(a short story), Part 2
By Steve Glossin
[In Part 1, which appeared on November 29, the body of a young man was discovered near the rubbish bin behind the M&P Furniture Emporium. Who killed Tim Riley?]
It was early the next morning when Sheriff Sloan pressed Ma Riley’s doorbell. The door opened a crack. “Ma, I hope I ain’t disturbing you this early in the morning.” Her gray hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush in a while and her blue housecoat was wrinkled and threadbare at the sleeves.
“Sheriff Sloan,” Ma said as a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who’d want to shoot my Timmy?” Her eyes were red from all of the water they’d shed since getting the news.
“Can I come in a minute?”
“I’m sorry, sheriff, I seem to have lost track of my manners with everything that’s happened.” She grasped the front of her housecoat, opened the door, and stepped back to let him in.
Marion walked into the curtained living room, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dark. Nothing looked out of place, but it gave him a feeling like dust had been settling for awhile…A room filling with quiet death and mourning.
Ma Riley closed the door and pointed to a faded chintz sofa. “Sheriff, can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”
He sat down and sank into the worn cushions. “Ma, please call me Marion.”
Ma Riley shuffled to the sofa, her house shoes barely leaving the floor and sat down next to him. “Marion…I remember now…You’re Donald and Floe Ellen’s boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am…I want you to know if there’s anything that Helen and I can do….”
“You, can’t bring my Timmy back,” she cut him off.
“What I meant, if there’s anything you need….”
“Anything I need, anything I need.” The tears started slowly then increased until they ran down her face like rain on a windshield. “Have you lost a son and a daughter-in-law on the same day? Do you know what it’s like to lose your only boy then see your grandson taken from you? What I need, sheriff, you can’t give me.”
Marion’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Ma, I really am.” He stood up and walked toward the door then stopped and turned around. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded envelope and set it on a maple lamp table. “I’ll have the men from the station stop by…If there’s anything you need just send word.”
She bowed her head and with trembling hand lifted the damp kerchief to her eyes.
Marion walked out quietly and closed the door.
Tom looked up when the door opened and he let out a whistle. “Damn, I almost didn’t recognize you without your Grizzly Adams look.”
Marion rolled his eyes, walked through the swinging gate and headed to the coffee pot. He rubbed the side of his face. “This was on the top of Helen’s list, followed by a bath and a change of clothes. I don’t think she would have adjusted too well back in my grandparents’ days.”
Tom stood up and joined Marion by the coffee pot. “Oh, I don’t know. Women nowadays are made of a lot sterner stuff than we give them credit for. Did you see Ma Riley?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head slowly. “I told her we’d have a patrol stop by each day to see if she needed anything.” He went over to his desk and sat down. “What’s your thoughts on the death?”
“I told you about the dead rat shot with a pellet gun. Suppose someone Tim knew was out there with him. Someone who brought his dad’s .22 for a little target practice and something went wrong. It was dropped or misfired and Tim took one in the chest.”
“Possible,” said Marion.
“Yeah, possible, but that dog don’t hunt.”
Marion looked up from the papers he was shuffling in his in box. “You talked to his friends?”
“Them and their parents. None own a .22. Shotguns, rifles, and some big pistols, but no one has a need for a peashooter. Nowadays kids get weaned on deer rifles.”
“Tom, I’m stepping out for a while. Which car’s gassed up?”
Tom tossed a set of keys to Marion. “The Chevy.”
It was three in the afternoon when Marion walked back through the station door. He hung his tan Stetson on the coat rack then sauntered to his desk, where his eyes were drawn to a small Tupperware container with a pink ribbon tied around it. He was wondering if one of the guys was playing some kind of joke when Tom came out of the restroom.
“You found it.”
Marion looked at the plastic container then over at the deputy. “What is it I found?”
“Ed was out on patrol. I asked him to stop by Ma Riley’s place like you asked. She gave the plastic box to Ed and told him, Take it to the sheriff, nobody else but the sheriff or I’m gonna skin somebody. He need’s cheering up. Her exact words according to Ed. Oh, and she said to thank you for the money from the policemen’s widow and orphans fund.”
Marion’s bronzed face turned a light shade of red. “I, uh, didn’t want her to think it was charity. She’s a proud woman and I figured the note I left with the money would make things easier. I said there was a fund for relatives of folks who died under unexplained circumstances. What are you grinning about?”
Tom chuckled. “The great red hunter’s got a heart of gold. Aren’t you gonna open it?”
