The Treacherous Teddy Read online

  Marilyn shouted over Ash’s shoulder, “Wade, you tell these people exactly what you did on Thursday night or we’re done! I’ll be out of here before you can blink twice!”

  Wade now wore a look of panic. In a pleading voice he said, “Marilyn, I know I’ve been a damn fool, but please don’t go. Please! I promise I’ll tell them the truth.”

  “You’d better!”

  “I think it might be best if I took Mrs. Tice in the house,” said Ash.

  “While we get a voluntary statement from her husband,” I added. “And you do want to talk to us, Mr. Tice, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wade climbed to his feet and watched Ash and Marilyn as they went inside the house.

  Tina said, “But before we get into that, I have to ask, do you want to press charges on your wife?”

  “For what?”

  “Domestic violence. It’s against the law for her to hit you like that.”

  “And what happens if I do?”

  “We’ll take her to jail when we’re done here.”

  Wade reached into his mouth to experimentally wiggle a tooth and then said, “No, I don’t want to press charges. I reckon I’ve had that slug coming for a while.”

  I thought, Oh, you think?

  “Fine, but remember that I gave you the chance.” Tina removed the ammunition magazine from the hunting rifle, snapped open the bolt, and peered into the breech to ensure that there weren’t any bullets in the weapon. Then she held up the rifle and said, “This isn’t what you usually hunt with. Where is your hunting bow?”

  “Gone.”

  Tina frowned at him. “Look, Mr. Tice, I’m tired, I’ve got a headache, and I’ve got a prosecutor who’s in a hurry to put someone on trial for murder. If you don’t want to be that person, stop playing twenty questions. Where are your bow and arrows?”

  Wade rubbed the spot where his wife had slugged him. “I threw them in the river, yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because after I got done talking to him”—he nodded in my direction—“I got afraid that I was going to be blamed for Rawlins’s murder.”

  “But not because you did it, of course.” Tina made no effort to conceal her disbelief.

  “Hey, I keep telling you I didn’t kill Rawlins. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Tina carefully leaned the rifle against the side of the ATV and then folded her arms across her chest. “No, I don’t, considering you lied your butt off to Mr. Lyon. Didn’t you tell him that you never left your home on Thursday night?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wade hung his head. “That was a lie. But I’m telling the truth now.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Tina glanced at me.

  I nodded. “Mr. Tice, what happened on Thursday afternoon when your wife came home?”

  He took a deep breath. “She told me that Rawlins was selling his land to some amusement park company . . . said she’d seen the paperwork and it was a done deal.”

  “How’d that make you feel?”

  “Flaming mad. He was going to collect six million bucks while we had to deal with Six Flags over Hell.”

  “That’s an understandable reaction. What did you do next?”

  There was a long pause before he said, “I acted like a damn moron. I went over to Rawlins’s place to send him a message about how pissed I was.”

  “What kind of message? Flowers? Greeting card? Singing telegram?”

  Wade gave me an irritated look, but maintained his temper. “No, it’s stupid but I decided to shoot a hunting arrow into the side of his house.”

  “Why?”

  “He’d know it was from me, but wouldn’t be able to prove it.”

  “So . . . would it be fair to say that you meant to frighten Mr. Rawlins?”

  “Yep. There was nothing I could do to stop him from selling his land, but I could make the time he had left on that farm miserable.”

  “Nasty. Every time he went outside he’d worry that there was another arrow inbound.”

  He made no effort to sound penitent. “That was the idea. So I grabbed my bow and arrows and rode my quad over most of the way to his house. Then I walked the rest of the way.”

  “Did Marilyn go over there with you?” I asked, giving him the opportunity to mitigate his guilt by spreading some of the blame onto his wife.

  He shook his head vigorously. “No! She stayed home and told me that I should, too.”

  “You should have listened to her.”

