Sweet and Deadly aka Dead Dog

She had tentatively hoped it would be Randall. It was a dash of cold water in the face to see Sheriff Galton.

Oh, go away, she told him silently. I had gotten all settled, and here I am mad again.

“I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Catherine, but I’ve thought of a few more questions I want to ask you.”

Galton looked as immovable as a transport truck.

Suddenly Catherine was no longer angry. She felt flat and depressed. She saw in James Galton the grinning man who had swept her to the ceiling in a deliciously frightening game, when he and his wife came to visit Glenn and Rachel Linton.

There was nothing fun about being frightened now. There was nothing fun about being the sheriff, either. James Galton’s face had been sanded down with exhaustion.

“Please come in,” she said quietly, standing aside.

He sank down onto the couch with a barely audible sigh of relief. Catherine took the chair Tom had occupied the afternoon before.

For a minute or two they were silent. Galton was lost in some dark alley of thought. Catherine watched him, lit a cigarette, tried to relax. The feeling of being fifteen and in first crush had utterly died away, leaving her hardened, old, and alone. She resolved to behave like a normal, sane, balanced woman-a resolution that immediately made her nervous and fidgety.

“Well, I’ll keep this as short as I can,” the sheriff began. “I know you probably want to be by yourself”-and Catherine winced as her idea of her image in Lowfield was confirmed-“but you know, Catherine, I don’t enjoy this.”

She felt remorseful, receptive, and wary, all at once.

“Now, when you were driving to the shack yesterday, did you see anyone you know, anyone at all?”

Catherine reflected obediently.

“No. Well, yes I did,” she said, surprised. A blue pickup had been coming toward Lowfield as she was going to the shack. She remembered a friendly wave through a bug-spattered windshield.

“I saw Martin Barnes,” she said without thinking, still amazed that she had forgotten, especially since the sheriff had asked her who rented the land. Was she getting Martin Barnes in trouble? He was a pleasant, not-too- bright man with a married daughter, Sally, who was Catherine’s age.

Well, Mr. Barnes is old enough to watch out for himself, Catherine decided with a new tartness.

“What was he driving?” Galton asked.

“His blue pickup. I don’t know makes and models. But it was him; he waved at me.”

“Where do you reckon you were when you saw him?”

Catherine thought back. Her morning before she had entered the shack was blurry to her now.

“He was fixing to turn onto the highway, just as I was turning off,” she said. “You know, there are a couple of houses there. One that Jewel Crenna rents. The other one’s empty now.”

“The turn-off to the shack,” Galton observed mildly.

“Yes,” said Catherine and took a deep breath. Despite her every-man-for-himself resolution, she was still dressing things up. She didn’t want to point any fingers.

Galton said intuitively, “Catherine, someone did this. Maybe someone you know.”

“And maybe it was you,” whispered the silence that fell after he spoke.

“How long since you saw Leona?” he asked abruptly.

“Tom and Randall asked me that yesterday,” she said nervously. “I honestly don’t remember.”

Do drag in the word “honestly,” she congratulated herself savagely. By all means.

“If you mean saw her around town,” she rattled on, “I guess a couple of weeks ago in the drugstore. If you mean saw her to speak to, it was a few months ago-about three months-when Tom was going to move into the house in back, Father’s old office. She called me-” Catherine stopped short.

“She called you?” nudged Galton.

“Yes,” Catherine said slowly. “It was really kind of strange. Miss Gaites said she had heard that someone was moving into the old office, and she knew there were some things in there that Jerry Selforth hadn’t wanted to buy. She wanted to know if I needed help moving them.”

Catherine remembered smothering her dislike, to preserve the false face of friendliness she and Leona had always worn when they dealt with each other.

A waste of time, Catherine thought now. And it had been funny-peculiar, her calling like that.

Catherine really had needed help getting those filing cabinets up the collapsible folding stairs that let down from the attic in her father’s old office. And she had still been suffering from the “be nice to Leona, she has no family” syndrome. So she had accepted Leona’s help with protestations of gratitude.

Though why someone with no family would care to haul heavy things up flimsy stairs, any more than a person with seventy relations, is more than I can figure out, she said to herself.

“What did you talk about that day, Catherine?” asked Galton.

“Well.” She hesitated. “The largest things that had to be moved were filing cabinets that Father kept patient files in. Some people still haven’t asked for their files, to take over to Jerry’s new office. Leona was saying how nice it was that some people were so healthy that they hadn’t needed their records for such a long time; that now that the files were going up in the attic, it would be a lot of trouble when someone finally got sick and realized she had to have her records…I think I asked Leona if she had applied to be Jerry’s nurse; and she said no, she had heard he had a friend who was getting the job, a girl who was going to commute from Memphis. That’s all I remember.”

The sheriff ’s only response was a small movement of his huge hand. Catherine wondered if he had been listening. Then she thought clearly, He’s trying to decide how to ask me something.

Catherine grew nervous at this hiatus and lit a cigarette. To break the silence, she asked quietly, “How did she die?”

“She died in her house,” Galton said heavily. “She was beaten to death. With something rounded and heavy; like a baseball bat.

Catherine went very still and bit the inside of her mouth. Anything she could say would be inadequate.

“Catherine.”

Her eyes were blurry with tears of shock. She blinked and Galton came into focus again. She was warned by the sharpness in his face. Something important was coming up.

“Did you sell any of your father’s equipment to Leona?”

If she had formed any idea of what Galton’s question would be, that was not it.

“What? Why would Leona want anything from the office? I sold almost everything to Jerry.”

“What didn’t you sell to Jerry?”

“Besides those filing cabinets in the attic-” Catherine made an effort to concentrate, but she was too confused to remember. “Leona knew. She did all that, made the list for the lawyer. Father’s estate. I was too upset,” Catherine said miserably. She had always felt some guilt for shoving the task off on Leona, though Leona had certainly been more qualified to do it. “Maybe there’s still the list of stuff for the lawyer? That you could check against what Jerry has now?”

Galton didn’t comment on her weak suggestion, or explain why he had asked her, she noticed uneasily; but the mention of estates had given her something to chew on.

“Is there anything I ought to do? About Leona’s house? Or about having her buried? She didn’t have any kin, you know.” Catherine hated to offer, but knew she had to. It was the least and last thing she could do for Leona.

“Her lawyer, John Daniels, will handle all that, Catherine. She left a will. It’s a few years old; and it’s kind of surprising,” Galton said smoothly. “She left everything-house, money-to your father. Now, I guess, it’ll come to you. John Daniels says for you to call him.”

“Shit,” said Catherine. “Is that what this is all about?” She was angry now, red hot. “Come on, Sheriff! Leona didn’t have doodly-squat. I know Father paid her what he could, but that wasn’t all that much; and she hasn’t worked since he died.”

“As a matter of fact,” Galton said calmly, “Leona had quite a bit of money. But she was kind of informal about