The Hen of the Baskervilles(59)
“Maybe it’s not accidental at all,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s not as stupid as he looks, and he’s screwing everything up out of some kind of crazy backwoods chivalry.”
“Could be,” Vern said, and I could tell he didn’t entirely disapprove of the notion.
“I’m not sure Plunkett has the brains to be chivalrous,” Horace said. “And intentional or not, what if he’s compromising evidence that would clear Ms. Riordan if I actually got to process it before it was contaminated?”
“Either way, her odds of getting off are good,” Vern said.
“And after she got off because all the evidence was tainted, what then?” I asked. “She’d probably have to sell her farm to pay her legal fees, and even if she managed to hang on to it, who’s going to want to buy cheese from a woman they think killed her husband and got off on a technicality?”
“I don’t see why not,” Vern said. “It’s not like she poisoned him.”
“Vern,” the chief began.
“I give up,” Horace muttered.
“Think how it looks for us,” I went on. “For Caerphilly. Nobody will remember that it was a Clay County deputy who screwed up the case. They’ll just think we’re a bunch of hicks who don’t know any better.”
I could see that didn’t set well with Vern.
“You’ve got a point there,” he said. “Horace, next time you see Plunkett doing anything wrong, you tell me and I’ll have it out with him.”
Horace nodded glumly.
“Hey, and at least one thing went right,” Vern said. “The jerk was too lazy to do much work when we were searching the van. Imagine what would have happened if he’d found the gun. ‘Oooh, lookie! A gun! You think it works? Bang!’”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Horace didn’t come right out and laugh, but he smiled and appeared a lot less stressed.
“Look, I get your point,” Vern said. “I’ll do what I can to keep him out of your hair and away from the evidence.”
“And if Plunkett proves completely uncontrollable, I will have a word with Sheriff Dingle,” the chief said. “The terms of our agreement oblige us to include a representative from Clay County in our investigation. They do not oblige us to include Deputy Plunkett.”
“Thanks,” Horace said.
“I’d have done it already,” the chief said. “But I’m afraid anyone they would send as a replacement could be even worse.”
“So I gather Deputy Plunkett would not be your first pick for any job openings that might come up in the Caerphilly Sheriff’s Department,” I said.
“He would not.” The chief frowned and looked at Vern. “And I surely do hope you’re wrong about him wanting to apply.”
“He’s been asking me about the pay and benefits,” Vern said. “They don’t get much of either over there. You know, I think maybe that’s why he’s driving Horace so crazy. He’s trying to look like a good candidate for the job.”
“He thinks the chief is looking for annoyingness and incompetence?” Horace sounded irate again.
“He probably just thinks he’s showing initiative,” the chief said.
“Hustle,” Vern put in.
“He’s an idiot,” Horace said. “But are you going to have a job opening coming up? Because—”
“Speak of the devil,” I interrupted. From my place by the door I could see through one of the trailer’s two windows. And I’d just spotted a familiar hulking form shambling toward the trailer. “Here comes Plunkett.”
“Great,” Horace muttered.
The door slammed open and Plunkett strolled inside.
“Hey there!” he said.
“Good afternoon,” the chief said.
“Afternoon,” Vern echoed. I nodded with as cheerful a face as I could muster, and Horace just tightened his lips.
Either Plunkett didn’t notice the tepidness of his reception or he didn’t care.
“Hey, Vern,” Plunkett said. “Randall was looking for you.”
Vern nodded and slipped out the door.
“So, remind me,” Plunkett said to the rest of us. “What kind of car was it the dead guy drove?”
“The deceased drove a red Mazda MX-5,” Horace said.
“Little bitty fire-engine red convertible, right?” Plunkett asked. “I think we found it. Want me to bring it in? I can get someone to hot wire it and—”
“No!” we all three shouted in unison.
“Suit yourself.” Plunkett crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, beaming as if he’d done something to be proud of.