“Here in Dawson?”
“Yes.” Leonard sighed. “Right here. Robert Earl stopped at a gas station displaying snakes when he was in Arizona. It definitely made an impression on him; he’s been talking about it for years.”
“Has Robert Earl—”
Leonard cut him short. “Robert Earl is not a murderer. He’s a snake lover, a blowhard, a coward, a nut—he’s
Sheriff Bledsoe ignored the slight. “I didn’t say he was a murderer. Money brings out the worst in people, good and bad people.” He paused and looked Leonard straight in the eye. “I have to ask you this. Did you murder your father?”
“I said it once and I’ll say it again. I did not murder my father.”
“You willing to take a polygraph?”
“Yes,” Leonard snapped. “Day or night.”
“When were you planning to return to Chicago?”
“Today, just as soon as I leave here.”
Sheriff Bledsoe shook his head. “Uh-uh. I prefer you didn’t, not until we clear this up.”
“I can’t stay!” Leonard said, raising his voice. “I have a job, a life, in Chicago.”
“Your father was murdered during a family gathering. And not only were you there, you threatened him.”
“I didn’t threaten him. Who said I threatened him? Who?” He waited… Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond. “No way can you construe what I told my father as a threat. Please! I just told you we, Victor and myself, arrived late. Everybody knows that. This is a waste of time!”
“I’ve got plenty of time, Mr. Harris.” Leonard stood abruptly. “If you leave town prematurely, Mr. Harris, I will issue a warrant for your arrest.”
Leonard stared at him. He wanted to say high cholesterol makes rational thinking difficult, doesn’t it? Instead: “This is ridiculous!”
“Maybe so. Here in the country we treat murder seriously.”
“How long will it take you to complete your investigation?”
Three creases appeared on Sheriff Bledsoe’s forehead. “Not too long,” he said, and Leonard detected a tinge of doubt.
“I heard a murder investigation runs cold if the perpetrator isn’t caught within the first forty-eight hours. My father’s murder is, what, four-days-old? You’re not sure how long this investigation will take, are you?”
Sheriff Bledsoe didn’t respond.
Leonard crossed his arms and scrunched up his nose. “I’ll stick around for as long as it takes. I’m not the litigious sort, but if I lose my job before you realize I did not murder my father… well, as the old saying goes —”
“I will see you in court,” Sheriff Bledsoe finished for him. “You’re free to go, Mr. Harris.”
Leonard walked to the door, opened it and then stopped. “Have you ever lost a family member to murder?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response. “Words can’t describe it. Numb, anguish, pain—don’t even come close. Then to be suspected—”
A black truck drove by, a rebel flag in the back window. Leonard lost his train of thought. “Have a good day, Sheriff,” and stepped out into the afternoon’s heat.
Chapter 4
Along Highway 10, two miles east of Dawson’s city limits, a mile or so short of a vacant lot where Robert Earl planned to build a gas station and exotic snake farm, stood the Blinky Motel. The only building before a ten-mile stretch to the next town, Hamburg, it lit up the sky for miles around.
A full moon hovered above. A large neon sign in front flashed INKY, missing the first two letters. Along the edge of the roof, red Christmas lights blinked intermittently from one end to the other.
Nine rooms comprised the single-level building, one inhabited by the manager, an Iranian who boasted American citizenship; thus the sign American Owned and Operated in the office window.
Three cars were parked in front on the gravel lot. In back, a late-model Chevrolet S10 truck hid among a copse of pine trees. Its owner, Eric Barnes, sat on a bed in room number seven, watching a video,
Mesmerized by Linda Lovelace’s oral resuscitations, Eric didn’t hear the soft knock at the door.
“Eric?” a woman whispered, followed by a tap on the window. “Eric!” This time he heard and hastily took out the video and changed the channel,
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Eric opened the door and Ruth Ann, wrapped in a trench coat, stepped in.
“I’ve been out there a long time,” she said, looking around the room. “What you doing you didn’t hear the door?”
“I musta dozed off.” Ruth Ann brushed past him and sat on the bed. He wondered why she wore a coat in the middle of July. “Something wrong?”
She stared at the television; a petite woman slammed Johnny Bravo on his head. “The funeral, my father, everything, really…” She shook her head.
He sat beside her and ran his hand through her hair. “What you talking about, baby?” She pushed his hand away. “What’s the matter? Don’t you still love me?”
“Eric, my daddy was murdered. Somebody poisoned him. His funeral was just yesterday.”
“He was murdered! Damn! Ain’t that a bitch! Take your clothes off, let’s get busy.”
Ruth Ann shot him a cold look. “For your information, Daddy and I were real close. You wouldn’t understand.” She covered her eyes and started crying. “I miss him so much!”
“I miss him, too,” tugging on the trench coat. Good girl, he thought as he slid the coat down her shoulders.
To his surprise, Ruth Ann sported a blue skin-tight jumpsuit underneath the coat; crying loudly now, her sobs drowning out Johnny Bravo begging for a date. Even in her distress, he wanted her.
Ruth Ann was an attractive woman. Coal-black hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Brown eyes below pencil- thin eyebrows slanted upward, giving her a slightly Asian appearance. Her complexion resembled liquid caramel, creamy smooth. Figure curved in all the right places, especially in the rear.
What mostly fascinated Eric was her mouth. Lips full and sensuous, almost always sporting a sparkling cherry sheen. When she talked her lips barely moved, concealing her teeth, straight and snow white.
He hugged her. “It’s going to be all right, baby. I’m here.” He palmed her breast and she pushed his hand away.
She stopped crying and said, “I’ve been doing some thinking, some serious thinking.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, I have. Daddy’s death triggered my conscience. I’ve allowed my moral compass to shift to depravity and self-gratification.”
“Yeah,” Eric said, not having a clue what the hell she was talking about. “Me, too.”
“Really? You feel the same way?”
“Yeah, hell yeah! I feel the same way you do. Now let’s get naked.” He pulled her to him and started kissing her neck, then tried to push her onto the bed.
“Stop!” Ruth Ann shouted, pulling free.
“What’s the matter, baby? We don’t have much time. I took two Levitras and rented this room for an hour.”
“Didn’t you just say you felt the same as I do, guilty and ashamed? Morally depleted?”
“I did?”
