you sure? I think if you had a bath and something to eat. . ”
“I don’t want a bath, and I don’t want anything to eat,” Rhodes said. “I want to get this mess settled.”
“All right,” Ruth said. “You’re the sheriff.”
For a minute or two, no one spoke. The dog lay quietly in the seat, his tongue hanging out.
“So,” Ruth said finally, “what are you going to name the dog?”
“Don’t start,” Rhodes said. “Just don’t start.”
“It’s a sensible question,” Ivy said. “Are you sulking because I can ride a motorcycle better than you?”
“Of course not,” Rhodes said. But then he wondered if maybe she had a point. “I think I may name the dog Carella.”
“What?”
“Carella?”
“What kind of name is that?”
“Italian, I think.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Ivy said. “I meant, what kind of name is that for a dog to have?”
“I think it’s kind of nice,” Ruth said. “It has a nice sound.”
“I like it,” Rhodes said. He could hardly wait to tell Ballinger.
Ballinger liked the name, all right, but it didn’t change his mind. “I can’t bury them,” he said. They were in his office, and he looked at Rhodes as if he wished Rhodes would disappear, or at least go home and change clothes. Ruth and Ivy were looking at the books that lined the shelves and not really listening. Every now and then they would pull one down and read the cover blurbs.