  “I know. Anyway, I got close enough to see the house, but not so close that his man-eating dog would know I was out there.” He shrugged. “And then I took aim at the side of the house and let loose with an arrow. But I made sure I didn’t aim close to a window. Like I said, I just wanted to scare him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Then you should have bought a fright mask. You don’t do it by firing a razor-sharp broadhead hunting arrow at an occupied dwelling. That’s reckless endangerment, even if you don’t intend to hit anyone.”

  “But it was the only kind of arrow I had.”

  “And you were in a hurry to do something mindnumbingly idiotic. Okay, what happened after that?”

  “I moved a little closer toward the house. I wanted to see him crap his britches when he saw the arrow sticking out of the wall.”

  “Even though Mr. Rawlins might have released his man-eating dog?” Tina asked suspiciously. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’d . . . well, I’d nocked another arrow.” Wade stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. “No brag, but I hit what I shoot at with a bow. If he’d set Longstreet on me, I’d have dropped that big old dog like a sack of wheat.”

  “So you were willing to kill his pet, just to satisfy your evil curiosity?” I asked. “For God’s sake, the dog wasn’t responsible for Mr. Rawlins selling his farm to the theme park company.”

  He smoothed his beard and gave me an uncomfortable look. “I guess I didn’t think that part through all the way.”

  “No kidding. Did Mr. Rawlins come out of the house?”

  “Yep. At first, he just stood on the porch looking around. Then he kind of wandered around the house. But . . .” There was the faintest trace of exasperation in Wade’s voice.

  “What happened?”

  He grumbled, “He walked right past the arrow and never saw it. I mean, he was so close to the damn thing that I wanted to shout, Stop and look up, you goggle-eyed old miser!”

  “So you went through all that commando low-crawling and Rambo sniper action in the dark for nothing. That must have been frustrating.”

  “Frustrating ain’t half the word.”

  “Did that make you mad enough to shoot another arrow at the house?” Tina asked.

  It was an excellent question. We’d been assuming that the same arrow that had killed Everett Rawlins had left the hole in the wall. However, there was the chance that Wade had used the bow more than once.

  “And maybe by accident that second arrow hit Mr. Rawlins? It wouldn’t be murder, if you didn’t mean to hit him.” Tina pressed the point, while offering Wade room to minimize his responsibility for the act.

  “I’ll say it again: I didn’t kill Rawlins! Not on purpose and not by accident! I only fired one arrow and it hit the house exactly where I aimed.”

  I said, “But he never saw the arrow, which, by your own admission, made you even more angry. Is that why you came out from your hiding place to deliver your message to Mr. Rawlins in person?”

  “I didn’t do any such thing.”

  “So, how’d Mr. Rawlins end up with an arrow in him?”

  “Beats the hell out of me! I stayed in that thicket until I went back to the quad. I never went near him and he was alive when I left.”

  “So you say. But you’d made nothing but terrible decisions up to that point, so why should we presume that you’d suddenly wised up?”

  Tina jumped back in. “Mr. Tice, do you use a glove when you go bow hunting?”

  “Yeah. So wh
at?”

  “What kind of glove?”

  “A three-finger release glove,” he replied.

  I noticed that he involuntarily clenched and unclenched his right hand, which suggested he wore the glove on that hand.

  “What’s the glove made out of?” Tina asked.

  “Leather. Bison leather, I think.”

  “And what color is it?”

  “It was brown. It’s pretty stained now.” Wade obviously felt the questions were foolish and gave her an impatient look.

  “You didn’t throw that glove in the river, too, did you?”

  “No. No reason.”

  “Good. Where is that glove? I want it.”

  “It’s upstairs with my hunting gear. But why?” Wade huffed.

  Tina gave him a hard stare. “Because the crime lab found tiny bits of brown leather on the shaft of your arrow.”

  His jaw worked for several seconds before the words came out. “And you think they came from my glove?”

  She nodded. “Right now, the evidence says that you were the only person out there wearing gloves.”

  Wade drew himself up to his full height. “Listen good, Sheriff: I don’t know nothing about any leather on that arrow. Maybe it happened when I pulled it from the quiver. And even if I’d thought about going over and getting in his face—and I ain’t saying I did—I couldn’t have, because of that car coming down his driveway.”

