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Newton emerged from a shed and began scattering pellets of feed on the ground. The birds forgot about Wade and, with their colorful tail feathers spread, beat an awkward path to the goodies. When he saw Wade, Newton and his entourage crossed the yard to meet him.
“Morning, Deputy,” Newton said. “What brings you out here?”
Mindful of his clean uniform, Wade swatted a couple of curious hens away from his pants leg. “You know why I’m here, Newton,” he said. “You’re not so old that you forgot what you did not more than half an hour ago.”
Newton ground the stub of an unfiltered cigarette into the dirt. “That damn Harvey Crockett. Did he call you out this early in the morning to run me down?”
“Yes, he did, and he had a right to. You stole twenty dollars’ worth of gasoline.”
Newton removed a wide-brimmed felt hat and ran long, gnarled fingers through white hair that hadn’t seen a barber in quite a long time. “I woulda’ gone back there in a day or two to pay up,” he said.
“That’s not the way it works, Newton, and you know it.”
“I left my wallet at home. I remembered it when I was already halfway to the feed store. What was I supposed to do? If I’d a’ passed on by the Quick Mart, I’d a’ run out of gas before I hit the county road.”
“You forgot your wallet?” Wade repeated.
Obviously thinking he’d brought Wade over to his way of thinking, Newton nodded his head vigorously. “That’s right. Left it on the kitchen table.”
Wade scowled at the old man. “Then you were driving without your license, too?”
A spiderweb of veins turned pink under Newton’s thin skin. “Hell, no, Wade,” the man lied. He patted his shirt pocket. “I always put my license right here, and I had it with me.”
“So where do you keep your twenty-dollar bills?” Wade asked him. “You bring me one now and maybe I’ll overlook a charge of petty larceny this time.”
Newton gri
“You’re a fair man, Deputy,” Newton said.
Wade tucked the bill into his pocket. “Maybe, but I’m also a man who’s ru
Newton bent over and scooped a fat hen from the ground at his feet. “Here, take this home for di
Imagining Je
The old man walked Wade back to his patrol car. “So how’s everything going with the Ashford place?” he asked. “Are you thinking that you bit off more than you can chew?”
Wade shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. I’m pleased as I can be with that house. Working on it has brought me and my dad closer than we’ve been in years.” He sca
“You started working up in the attic yet?”
“No. That’ll be the last job I tackle,” Wade said.
“You been up there, though, haven’t you?”
“Sure. When I bought the place from Mrs. Ashford I took a quick look around the third floor. All I saw was some worn-out furniture, a mess of cobwebs and a couple of critters. It’s a small space, so…”
Newton cackled. “A small space, you say?”
“Yeah. Besides the turret which opens onto all three floors, the actual attic can’t be more than twelve feet square.”
They’d reached the patrol car, but Newton was obviously not done talking. “Guess you didn’t see the mural then.”
Wade thought back to that day several weeks ago. He’d seen some ratty old picture frames leaning against a wall, but nothing the size of a mural. “I didn’t see anything as big as that.”
“You missed the best part then. I remember when Stewie Ashford built that place and hired a guy to paint a picture the size of a church door in the attic. There were some high times up there once that mural was finished. Why, a fella could stand in the turret and see a car pull into the drive all the way from the county road. I was there once when I was just a youngster, not more than seventeen, I’d say. Stewie let me come up there anyways. He didn’t pay any mind to county laws.”
Wade crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the hood of his car. “What are you talking about, Newton?”
A wide grin creased the old man’s face. “Guess I’ve said too much already. You go on back up there, Wade, and look for the mural. That’s all I’m saying. I won’t be the one to blacken a dead man’s memory, or for that matter, start up rumors that’d vex his sweet widow.”
Wade had heard other such vague references to Stewart Ashford’s reputation, all from the few old-timers who still remembered the town’s most famous patriarch. He didn’t know exactly what shenanigans Stewart participated in way back when, but he’d surmised that maybe the guy stood a little to the left of the law. Well, more power to him. The old days were long gone. The house would soon belong to Wade, if Meg Hamilton didn’t pose a stumbling block. What did Wade care if Stewart Ashford operated a shell game more than half a century ago.
He walked around to the driver’s side door and raised a finger at Newton before getting inside the car. “You pay your bills from now on, Newton. I mean it.”
The old fella stroked the back of the hen whose life had been spared. “You betcha’, Deputy.”
Wade headed back toward the Quick Mart to pay Newton’s debt. But he wasn’t thinking a whole lot about what he would say to appease Harvey Crockett. Mostly he was thinking about the idea of a mural existing in that tiny little attic room of Ashford House.
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK Saturday morning, Meg was already on her way to Shady Grove. She was determined to meet with her aunt when Amelia might be most alert. Besides, the antics of Mr. Cuddles and the heart-thumping police work of Wade Murdock had kept her tossing and turning most of the night. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving last night’s escapades behind her to deal with today’s problems.
Giving herself time for a second cup of coffee, Meg pulled into the parking lot of the Quick Mart and headed straight for the brewing machine. She’d just stirred sugar and cream into her cup when the door to the convenience store opened. “Oh, great,” she said under her breath when she realized who had entered. “Just who I need to see this morning.”
Wade stopped at the counter and slid a sum of money toward the clerk. The two men maintained an animated conversation until Wade finally threw his hands in the air and accused the clerk of being unreasonable. “He’s an old man, Harvey,” Wade said.
“He’s slippery as an eel,” the clerk responded, “and I’m holding you responsible if there’s any more trouble.”
Wade strode away from the counter. “Fine. How’s the coffee this morning? Still taste like motor oil?” When he saw Meg, he tossed a final comment over his shoulder. “Don’t answer that, Harvey. There’s someone here who’ll give me an honest opinion.” He set a paper cup under the dispenser. “So, Miss Meg Hamilton, what do you think?”
She leaned against the condiment counter and nodded toward a case with clear plastic doors. “The coffee’s fine, but since you’re a policeman, I figure you won’t be satisfied until you grab one of those donuts.”
“Ah…another misconception that you civilians have about us cops.” He dumped three envelopes of sugar into his coffee and stirred vigorously. Then, despite his statement, he opened a door, took out a chocolate-covered Bavarian Cream and took a huge bite which he followed with a smug grin. “But, heck, who am I to destroy a legend?”
Meg shook her head.