Shotgun Saturday Night

Chapter 16

The Clearview Cemetery had been located in the same spot ever since the first settler was buried there a little over a hundred years before. It had grown considerably since that first grave, but probably none of those who lay at rest there had ever been to a funeral quite like the one to which Rhodes was taking Ivy.

The cemetery was on the western edge of the town, surrounded by a low fence of iron spikes. There was a wrought iron arch over the main entrance, which was never closed. Every now and then Rhodes would send a patrol through late at night to run out the high school kids who had found it a quiet place to park.

There was not a lot of green grass on the graves; the recent rain hadn’t been enough to help much. Rhodes drove through the entrance and down the winding gravel roads to the north end. There was no one else there yet.

Rhodes and Ivy got out of the pickup. Though it didn’t appear to be so on the approaching drive, the cemetery was located on a hilltop. They could see the pasture land around them, down the slope. At the bottom of the slope and partway across a little valley there was a railroad track heading north and south.

The day had cooled off a little, and Rhodes liked standing there on the hill. There was a late afternoon breeze, and it was very quiet.

“I wonder if they can hear the trains,” Ivy said, looking down at the tracks. “They have to whistle for the crossing, don’t they?”

The nearest crossing was about a half mile away. “Sure they do,” Rhodes said. “Did you ever hear a real train whistle?”

“You mean from a steam engine? I don’t remember. I guess I must have, but if I did it was a long time ago,” Ivy said.

“I heard lots of ‘em,” Rhodes said. “The house I grew up in was less than a mile from the tracks, nothing between the house and them but some mesquite trees. When I was a kid, I’d go to sleep at night listening for the whistle.” He paused. “They can’t hear it, I guess. If they could, the ones that’ve been here long enough would miss the real thing. Diesel’s just not the same. Not very many of those even come through now, anyway.” He shook his head and grinned. “I’m beginning to sound like the old-timer in a B western. How’d we get off on that?”

“I think the place we’re in might’ve had something to do with it,” Ivy said. “Did you really bring me up here for a funeral, or did you have something else in mind?” She stepped over to Rhodes and took his arm, pressing it against her plaid shirt.

Rhodes almost blushed, but not quite. “There’s really going to be a funeral,” he said. “If Ballinger doesn’t show up, I’m going to bury him. He’ll be here.”

Sure enough, in a few minutes they saw Ballinger’s hearse, or one of them, driving along the road. Rhodes hadn’t really given the burial much thought, but trusted Ballinger to do it right, once he made up his mind to do it. Then Rhodes realized that there wasn’t a grave.

The hearse stopped and Clyde Ballinger got out. He had been driving himself. There was another man inside, and Rhodes assumed there were others in the back.

“Where’s the grave, Clyde?” Rhodes asked.

“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” Ballinger said. “It’s dug and ready, back over behind the Walpole plot.” He started walking, and Rhodes and Ivy followed.

The Walpole “plot” was by far the most elaborate area in the cemetery, the Walpoles having gotten rich in oil and being able to afford pretty much what they wanted in the way of final resting places. The area occupied by the graves was semicircular, with the outside of the semicircle being surrounded by Greek columns spaced ten feet apart. Rhodes could never remember just what kind of columns they were, though he’d had to learn in school to distinguish among Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. It wasn’t the kind of knowledge that tended to stick with a person. The various Walpoles were spaced around the area and located easily by the huge headstones, by a wide margin the largest and most elaborate and gaudy in the county. One was distinguished by five angels standing on it.

Ballinger cut right through the plot. The grass in this plot had been watered all through the dry summer, and there were several flower beds that gave evidence of careful tending. “Walpoles hire all that work done,” Ballinger said, indicating the flower beds. “They have a man who comes out for a couple of hours twice a week.”

At the back of the plot, at the apex of the semicircle, there was an archway, which Ballinger stepped through.

It actually led nowhere, since the Walpoles had located their private burial area at the extreme north end of the cemetery. From this vantage point, Rhodes could see in the distance-about a quarter of a mile-the backs of the houses that faced a paved road leading from Clearview to a major highway. He could also see that there was an open grave.

“Is this legal?” Ivy asked.

“We have the sheriff with us, don’t we?” Ballinger said.

“I think she means that it might not be strictly legal for a burial plot to be located right here,” Rhodes said.

“I know that,” Ballinger said. “Just a little funeral director’s humor there. But it’s legal, all right. Strictly speaking, I guess that we shouldn’t be here, but I bought up this part of the cemetery years ago. It’s part of the cemetery land, all right. It’s just that the Walpole family didn’t want anybody to be buried behind them. They wanted the prime spot, right at the end of the line. Except that you’ll notice the land slopes down just a little bit, here, and they didn’t want to be on that slope. With all the money they had, they should have bought this part if they didn’t want company. But don’t worry, we won’t be putting up any headstones. We don’t even have any heads.” He laughed.

“More funeral director’s humor?” Ivy asked.

Ballinger wasn’t a bit bothered by her tone. “You might say so. I got one more. The Walpoles don’t have to worry, because there won’t be any body buried here. At least not this time.” He laughed again.

Rhodes and Ivy didn’t laugh. They looked around for the hearse, which was making its way to them, having gone around on the road as far as it could and then cut across the grass.