  I hated to admit it, but it sounded as if he was telling the truth. I asked, “What kind of car?”

  “I don’t know. All I saw was headlights. I thought maybe he’d called the law and it was a sheriff’s car. That’s when I lit out of there.”

  Tina and I exchanged quick glances, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. There was a good chance that Wade Tice had witnessed the arrival of Sherri Driggs’s Saab. If so, the amusement park exec had just taken the brass ring as our most likely suspect.

  “I know things look bad for me, but it seems to me that you might want to talk to whoever it was in that car before you try to ramrod me for murder,” Tice grumbled.

  “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Tice,” Tina said thoughtfully. “But in the meantime, I’m going to want to send that glove to the crime lab.”

  “Okay. But before that, will you do me a favor, Sheriff?”

  “That depends on the favor.”

  Wade fixed her with an earnest gaze. “I’d be obliged if you told Marilyn that I cooperated with you and told the truth . . . even when it made me look like a dummy.”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” said Tina. After a moment, she added, “And if it does turn out that you lied to us, I’m thinking maybe I should just call and tell Mrs. Tice. It would save the county the cost of a trial.”

  Wade gave her a hangdog look and nodded.

  As Tina and Wade headed for the house, I limped over to the Xterra and leaned against the hood in an effort to take some of the weight off my throbbing shin. I was suddenly exhausted. I’d been running on adrenaline, strong coffee, and willpower for almost two days now, but I could tell that I was coming very close to my limit. The knowledge that I could no longer do the things I’d been capable of as a young man left me feeling both discouraged and a little frightened.

  The police radio inside the patrol car crackled and I heard Tina pick up, but couldn’t make out what they were saying and didn’t really care, as I was too busy having a self-pity party. A few moments later, I heard the clatter of rapid footfalls on the wooden porch steps and looked up. Ash and Tina had come out of the house and were trotting across the yard toward the sheriff’s cruiser. Both women looked excited.

  Ash yelled, “Follow us to the station, so that you can ride over with us! We’re going to New Market! The local cops just found Roger Prufrock’s car at a motel!”

  “Did you get the glove?” I asked.

  Tina raised her right fist and waved the brown archery glove at me. “It’s right here! Now let’s go!”

  Their eagerness was infectious, and I suddenly felt a little less weary and sore. I knew this sense of rejuvenation was artificial. It was born of an adrenaline rush, and once those drugs had worked their magic, the fatigue and pain would come back with a vengeance. But that didn’t matter right now. We had a murder to solve. I hopped into the SUV and almost beat the patrol car back to the sheriff’s station.

  Twenty-four

  At the sheriff’s department, we all bundled into a cruiser and headed out again. As we drove past the church community center, I noticed that the parking lot was now mostly empty. There were only a few teddy bear artists left, packing up their stuff.

  Turning to speak through the Plexiglas barrier separating the front and back seats, I said, “You did a great job of organizing the show, honey. I’m just sorry I missed so much of it and that we had to leave early.”

  Ash, who was sitting in the backseat, replied, “I know, but you can look forward to staying all day next year. Hopefully, we won’t be investigating a murder then.”

  Tina called over her shoulder. “So you’ve decided there’s going to be a next year?”

  “Everybody at the show seemed to really enjoy themselves, and lots of the out-of-town artists told me that they’d come back next year, if we did it again. It’s a lot of work, but . . .”

  “It’s great that you’re going to make this an annual event,” I said. “But who are you kidding, honey? It’s not just a lot of work. It’s a s-teddy job.”

  Because Ash was on the other side of the plastic barrier, I couldn’t hear her. But I was pretty certain that she’d groaned in unison with Tina.

  The town of New Market isn’t much more than fifteen miles to the northwest of Remmelkemp Mill . . . as the crow flies. However, we aren’t crows and there is no direct route between the two communities, so Tina and I had plenty of time along the way to recount to Ash what Marilyn and Wade Tice had told us during their interviews.

