As I sat alone in the darkness, waiting for Merrilee, it was the first time I’d had to think about Dick Sutterly’s death even though my family had turned the known facts inside out and upside down trying to figure if it involved Adam.
If this killing was linked to Mr. Jap’s, why on a public road, so seemingly spur of the moment?
Sutterly had been all over this section of land last Saturday morning. His own death would seem to clear him of Mr. Jap’s, but what if he’d seen someone entering or leaving the shop? And what if he tried to pressure that someone?
Allen?
Allen’s alibi was Katie Morgan and her brother. They’d probably lie for him in a heartbeat.
So say it was Allen that Sutterly saw. What does he do? See Allen out there on the road and say, “I’ll tell unless you—?”
“Unless he what?” asked my pragmatist.
Pays blackmail?
“Sutterly didn’t need small money and Allen hasn’t got big.”
Of course, when (if) Cherry Lou’s convicted, Allen will have the land. Big money potential there. And don’t forget that promissory note Dwight found in Sutterly’s truck. Why was it on top, if not to shake in someone’s face? Maybe Sutterly said he’d keep silent if Allen would honor the terms Mr. Jap had negotiated.
“But Allen thought that was a good deal. He was hoping Sutterly would be legally bound to pay off on that note when he got title. Your trouble is you just don’t want to think Adam’s involved.”
Whoever shot Sutterly killed Mr. Jap first, and Adam had no reason to do that.
“If Cherry Lou had signed the land back to Mr. Jap, he could have sold part of the road frontage right away and then Adam’s land would have been less valuable. No sixty thousand for him. ”
That argument thankfully ended when a car turned into the drive over beyond the house and circled around through the yard to park a few yards behind me.
By tilting my watch to the headlights, I saw it was closer to ten minutes than the five Merrilee had promised. I also saw that she’d sent Pete instead of coming herself.
I might have known. All she needed to do was pout a little about having to go traipsing up to Uncle Jap’s shop and good ol’ Pete would insist upon coming for her, anything to save Merrilee the least bit of aggravation.
Automatically, I pulled my keys from the ignition and met him at the shop door.
“Sorry to drag you out,” I apologized, “but Dwight Bryant said Adam and Allen were here together yesterday afternoon and since nobody’s seen them again—”
“It’s okay,” Pete said. “I don’t blame you for worrying. If Allen and Adam got to fussing, no telling what might happen. Allen used to be worse’n me for drinking and then getting in fights.”
He opened the padlock and left it hanging on the staple. Inside, we found the light switch and lit up the shabby old shop. Beer cans littered the workbench and floor beside two broken-down chairs, but there was nothing to indicate a fight of any kind.
“That Adam’s rifle?” asked Pete, pointing to the .22 propped against the old air compressor.
“Actually, it’s Zach’s.” And I was really glad to see it. “I’ve been worrying that he was lying out in the woods somewhere in a hunting accident.”
“Still could be,” said Pete. “Allen could have brought the rifle back and then took off in Adam’s car.”
“And Dwight did say Sutterly was shot with a small-bore weapon,” I said reluctantly. “Maybe I’d better leave it here till we know better. There might be fingerprints.”
“I hear Billy Wall’s out on bail. Don’t you reckon he killed Dick Sutterly, too?”
I suppose I could have told him. It would be all over this end of the county by next day anyhow, but I just shook my head.
“Sure he did,” said Pete. “He killed Uncle Jap, stole his money, and then he probably shot Dick Sutterly because Dick saw him here.”
“I grant you that’s probably why Sutterly was shot, but not by Billy Wall. Sutterly was up and down all the lanes Saturday. He must’ve seen—”
My mouth was in gear but my brain was on idle. I hesitated, abruptly made uneasy by something feral in the way Pete had gone absolutely still and unblinking, like a cat that suspects a vole beneath the leaves. And just as abruptly, I remembered how he’d tried to prevent Merrilee from coming in here that morning. “Aw, now, honey,” he’d said. “You don’t want to go in there and remember him there like that.”
Like how?
Pete?
He saw it in my face, let out a roar of denial and lunged at me. He was twice my size and if he ever caught me in that bear hug, I’d be dog meat.
He grabbed my arm and swung me around. I raked his face with my car keys and tried to knee him in the groin. I must have missed the main target, but it did loosen his grip for an instant and I snatched up a hammer from the workbench. By then, he had a lug wrench in his beefy hand, and he swung so hard that both my keys and the hammer went flying. A second swing landed a glancing blow on my hip and I fell to the concrete floor.
As he moved in for the kill, I grabbed Allen’s creeper board and shoved it toward him. He stepped down heavily on it and both feet went out from under him.
I didn’t wait to see how he landed, just sprinted for the door as fast as I could, slammed it and rammed the padlock home.
Ob God, for a car key! There was a spare set in a magnetic case under the fender but Pete was already banging against the door and I knew the hasp wouldn’t hold long enough for me to find them and drive away. The way my hip throbbed from where he’d hit me, I also knew I couldn’t run far.
Thanking the Lord for the moonless night, I dashed down the lane straight for the barn shelter fifty feet away and dived under the wrecked Maverick just as Pete burst through the door. There wasn’t much room and I wiggled through the powdery dry sand till I was under the furthest hulk, a car that rode a lot higher than the Maverick.
From where I lay in pitch darkness, I could see Pete rush around his car and mine, looking for me. Car doors banged and I heard something crash against the shop wall, then he reached into his car and my heart sank as he pulled out a powerful flashlight and began searching more carefully. As he pointed the beam under the cars and all around the shop, I saw that he held the flash in his left hand.
His right hand held a pistol.
I wiggled right up against the cinder block supporting the left front wheel, oblivious to black widows, brown recluses or snakes of any color that might be hibernating in the cracks and crevices. All I wanted was a crack or crevice myself. Or better yet, a deep dark hole.
Instead, I realized that space had opened up above me. Of course! The motor on this old car had been pulled years ago, probably before I was even born. I pushed my hand up through cobwebs and waved it around. There was plenty of room up under the hood, although my hand encountered so many dangling wires and sharp ends of copper tubing, I wasn’t sure if I could get past the axle and the radiator without tearing my clothes—not to mention my skin—to shreds.
But then Pete’s flashlight turned toward the shed and shelters and damned if I didn’t find that terror makes a real good lubricant. I slipped up into the motor housing like a greased monkey and my foot left the ground just as the light swept a long low arc under all the cars.
Pete was so close I could hear his heavy grunts as he stooped to look under each car.
Panicked, I realized there was a gaping hole under the dash where the floorboards had rusted through into the motor housing, and I quickly turned my head so that my face wouldn’t shine back should the light hit it.
Fortunately, it was only a hasty inspection and the light didn’t linger. Through the broken window, I heard Pete move around to the vehicles on the other side of the shelter, then the vibration of running feet, as if it had suddenly dawned on him that I might have headed for my daddy’s house.