Marion untied the ribbon and peeled the plastic top back. The smell of the freshly backed peanut butter cookies filled the air. “You want one?”
“And get skinned by Ma Riley. No, thanks.” Tom burst out laughing.
Marion picked one up and took a bite. “Peanut butter, damn I like peanut butter.” He finished the first cookie then picked up another and started munching.
When the evening shift came on duty an empty plastic container sat on Marion’s desk.
Fourteen days had passed since the death of Tim Riley. The Red Pine Police Department was no closer to solving the crime than they were the day Tim’s body was discovered. The stress was felt by all of the officers, but none more than by Sheriff Marion Sloan.
“Who’s on the road?” Marion barked.
“It’s Harlan,” replied Tom. “Ed’s wife, Melba, went into labor last night and he’s home watching the kids.”
“Has he stopped by Ma Riley’s place yet?”
“I don’t know. You want me to call him on the radio?”
Marion set his hat on his head and turned to Tom. “Don’t bother. Let’s take a ride out to the Emporium, I want to have a word with funny boy.”
Tom stood up and grabbed his green Smokey. He hadn’t often heard Marion make snide remarks, but he knew the sheriff was under a lot of pressure at the moment.
Bill nodded when Marion walked through the door. “Sheriff.”
Tom followed him in and Bill nodded again. “Deputy. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Marion looked around and saw there were no customers in the store. “Can we talk in your office?”
“Walk this way,” Bill said, leading them to the back of the building.
Tom regarded Bill’s exaggerated sway. “Not on your life.”
Bill stopped and looked back. “Did you say something, deputy?” When he didn’t get a response he continued toward the back.
The three men reached the office and entered.
“What can I do for you Peace Officers?”
Marion looked casually around the office. “A few questions about Tim Riley.”
Bill’s posture stiffened. “I believe I told your deputy everything I know.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Green.” Marion’s black eyes narrowed and bore into Bill. “When was the last time you saw and talked to Tim Riley?”
“As I told your deputy, it was two days earlier.”
Marion reached out and wrapped his right hand around Bill’s neck and pushed him back against the wall. “You limp-legged piece of shit, don’t tell me what you said to my deputy. I’m asking the questions and you’re going to tell me.”
Tom felt numb seeing a side of Marion he hadn’t seen before. He was jolted by the sheriff’s unexpected rage.
Bill’s face had turned red and he was struggling to get free, but the iron grip the sheriff had on his neck was devastating. “Okay, okay,” came out as a gasp.
Tom placed a hand on Marion’s arm. “Marion, lighten up. Come on, Marion, he ain’t worth it.”
Marion took a deep breath, and a second, then released his grip. Bill fell to the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he sucked air into his lungs.
“Let’s go.” Marion turned and marched quickly out of the room.
Tom followed without saying a word.
Neither man spoke on the ride back to the station house. Tom could see tiny beads of sweat on Marion’s forehead, like condensation on a chilled bottle of cola on a hot summer day. The sheriff’s white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel as tightly as he had gripped Bill’s neck. Marion parked the cruiser in front of the station and they went inside.
They had been sitting at their desks for fifteen minutes when Tom forced himself to ask, “You okay?
“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.”
“I know what you’re going through, we’re all on edge. I wanted to kick that skinny pissant’s ass the day Tim’s body was found.”
Marion didn’t reply, but focused on the papers lying on his desk.
When Deputy Harlan Craddock walked through the door, Tom looked up. “Anybody hurt in that fender bender over on Elm?”
Harlan shook his head. “Nah, just a couple of old geezers trying to beat each other to a parking spot.”
Marion raised his head and stared at Harlan, “Did you go by Ma Riley’s?”
“Yeah, she’s okay.”
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what, sheriff?” Harlan looked perplexed.
“The plastic box, damn it.”
Harlan caste a glance at Tom then back to Marion. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sheriff.”
“The cookies from Ma Riley, in the plastic Tupperware box.”
“Oh…She said to tell you there ain’t no more.”
Marion stood up. His forehead was again covered by the beads of sweat Tom had seen on the ride back to the station. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” He grabbed his Stetson and was out the door before anyone could say anything.
“What was that all about?” asked Harlan.
Tom shrugged his shoulders, but didn’t reply. He was just as confused.
Marion pressed the doorbell and when it wasn’t answered immediately, he pressed it again and again.
“I ain’t buying nothing,” Ma Riley said when she opened the door. “Oh, sheriff, it’s you. I thought you—”
“Ma, can I come in?” Marion looked past her as if he expected to see someone else in the house.
