Whisker Of Evil

7

A long blue fingernail with tiny stars and a sliver of moon pointed in Sheriff Rick Shaw’s face. “I didn’t kill him, but I gave it a thought.”

“Miss Gamble, when was the last time you saw Mr. Monteith?”

“You mean Shithead?” A streak of vulgarity ran through the undeniably pretty and petite Carmen Gamble. “And why are you on me like white on rice? An animal killed him. Leave me out of it.”

Rick, a solid presence, leaned toward her. “Carmen, get over yourself.”

He’d known her for years and decided that correct procedure as to proper address wasn’t going to work with her.

She tossed her crimped curls. “Well, I don’t like being a suspect.”

“You just said you thought about killing him; now, calm down and answer my questions. I don’t think you killed him. Does that make you feel better?”

“Why don’t you think I killed him?”

“Because you would have castrated him.” Rick pulled out a cigarette from his Camel pack, offered Carmen one, which she took.

He sat back down in the questioning room at headquarters.

“Okay, the last time I saw Shi—I mean, Barry, was at Georgetown Veterinary Clinic. I was taking Ruffie to see Mrs. Dr. Flynn.” She said “Mrs. Dr.” because Mrs. Virginia Flynn’s husband was also a veterinarian, an equine vet, and one of the most respected men in his field nationally.

Dr. Dan Flynn was a contemporary of Tavener Heyward as well as a friend of Fair Haristeen. Fair was decades younger than the other two men, and he thought very highly of them.

“And what did Ginger Flynn have to say about Ruffie?”

“Oh, he just needed his rabies booster shot, all his other boosters, and I got him a heartworm shot, too. They’ve got shots now so you don’t have to remember to give them the heartworm pills each month. Ruffie hates pills.” Like most pet owners, Carmen adored her wirehaired dachshund and assumed everyone else did, too, which in Crozet was a relatively safe assumption.

Rick, not a pet owner himself, thought animal lovers were all addled, but he nodded, feigning interest. “When was that?”

“Thursday.”

“What did you say?”

“Hello, Shithead.” She burst out laughing.

Rick couldn’t help it, but he laughed, too. There was an insouciance about Carmen, a rowdy spiritedness, that made you like her even when she was crude.

“And what did he say?”

“Actually, he, um, he surprised me. I thought he’d say something ugly back, but he didn’t. He nodded hello sort of and climbed into his Ford Harley-Davidson truck and drove off. Do you know how much he paid for that truck? Had to be the special issue Harley-Davidson. That truck broke us up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you want to play second fiddle to a truck?”

“In my line of work, Carmen, playing second fiddle would be a step up.” He inhaled then exhaled from his nostrils, two blue plumes curling over his upper lip.

“Yeah, you have to kiss ass a lot. I could never do it. That’s why I opened my own beauty shop, Shear Heaven. I’m my own boss. They don’t do it my way, it’s the highway.”

“Business is good?”

“Business is great. I specialize in color. A woman turns thirty and, Rick, she turns to me.” She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together. “I’ve got no competition in Crozet. Well, I take that back. West Main, but they’re in Charlottesville. They’re good and we all get along. But other than that, no one can do color for squat. I even colored Barry’s hair once. Gave him a magenta streak for sideburns. Cool.”

“Who would want to kill Barry other than yourself?”

“I thought an animal killed Barry.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Looks that way. But there’s enough that’s unusual about his passing that makes me want to know more.” He smiled. “And it’s been a slow week. I might as well keep busy.”

“Nothing’s slow around Charlottesville anymore.”

“Well, let’s just say the weather’s been good, hardly any accidents, the kids are out of school so that lightens the load, and there haven’t been many break-ins. A slow week. Anyway, I might as well justify the trust you place in me.”

“Oh, brother.” She rolled her eyes, a dark shade of blue thanks to colored contacts. “What was unusual?”

“No marks on him. No tire tracks. No animal tracks. No struggle.”

She held the cigarette at her lip, paused a long time, then took a deep, deep drag. “Yeah, that is pretty unusual. I mean, if Barry was going to get it, I figure a woman would just let him have it with a thirty-eight, you know? Or he’d piss off some boyfriend and die in a brawl, a tire iron wrapped ’round his neck. I never figured on anything like this.” A wistful note crept into her voice.

“Maybe he wasn’t all that bad?” Rick placed the cigarette pack on the table.

She tilted her chin upward. “He wasn’t all that good.” She pulled the ashtray toward her. “Oh, hell, he was just a man. Men think of themselves first.”

“When we’re young I think that’s a fair assessment. But, Carmen, some men do grow up.”

“Barry? Never. He was a big kid who wanted to play with his truck, dance, hang out, and have sex. I used to think he loved me, but I think I was just kind of there. I was convenient. That’s when I walked. If I’m not special, I’m walking.”

“Did he have enemies?”

“Nah. Oh, ex-girlfriends for a while, but most of them got over it. I guess I would have, too.” She stared at the ashtray, then up at Rick for a minute. “I don’t really want him dead.”

“I didn’t think so.” Rick felt in his pocket for change. “I need a Co-Cola. How about I fetch you one?”

“Sure.”

“While I’m down the hall, maybe something will come into your mind. Anything.” He left and walked to the bank of food machines. The place was quiet. The dispatcher sat at her desk. Most of the force on this first Tuesday in June prowled around in their patrol cars. When he returned, Carmen had finished her cigarette and awaited him with her hands folded on the table.

“Here you go, girl.”

“Thanks, Rick. I guess I should call you Sheriff, seeing as how this is an official visit.”

“Better than calling me Shithead.”

“I’d never call you that. I’d give your wife that privilege.”

He smiled. “You won’t believe this, but she has never called me that.”

“I can believe it. She’s such a lady.” Carmen cut and colored Bettina Shaw’s hair. Betts was an attractive forty-one, perhaps ten pounds overweight. Like most women she obsessed about her weight, but Rick thought she looked just fine. It was a strong marriage.

“Think of anything?”

“Nah.”

“Do you know if he was dating anyone new?”

“He wanted to go out with Tazio Chappars, but she was way above his head.”

“He told you that?”

“No, but I could tell. Barry was transparent.”

“Hmm. Carmen, you’ve been helpful and thanks for your time. If you think of anything, let me know.”

“I will. Was it true he was still alive when Harry found him?”

“Yes.”

“Funny.”

“How so?”

“That was another one he had a crush on, but she was above his raisins, too.”

“She know that?”

“No.”

“I guess if I was with someone who looked around as much as Barry did, it would pluck my nerves, too,” Rick said.

“I could just tell. He wouldn’t do anything. Not while we were together. And if he did he would be singing soprano. You’re right about that.” She reached for another cigarette from his pack as Rick nodded that was fine. “Did think of one thing.”

“Oh?”

“He said he sold a yearling. His share gave him enough to buy that Ford model Harley-Davidson truck.”

“Yes.”

“I never believed him.”