Free Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 07 - Murder Most Fowl by Bill Crider

Wards?  Just well enough to talk to. I haven’t seen much of ’em but they seem like nice folks. Mr. Ward doesn’t like being retired as much as I do.”
    Rhodes told King about Lige’s death. King reacted with surprise.
    “Dead?  Why I just saw him —” King broke off.
    “When did you see him?”
    King looked at the Revolutionary soldier portrayed on the spine of SONS OF LIBERTY as if the man were incredibly interesting.
    Then he looked back at Rhodes. “Well, I don’t remember, exactly, but it must’ve been just the other day.”
    “He was killed last night,” Rhodes said. “You didn’t see him then, by any chance?”
    “Nope. Sure didn’t. I was here reading this book last night.”  King reached over and pulled the book across the table. “I didn’t see anybody all night. How’d he get killed?  Car wreck?”
    “I’m not sure,” Rhodes said. He didn’t see any reason yet to tell King that he was sure Ward had been murdered.
    “Well, I’m sorry to hear it. Like I said, he and his wife seem like nice folks.”
    Rhodes brought the subject back to the emus. “What about those four emus of yours that I saw in the pens out there?  Where did you buy them?”
    It was cool in the room, but King was sweating. “Different places. It’s hard to find any for sale around here.”
    “You have the bills of sale?” Rhodes asked.
    “That’s right. I have the bills of sale. Sure do.”
    “Where are they?”
    King looked around the room, then looked back at the book. He reached out and turned the book around. He looked at it a second before turning it back.
    “They’re around here somewhere. I probably stuck ’em in a drawer.”
    “Why don’t you see if you can find them?” Rhodes suggested.
    “It might take a while,” King said. “I don’t really try to keep up with stuff like that. I’m not real businesslike. I just stick things someplace. Probably in a drawer.”
    It was Rhodes’ turn to look around the room.
    “There don’t seem to be a lot of drawers to stick things in,” he observed.
    “You should see the kitchen,” King said. “Cabinets and drawers all over the place. And the bedroom. It’s a real mess. I have a dresser in there, and a desk, too.”
    “I’d still like to see those bills of sale,” Rhodes said. “Even if it is a little trouble to find them.”
    King stood up. “Right. Well, if you’ll come back tomorrow, I’ll have ’em for you. It’s just that I can’t put my hand on ’em right this minute.”
    Rhodes stood up as well. “All right. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “Right. I’ll have those bills of sale for you, too.”
    “I’m sure you will,” Rhodes told him.
     
    A fter he left King’s place, Rhodes drove back to the main road and on up the hill into Obert, past the old college and down a gravel road to the Appleby house. It was fully dark now, and Rhodes’ headlights burned a tunnel down the road.
    The Applebys had been involved in the cattle rustling case that Dr. Slick had helped Rhodes with, not to mention a murder at the old college building on the hill. They were what Rhodes supposed the newspapers would call a “dysfunctional family,” but they were getting along better now that Mr. Appleby was residing in one of the state penitentiary units.
    Mrs. Appleby hadn’t found a job yet, but Twyla Faye, the daughter, was working as a checker at the supermarket next to Wal-Mart, and Claude and Clyde, the twins, were planning to get back into school in the fall.
    The Applebys were at home, as Rhodes had thought they would be. Mrs. Appleby was glad to see the sheriff, and she tried to get him to eat some supper.
    “We just finished,” she said. “There’s some fried chicken left, and some cream gravy.”
    Rhodes hadn’t had any fried chicken or cream gravy in months. Probably years. And now that he’d married Ivy, he wasn’t likely to have any. She was a big believer in eating healthy foods, which was why he had tried to get her to settle