He turned and strode off, dialing his cell phone as he went. Rallying the family troops? Shiffley trucks from all over the county would soon be converging on the courthouse.
I wondered what the other three judges were doing. Two of them were Pruitts, and the other was a long-time business partner and golfing buddy of the mayor, so I wouldn’t want to bet on their chances of finding anyone willing to haul their stuff.
Then again, if the lender was one of mayor’s buddies, maybe the other three judges weren’t being evicted.
And how many other offices would be affected? And was it just offices? What other services would have to close down or relocate? We had well water and could get along without trash collection for a while, but what about the people in town?
At least Timmy would have a classroom to go to on Monday. Back in the fifties, Mayor Pruitt’s grandfather had closed Caerphilly’s schools rather than integrate them, never expecting that the county would rebel and build a new central school system just outside the town limits.
And what should I do about Randall’s theory? I’d forgotten to ask Randall if he’d already shared it with the chief.
I pulled out my cell phone and called the nonemergency number for the police station.
Chapter 11
“What’s up, Meg?” Debbie Anne.
“I know the chief is pretty busy,” I began.
“You have no idea.”
“Ask him if he’s heard Randall Shiffley’s theory of why Parker Blair was murdered,” I said.
“Is it a good theory?” she asked.
“Beats me,” I said. “I’ll leave that to the chief. But it was news to me, and I just wanted to make sure Randall had told him. Gotta run!”
I didn’t particularly have to run, but now, with any luck, Debbie Anne’s curiosity would be roused, and she’d nag the chief till he interviewed Randall.
And I should tell Cousin Festus about what I’d learned from Randall. I called his number and got voice mail. I hung up. I didn’t want to leave as long and convoluted a message as this would take. E-mail would be better. I hung up and headed for the barn to use the computer in my office.
The barn was quiet. A little too quiet. I saw no one—no humans, anyway—on the way into my office, and when I came out again, I saw only Clarence, feeding a bottle to one of the beagle puppies.
“Meg!” he exclaimed. “Great! I could use the help.”
I glanced around. Still no other Corsicans in evidence. I didn’t like the looks of this. Less than forty-eight hours and already they were deserting the ship.
“Could you possibly keep an eye on things here, just for a little while?” Clarence asked. “I need to go figure out a proper outfit for the funeral.”
“The funeral? You mean Parker’s? They can’t possibly be having it already.”
“Not yet, but the chief says they’ll be releasing the body before long, and once he does, there’s no use waiting around, is there?”
“Won’t that depend on Parker’s family?”
“He doesn’t have any.” Clarence shook his head as if the lack of family to bury him was as much a tragedy as Parker’s death. “And I’m his executor, so I guess it’s up to me, and I say the sooner the better. The longer we leave him unburied, the more time people have to gawk and gossip.”
I wasn’t sure about the gawking part, which made it sound as if Parker’s unburied body would be on display in the town square instead of safely ensconced at Morton’s Funeral Home. And if he thought burying Parker would cut off the gossip, he was more naïve than I thought.
But I guessed from the uncharacteristic frown on his face that the weight of his executor’s responsibilities weighed heavily on him.
“So you need to go clothes shopping,” I said. “Does it have to be right now?”
“I don’t mean for me,” Clarence said. “I have a dark suit. Or I could wear my uniform.”
“Uniform?” I was eyeing the battered biking leathers that were his usual daily wear. I couldn’t remember seeing him in anything else. Was that what he meant by a uniform? If so, I hoped he had a newer set at home that he kept for funerals. One that hadn’t yet encountered quite so many sick cats, piddling puppies, and incontinent macaws.
“I was a Marine, you know,” Clarence said, drawing himself up to his full six feet six. “I could wear my dress blues. Out of respect. Of course it’s been a few years since I’ve had them on.”
More like twenty years, I suspected. He was eyeing his belly dubiously. I had a feeling it wasn’t the years so much as the beers, along with quite a few pizzas, that might prevent him from squeezing into the uniform.