The Deader the Better by G. M. Ford Page A

about
six-thirty in the evening, you were very likely to find the old man
snockered. Most people figure that’s just what Springer did. And
I’m telling you, they didn’t like it one bit. That old man was
kind of a landmark around here. Like he was their link with the past
in some manner or another.”
    I thought it over. J.D.’d said that he’d stopped in to see the
old guy all the time. He’d admitted to trying to wear him down.
What had he called it? Winning through persistence .
    Maybe J.D.’s definition of persistence included catching the old
man at an unguarded moment, maybe even drunk, and taking advantage of
him. Hell, I’d only met him twice, and god knows, with those kind
of numbers, there’s no shortage of people who would do the same
thing in a heartbeat and called it good business.
    “Anybody ask the old man about it?” I asked.
    “He was packed up and gone before anyone had the opportunity.”
    “Who did the autopsy?” Rebecca asked.
    Hand chuckled as he slid the gate shut and locked it. “First
off, Miss—”
    “Doctor,” she corrected him.
    “Yes…Doctor…like I was saying…we don’t have a coroner or
anything like that. If and when we need that kind of work done, we
call the state police. Second…anyone who has seen that body isn’t
likely to have the slightest doubt about the cause of death, believe
you me.”
    Apparently she didn’t. “Who prepared the body for burial?”
she asked.
    “Dewitt Davis,” he said. “Davis Funeral Home up on Third.”
    He eased over by the cop shop door and put his hand on the handle.
    “Did he take any pictures of the body?” Rebecca asked.
    “I believe he did,” the cop said.
    I wasn’t sure whether I meant it or not, but I said, “Thanks,”
and turned to leave.
    “Ah…listen,” he said. We waited. “You seem like nice
folks,” he started again. “A word to the wise.” I could smell
what was coming. “A great many people around here aren’t
altogether sorry about what happened to Mr. J.D. Springer. As a
matter of fact, the way most people around here see it, when it comes
to Mr. J.D. Springer…” He hesitated. “The way most of them see
it…the deader the better.” He waited for it to sink in and then
said, “So you be careful now.” With that, he turned the handle
and stepped from view.
8
    ONE OF THE REASONS WHY REBECCA DUVALL AND I HAVEbeen friends for
thirty-five years is because we learned early on that our minds don’t
work the same way. I’m a batch processor. You send me out for a
goat, I’m coming back with a goddamn goat. No…I won’t get the
dry cleaning on the way home. This is a goat trip. Next, I’ll make
a dry cleaning trip. Rebecca is totally the other way. Interactive.
Everything is connected to everything else is connected to everything
else. What store we start out for has no effect on where we end up.
Whatever product we went there to get has little or no bearing on
what we walk out with. All plans are subject to change without
notice. You cope.
    We were ensconced in a Naugahyde booth along the west wall of the
Chat and Chew Café. A pecky cedar palace half a mile east of the
police station on the opposite side of the highway. We’d perused
the lunch menu and ordered coffee. Halfway through our second cup of
brown water, she rolled her eyes up out of the cup. “What did you
make of the sheriff?” she asked.
    “Not what I expected.”
    She nodded. “Me neither.”
    “Seemed too…too something for a small-town cop.”
    “Urbane.”
    “You check out that uniform?”
    “Hand-tailored.”
    “You think so?”
    “Women know these things.”
    “I don’t think he was used to uppity women.”
    “Uppity?… Moi ?” She took a sip, made a face and put
the cup on the table. “I’m worried about Claudia and the
children,” she said.
    “J.D.’s parents probably picked them up,” I said. “Which
would also explain why the Blazer is still in the driveway.”
    She had to admit this made sense.