Sorrow Road (Bell Elkins #5) - Julia Keller Page 0,41
folks. Pay a nice big tax bill, too, which is a mighty welcome development. I wouldn’t want any trouble stirred up out there for no reason. Wouldn’t want them to regret having located themselves in Muth County.” That was a lot for Black to say all at one time. He stopped, and took a few makeup breaths. “So I’d like a little more detail, if you don’t mind sharing. Whaddaya think you might find?”
“Probably nothing. But the father of a friend of mine recently passed away there. And I’ve heard about two other recent deaths. I thought I’d take a look around.”
“This friend of yours. What’s her father’s name?”
“Harmon Strayer.”
“Strayer.” He seemed to taste the word as he repeated it. “Lady by that name died over the weekend, yes? Coming too fast down the mountain in that godawful weather on Saturday night—that was a Strayer, too, right?”
“Yes. Darlene was killed in a one-car accident.”
“Oh, Lordy. Thoughts and prayers’re with you, Miss Belfa. And with the lady’s family. Thoughts and prayers. Lots of ’em.”
“Thank you.” Bell let a moment pass. “In our last conversation, she asked me to look into her father’s death. Just thought I’d poke around a bit, ask a few questions. Out of respect for her memory. Nothing official.”
“Forgive me, darlin’—I hate to even bring this up, but I need you to relieve my mind.” Black really did sound reluctant. “This inquiry of yours—it wouldn’t happen to be a sort of unofficial payback, would it, for the parent company picking Muth County over Raythune? I mean, we won it fair and square. We made a good deal with ’em. Had the perfect spot and all.”
“Steve. Come on.” It was too outlandish even to prompt a decent amount of ire. “You know better than that.”
“I do. I do.” He sounded pleased, though, to have her denial on the record. “What’s the coroner say about Harmon Strayer?”
“Pretty much what you’d expect. An old man died in his sleep. Complications from Alzheimer’s caught up with him.”
Before Rhonda had ended her workday yesterday, she had faxed Bell the Muth County coroner’s reports for the first two deaths. Early this morning, Rhonda stopped by the coroner’s office in person to pick up the third one, the moment it was ready, and faxed that one, too. It had reached Bell before she asked Lee Ann to dial Black’s office.
Natural causes. Natural causes. Natural causes.
“Those folks at the Terrace,” Black said, “are already in pretty bad shape by the time they get there. The fact that a few of ’em pass away from time to time—well, it doesn’t really call for an official investigation, you know what I mean? If we jumped into action every time an old man with Alzheimer’s passes away, we’d have no resources left over to handle the real crimes. Just last month, we had four gas stations held up at gunpoint. Took a boatload of cash. Robbers’re still at large. That’s an actual threat, Belfa. We’re just scrambling here to keep folks safe.”
“Yes, of course. But you know what, Steve? This is the last thing I can do for my friend. She loved her father deeply. He was old and sick, and she knew that, but she was having trouble getting her head around the fact that he could just—just go like that, you know? After everything else he’d been through?”
“Gotcha. Makes perfect sense, honey.” Black’s voice was instantly cordial again. Playing the family card had worked. In these parts, Bell knew, sentimentality was as effective as a glue trap used to catch a mouse. “I’m not at all surprised that you’re honoring your poor friend’s memory by granting her final request. You’re that kinda woman. You help folks out.” His voice began to inch toward the lascivious, which is what usually happened at this point in any conversation with him. “Matter of fact, I’ve always hoped you might be willing to—well, to help me out a little bit, you know? I’ve got a few suggestions as to how that might be accomplished, if you ever find yourself feelin’ lonely on one of these here cold winter nights.” He chuckled. He was a man who parlayed his age and his position into a free pass for his sexual harassment and innuendo. If ever called on it, he would claim—while an expression of outraged innocence seized his wobbly, many-chinned face—that he’d been grievously misunderstood.
The fact that he was married and had six children was just an add-on to the disgust Bell