Ma Riley opened the door and stepped aside. She closed the door and followed him into the living room. “Sheriff, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, may I…?” He pointed to the sofa. The sweat under his armpits made damp rings on the sides of his khaki police shirt. “One of my men stopped by this afternoon.”
She took a seat on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, he was a nice young man.”
“He mentioned that you ran out of supplies to make cookies.”
“Lord, no. I’ve got most everything I need.”
The tension around Marion’s eyes relaxed immediately. “I’m glad to hear that Ma. I’ve become partial to your cookies. They’re about the best peanut butter cookies I’ve ever tasted….I should say the best.”
“Thank you, sheriff. Timmy said most folks would develop a craving for it.”
Hearing the name, Marion shook like a man standing naked in a snowstorm. “Timmy? Are you talking about your grandson?”
“Yes, sheriff.” Ma Riley stood up and shambled into the kitchen. She had a Tupperware bowl in her hand when she returned. She set it on the coffee table in front of the sheriff.
Marion’s eyes lit up when he saw the familiar imprint of the fork on each cookie. His hand was halfway to the bowl before he stopped and looked at her. “May I?”
“Help yourself...”
Before Ma could finish, Marion had stuffed two cookies into his mouth and was chewing furiously. He squinted his eyes and ran his tongue over his lips to capture every crumb.
She sat quietly on the couch and waited until he finished. “I was about to say...”
“They’re not the same.” Marion picked up another cookie and stuck it into his mouth.
“I know. I ran out of Timmy’s stash.”
Marion coughed, spraying cookie crumbs across the coffee table. “What did you say?”
“That’s what Timmy called it. I found it in a plastic bag in his dresser drawer one day when I was putting his shirts away.” Ma Riley picked a cookie out of the bowl and nibbled on it. “He said it was special and not for everyone. Said it would make a sad person happy and a person with pain not hurt so bad.”
Marion took a white handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped the crumbs off his mouth then off the table. “What did it look like?”
“White as snow. Sometimes he called it that. Once he even called it horse, then laughed when I asked him why.”
Marion’s body began to shiver and his hands began to twitch. “He’s calling to me from the grave.”
Ma Riley was shocked by the words. “What did you just say, sheriff?”
“Your sweet little grandson is dead, but he’s reaching out to me. If I could do it over...”
Ma Riley stared at the sheriff hard for a long time. “You killed my Timmy?”
He didn’t say he didn’t.
“Why, sheriff, why?”
Marion crossed his arms in front of his body and leaned forward. The withdrawal pains were getting worse. “It was an accident. I came back from the cabin early…I thought Helen was cheating on me.”
Marion began to rock slowly back and forth. “When I passed the Emporium I saw a bunch of kids parked in the lot. I circled back and chased them off….let them take their beer and drive away. I watched their taillights disappear down Cedar…That’s when I heard the noise behind the store.”
He picked up his handkerchief from the coffee table and ran it across his forehead, leaving cookie crumbs above his brows. “It was dark, only a hint of light peeked out of the open door. The man was standing next to the dumpster, his back toward me. I yelled for him to put up his hands and turn around.” Marion grimaced.
“He turned and the only thing I could see was the gun in his hand. I shot him once with the .22 target pistol I carry in the camper…How was I to know it was a pellet gun?”
The anguish he had dammed up broke through in great sobs as the tears flowed. “I’m sorry, Ma.” He stood up and rushed out of the house.
Bill Green came out of the bedroom and sat down on the couch. “Ma, I know I told you at the funeral it was the sheriff that killed Timmy. But, to be honest, I wasn’t sure he was the one I saw in the parking lot that night. I drove by the Emporium after the movie was over, but I was afraid to stop when I saw all those teenagers parked there. I drove a couple of miles before I turned around. When I drove past the second time, there he was chasing them away. If I’d known Timmy was there cleaning up, I’d have stopped.”
“Billy, are you sure I did the right thing.” Ma Riley’s voice was trembling.
Bill took her wrinkled hands in his and patted them. “He’s a bad man, Ma. You did the right thing.”
Tom’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “Thanks, Doc. Is there any reason this needs to become public knowledge?”
“It’ll be in the autopsy report. Autopsy’s mandatory when a law enforcement officer commits suicide,” Doc answered. “Sheriff Sloan’s the last man I’d have suspected of being addicted to heroin. Funny thing is, there were no needle marks. He must have ingested or smoked it to get his high. Guess it finally drove him to end his life with a bullet.”
| Copyright © 2014 by Steve Glossin |
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