A Killing at Cotton Hill by Terry Shames Page A

put by enough money to get some classes.”
    â€œThat would be fine, all right,” I say. But I suspect that Jackson and his daddy have cooked up plans to stick Greg out at Leslie Parjeter’s farm.
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    On my way home, I worry about how I’m going to figure out who killed Dora Lee now that I don’t have access to her affairs.
    As I walk in the front door, the phone is ringing and it’s my brother-in-law, DeWitt, returning my call.
    â€œWhen are you going to come over to God’s country and let me teach you how to play golf?” he says.
    I’ve always liked Jeanne’s brother, and I’m tickled that he has made such a fine retirement for himself. “You won’t get me to use those snake-killing sticks,” I say, “But I’d like to walk around the course with you.”
    He laughs his big, hearty laugh and asks how I’m getting on. I tell him I’m doing fine and then I get down to business. I tell him about Dora Lee’s death, and about finding Clyde Underwood’s letter offering to buy the farm. “There’s something funny about that,” I say. “The man’s already got a big spread that’s just sitting there. So what would he want with another chunk of land that as far as I can tell doesn’t recommend itself?”
    â€œHave you walked the land?” He means have I gone over the property to see if there’s any evidence that there might be oil or gas under the ground.
    â€œNo, I haven’t, but I’ve never seen or heard of any land around there being good for much.”
    â€œCould be it’s got natural gas. You know, back when we were in the business, getting gas out of the land was more trouble and expense than it was worth. But with oil prices what they are, that’s changed. And I know they found a fair-sized gas field not that far west of Jarrett County a few years ago.”
    â€œYeah, I heard about that, but I haven’t heard that it extends this far.”
    â€œYou want me to drive over there and walk the land with you?”
    He sounds hopeful, so I tell him that’s exactly what I was hoping he’d say.
    â€œWhat about tomorrow?” he says.
    â€œYou don’t play golf on Sunday?”
    â€œHell, no! Never on Sunday. Around here, with the weekend people coming from Austin, it’s too crowded on the course.” So we agree he’ll come tomorrow.
    I ask him to bring his wife, Lucille, but he says she’s not going anywhere these days. I tell him I’m sorry to hear that, and to tell her hello for me. There’s nothing wrong with Lucille physically, but she has spells when she gets anxious and can’t leave the house. DeWitt has made his accommodation with that through the years.
    I’ve been kicking around that business with the art teacher, Mr. Eubanks, wondering how I can find out a little more about him. Not having any kids of my own, I never knew the workings of the school system in Jarrett County, so I don’t know who to call to find out any more about it. But it strikes me that Jenny Sandstone is from Bobtail, and maybe she can dig up something. It’s a Saturday night, so she might be out, but I give her a try.
    She does answer her phone, and I tell her what I want to know.
    â€œThat’s a matter for my mother,” Jenny says. “She taught high school social studies in Bobtail for thirty years. She’s retired now, but if she doesn’t know anything about this Eubanks fellow, she’ll know who to call to find out.”
    While I wait for her to call back, I get busy. This is the first chance I’ve had to go through the paraphernalia I took from the shoeboxes at Dora Lee’s. I get the duffle out and spill everything onto the dining room table.
    By the time I’m done, I’m good and depressed. There’s nothing like going through a woman’s sentimental holdings to give you the blues. Dora Lee’s