  Ash said sadly, “So Everett was really going to sell out? That just makes me sick.”

  “I know it’s disappointing, but there isn’t much room for doubt,” I replied. Ev Rawlins was going to take the money and run.”

  Tina kept her eyes locked on the interstate traffic ahead and said, “And with Swift Run Gap Realty handling the real estate transaction, Roger Prufrock knew the amusement park was going to be built.”

  “Which gives him a motive for arson,” Ash said.

  “And maybe even murder,” Tina added. “All Mr. Tice saw were headlights. For all we know, it might have been Roger’s BMW.”

  “True enough. What’s your plan for when we get to the motel?” I asked.

  “Beats me. We don’t have probable cause to arrest him.”

  “Even though you found those burned clothes at his house?” Ash asked.

  “All he’d have to say is that it happened when he used some gasoline to burn a bunch of raked leaves. We can’t prove otherwise until the lab analyzes his clothing,” Tina replied.

  I said, “And we won’t even be able to ask him that, if he doesn’t open the door. We don’t have a search warrant, so we have no legal right to force entry into his motel room.”

  “And he won’t open up if he knows it’s us,” said Ash.

  “So we’ve got to come up with some way to trick him into coming outside. Gee, is there anyone in this car capable of that sort of deviousness?” I said innocently.

  Tina chuckled as we turned onto the off-ramp for New Market. For most people, New Market is just a blur seen from the interstate, but it’s a secular shrine for those who honor Southern heritage. The town was the site of a Civil War battle back in 1864 that featured an attack by the teenaged cadets of the Virginia Military Institute, which is now a cherished component of Confederate military myth. The community really hasn’t changed all that much since then . . . if you can overlook the gas stations, convenience stores, and fast-food restaurants, and the ten-foot-tall painted fiberglass statue of Johnny Appleseed that belongs in some kitsch hall of f
ame.

  The motel was on the west side of the freeway and stood on the crest of a low hill. Tina turned into the motel parking lot and stopped in front of the office. A young-looking New Market cop and a Shenandoah County deputy sheriff leaned against their patrol cars, waiting for us. We got out of the cruiser, and the cop told us that he’d found Roger’s BMW parked at the rear of the motel. The cop stressed that he hadn’t stopped to take a closer look at the Beemer, but had retreated and called for backup. After that, he’d spoken with the motel manager who’d reported that Roger was in Room 115, which was on the ground floor. The young cop had done an excellent job, and if we were lucky, our renegade real estate agent was still unaware that we’d discovered his hiding place.

  As Tina, Ash, and the two lawmen went to conduct a quick reconnaissance of the rear of the motel, an idea of how we might entice Roger from the room occurred to me. The ploy would require a prop, so I began to search for something made out of metal that would make plenty of noise when I walloped it with my cane. I found what I was looking for next to the soda machines and carried it back to the front of the motel. Ash, Tina, and the cops had already returned from their scouting mission, and they made no effort to conceal their looks of mystification.

  Ash said, “Honey . . . uh . . . why are you carrying that big trash can?”

  “This is going to get Roger out of his room.” I raised the weathered galvanized steel canister. It was easy to lift because it was empty. I’d removed the trash-filled plastic liner bag and left it next to the soda machines.

  “How?” Tina asked.

  “The magic of special effects. We’re going to wreck his BMW.”

  Tina looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles. “What? Brad, we can’t damage his car.”

  “You’re right, but we can make him think it happened. Now, here’s how we’re going to work this . . .”

  A few minutes later, we were in position and ready. Tina and Ash stood on opposite sides of the door to Room 115, with their backs pressed against the wall so that Roger couldn’t observe them though the fish-eye peephole. Meanwhile I was hiding to the rear of a big Dodge Durango SUV, which was parked next to Roger’s BMW. The New Market cop was about forty yards away, sitting in his idling patrol car and waiting for Tina’s signal. She waved for him to begin, and it was showtime.