“You know,” Ballinger said, shaking his head, “I’m a little disappointed that all these arms and legs didn’t turn out to be part of a big case. I was reading a book the other day about this killer down in Houston, the Houston Hacker, they called him, and he was really a vicious guy-”

“I don’t want to hear about him,” Ivy said.

“Was this fact or fiction?” Rhodes said.

The hearse arrived, and Ballinger directed it to a stopping place. Then he came back to answer Rhodes. “Fiction,” he said. “It had this weird cover on it, of a knife stabbing through a strawberry. Anyway-”

“Never mind,” Rhodes said. If the Hacker wasn’t real, he wasn’t interested. For a minute there, he’d thought that there might be some far-fetched tie-in with Dr. Rawlings, but obviously there wasn’t. All he wanted to do now was to get what was in the hearse under the ground and forget about it, even if he couldn’t forget what had happened later.

The driver of the hearse got out and opened the back door. Two men who had been riding inside stepped down, and the driver helped them slide a wooden casket box out the back.

“Wood’s all Rawlings left enough to pay for,” Ballinger said.

“But that isn’t even a coffin,” Ivy said. “It’s just a wooden box like they ship coffins in.”

“I know that,” Ballinger said. “I don’t really think it’ll make a difference to anything that’s inside. You want to be the fourth pallbearer, Sheriff?”

“Why not?” Rhodes said. He stepped over to help the other three men unload the plain white wooden box. It really wasn’t very heavy at all.

They carried it over and set it on the muddy earth piled beside the grave. One of the men went back to the hearse and came back with two long ropes, which he laid across the open grave.

“Nothing fancy here,” Ballinger said, “but it’ll get the job done.”

Two of the men held the ends of the ropes while Rhodes and the other man maneuvered the box into place. Then the four of them lowered the box to its rest. “Sheriff,” Ballinger said, “do you think we ought to say any last words now?”

Ballinger had gotten awfully pious all of a sudden, Rhodes thought, but maybe it was only a natural reaction. “May they rest in peace,” he said. A terrible pun about pieces occurred to him, but he suppressed it. Ballinger stood with his head bowed for a minute, then looked up.

“I guess that does it,” Ballinger said. “Cover ‘em up, boys.” The three men went to the hearse and came back with shovels. While Ballinger, Rhodes and Ivy watched, the men began shoveling in the dirt.

“Shouldn’t take them too long,” Ballinger said. “I hope you’re satisfied with this, Sheriff.”

Rhodes shook his head. “I guess so. This whole thing has been a real problem, and it’s not one I’d like to have again. Who’d have guessed it would be so hard to get rid of a few legally amputated limbs?”

“The law’s peculiar,” Ballinger said. “You of all people ought to know that.”

“I guess I should have checked to make sure everything was in that box,” Rhodes said.

“Trust me, Sheriff,” Ballinger said. “I wouldn’t make a mistake about something like that.”

“Then that’s the end of that,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go, Ivy. See you later, Clyde.”

Ballinger gave an idle wave as he watched the grave being filled in. Rhodes and Ivy cut back through the Walpole plot and walked to the pickup. The sun was going down, now, and there was a bright reddish glow in the western sky. The breeze felt almost cool, and except for a few insect sounds it was very quiet. Then, from far off to the north they heard a train whistle.

“I guess it might not be so bad to be buried here,” Ivy said. “Even if you couldn’t hear the train whistle.”

Rhodes thought about Claire, who had been buried in her home town. “Let’s not worry about that for a while,” he said.

Ivy shivered slightly. “It was just a thought,” she said. “How about some supper?”

“That’s a better thought,” Rhodes said. They got in the pickup and went to the Bluebonnet for a hamburger. They had left the Bluebonnet and were driving toward Ivy’s house when Rhodes worked himself up to asking the question. “When do you think we ought to get married?”

Ivy laughed. Rhodes liked to hear it, even though he was pretty sure she was laughing at him. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d really asked me,” she said. “Or if you’d remember.”

“I wouldn’t forget something like that,” Rhodes said, trying not to sound defensive. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He briefly brought her up to date on his activities.

“I just hope you’re around long enough and stay in one piece long enough for us to have a wedding,” Ivy said. “Not a very big one,” she added after looking at Rhodes’s face. “Just you and me and the justice of the peace would be fine. And Kathy, naturally.”

“I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want,” Rhodes said. “I mean. . ”

“I know what you mean,” Ivy said. “You mean you’re really not sure about this. Well, I’m not either.”

Rhodes started to say something, but she stopped him. “You’re sure about the important things. So am I. But you’re thinking about Claire and what happened to her, just like I think about Cal and what happened to him. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. I wouldn’t want to lose you, too.”

Rhodes sighed and relaxed. Ivy had put into words the thoughts that had been running around in his head without expression for the last few days. He knew exactly what she meant, and more important, he knew for the first time exactly what he’d been thinking. Or trying to think about, and not succeeding.

“I don’t want to do it right away,” Ivy said. “We could both use a little more time to think, don’t you agree?” Rhodes nodded his head affirmatively.

“Good. How about December? I’ve always liked the Christmas season, and I’m sure we could both take a few days off around that time.”

Rhodes started to tell her the Christmas season was definitely not a time of peace on earth, that in fact it was a time of high crime statistics, a time of shoplifting, theft, burglary, and sometimes even suicide. But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “It sounds like a good idea to me.”