Rattlesnake Crossing

Jeopardy! was playing on the screen. 'I can some of the time,' Joanna replied, 'but I don't watch it very often.'

'I suppose not,' Belle said. 'You're a busy lady.'

They were quiet, letting the television fill the room with low-level noise while Joanna searched for some way to start. 'I'm sure this will be painful for you, Ms. Philips, but I need to talk to you about Clyde.'

Belle bit her lip and nodded. 'It's all right,' she said. 'I don't mind. What do you want to know?'

'When's the last time you saw him?'

'Saturday,' she said. 'He came by the restaurant and I cooked him breakfast.'

'What about Sunday?' Joanna asked.

'I never saw him on Sunday,' Belle said.

'But you did go by the house,' Joanna pressed.

For a long time Belle Philips didn't answer. 'Yes,' she said finally. 'I did go by, but I didn't see him.'

'Did you go into the house?'

'Yes, but he must have been asleep,' Belle said. 'I didn't wake him up and I didn't see him, neither. I went in and came straight back out.'

'If you didn't go to see him, why were you there?' Joanna asked.

Belle sighed. 'I needed money,' she said. 'To pay my utilities. So I did that sometimes, when I was short. Went by aid helped myself to a dollar or two. He always had money in his wallet. And he never seemed to miss it. Least-wise, he never complained about it. But I never killed him, Sheriff Brady. I never did nothin' to hurt the man. You're not sayin' I did, are you?'

'No,' Joanna responded, 'I didn't say you did. I'm just trying to understand what all was going on in Clyde's life the last few days before he died. We don't have autopsy results yet, but Dr. Daly-the investigator for the medical examiner's office-thinks Clyde may have committed suicide. What do you think?'

'He never,' Belle said flatly. 'Clyde never would of done that, not less'n he got a whole lot sicker than he was already.'

'You knew he was sick, then?' Joanna asked.

Belle shrugged. 'I guess.'

'With what?'

'Who knows? All I know is, the last few months he was always tired. Just dragging. Like he could barely stand to put one foot in front of another. Losing weight no matter how much food I stuffed into him. But Clyde wasn't one to go to doctors much. Didn't believe in 'em.'

Joanna stared. Dr. Daly had taken one look at Clyde Philips' body and suspected that the man was suffering from AIDS. If Clyde didn't go to doctors, was it possible that he himself hadn't known what was wrong with him? Or was his former wife the one who didn't know?

'So as far as you know, Clyde didn't have a personal physician?'

'If he did, he never told me. And what's the point? Even if he was sick when he died, once he's dead, can't see how it matters.'

It matters, all right, Joanna thought, to anyone else who's ever been with the man. It matters to you. She said, 'So after you moved out, Ms. Philips, did you maintain any kind of relationship with your former husband?'

'I cooked for him,' Belle admitted. 'Did his wash. Cleaned for him when the house got so filthy that I couldn't stand to see it. He paid me for it, too, for doing all those things, but I probably would of kept right on doin' even if he hadn't had no money to pay me.'

'But you and he weren't… well… intimate.'

Belle's laugh was hollow. 'We weren't hardly ever what you call intimate when we was married, so why would we be after we was divorced? He told me real early on that I wasn't his type. That I wasn't no good in the bedroom department. So I put as good a face on things as I could and acted like we was just like any other normal married couple. You know, complainin' about it sometimes the way women do, about their husband all the time wantin' 'em to come across. That kind of thing. 'Cept in our family, it was me all the time doin' the wantin' and him sayin' he had a headache.'

And that's probably a good thing for you, Joanna thought.

For a few minutes the television set droned on overhead while Joanna considered her next question. 'Pomerene's a small town,' she said finally. 'It's the kind of place where people know things even though they may not necessarily want to. So do you have any idea who any of Clyde's partners were after you left?'

For the first time, Belle Philips' eyes strayed from the flickering television screen. 'Sex partners you mean? I can't rightly say I do. And even if I did, I don't know that 1'd say. Since Clyde's dead, what people say about him now really don't matter. But I draw the line at spreadin' gossip about the livin'. Gossipin' ain't my style.'

'What made you divorce him, then? Did you leave be-cause he was getting sick?'

Belle sighed. 'Clyde was sick a long time before I divorced him, and not with nothin' catchin', neither. I just always kept thinkin' I could make him better. 'Fix him, like. They're all the unit tellin' folks that at church, sayin' that the unbelievin' spouse can be saved by the believin' one if'n they just pray hard enough. 1 prayed. Lord knows, 1 prayed for years, but it wasn't never enough.'

'What do you mean he was sick then?'

'Sheriff Brady, the man is dead. Can't we just let sleepin' dogs lie?'

'No, we can't, Belle,' Joanna returned. 'You just told me yourself that you don't believe Clyde committed suicide. If that's the case, then he was murdered. Somebody else did it-some unidentified person put that bag over his head and closed it up tight. In order to find out who that person is, we need to know everything we can about Clyde himself. Everything. Good and bad.'

'But he's already dead,' Belle objected stubbornly. 'What does it matter?'

Joanna took a deep breath. Maybe Dr. Daly was right and Clyde Philips had committed suicide. Even so, someone who knew him-someone who might have discovered the body before Belle had-could have stolen the guns. And Joanna was convinced that person with the guns was responsible for what had happened at the Triple C. One way or the other, Sheriff Brady needed Belle Philips' cooperation.

'It's not just Clyde,' Joanna said. 'It could be that other people are in danger as well. Someone wiped out Clyde's gun shop.'

'Wiped it out? What does that mean?'

'I mean all of Clyde's guns are gone, Belle. A whole shop full of guns is empty. And all the paperwork that went along with them is missing. If Clyde didn't sell those guns, then someone stole them-probably the same person who killed him. Not only that, there's a very good chance that one of those weapons was used to murder someone up on the Triple C night before last.'

'Someone else? Who?'

'A lady from Rattlesnake Crossing. Her name's Katrina Berridge. So far, we have possible links from that case to two others, not even counting what happened to Clyde. His death would make it four. We have to find out who's doing this, Belle. Find him and stop him. Whatever you can tell us about Clyde may help lead us to the person or persons responsible.'

Again there was a long silence. 'Boys,' Belle said at last.

'Boys?' Joanna echoed.

Belle nodded sadly. 'Clyde liked boys. If he had been messing around with other women, maybe I could of handled it. But boys was somethin' else. It just beat all.'

'You're saying Clyde Philips was a pedophile?'

'That's a pretty highfalutin-soundin' word, Sheriff Brady. I don't know exactly what it means, but if it means someone who likes to screw boys instead of women, then that's right. Clyde was one of them. I didn't catch on to it for a long time. I s'pose you think I'm just stupid or some-thin'. And maybe I am. I thought he just liked havin' all those young folks around on account of us not havin' any kids of our own. And then when I finally did figure it out, my pastor kept telling me to love the sinner and hate the sin. So that's what I did. For as long as I could stand it. But he kept goin' up to Phoenix and hangin' out with them boy prostitutes. Finally I just gave up. Gave up and got out, especially seein’ as how I'd come into a little bit of money to help me get set up on my own.'

Belle lapsed into silence once more, and Joanna had the good sense to realize that her questions were plumbing the depths of an open wound. 'Do you know any of their names?' she asked.