Read Online Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 09 - Death by Accident by Bill Crider - Free Book Online
Authors: Bill Crider
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picket fence that was missing several pickets.
Rhodes parked the county car in front of Overton’s house. It was the one with the car up on blocks in the driveway. Rhodes couldn’t tell what kind of car it was because it was covered by a cream-colored tarp.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t Overton’s only vehicle. There was a shiny new Toyota truck parked behind it. The roofing business evidently paid pretty well. At least the kind of roofing business that Overton conducted.
Rhodes was curious about the tarp-covered car. It didn’t look as if it could be a Jeep Cherokee, but you never knew unless you looked. He’d heard of a hit-and-run case in Houston in which the car had sat in an apartment parking lot for two years before somebody looked at it.
So when he walked past the covered car, he lifted the tarp at the front for a look at the grille. He saw a vertical chrome fish-mouth, which could mean only one thing: he was looking at a 1958 Edsel. His curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted the side of the tarp. The Edsel was a four-door hardtop, red and white, one of the ugliest cars ever made in the eyes of some beholders.
But not in the eyes of Rhodes. He was instantly in love. In Texas in 1958 fourteen year olds could get a “learner’s permit,” but Rhodes hadn’t been quite old enough even for that when Edsels appeared on the scene. Not that it mattered; to him they represented the high point of a decade in which Detroit seemed determined to make the gaudiest cars possible. He wondered whether Overton would sell the car or whether he was saving it for himself.
Rhodes lowered the tarp and walked to Overton’s covered porch, which wasn’t connected to the ground by any steps that Rhodes could see. He put one foot on the porch, grabbed one of the roof supports — a two by four nailed to the floor of the porch and one of the roof beams — and pulled himself up. He could hear muffled voices inside the house, but as he knocked on the rusty screen door he realized that the voices were coming from a TV set. Either that, or Overton had invited Oprah to come over for a visit and she had accepted.
No one answered his knock. He knocked harder, but there was still no response.
Rhodes stepped off the porch, which proved to be no easier than stepping up on it had been. About the time the Edsel had been new, he would have jumped both up and down with no trouble at all, but those days were long gone.
He walked around to the back of the house. There were three bundles of shingles and a stack of warped two-by-fours in the weeds near the steps leading to the back door. Rhodes was glad to see the steps. He mounted them and knocked on the door. There was no screen this time.
And there was no answer to the knock. Maybe Overton was out somewhere chiseling someone out of money for a worthless roofing job. Or maybe he was just asleep. Or the TV was too loud. Rhodes really did want to ask him about the Edsel. He hammered so hard on the door that it rattled loosely in the frame.
A dog started barking somewhere inside, and a man’s voice yelled, “Shut up, you mutt!”
So Overton, or someone, was there after all. Rhodes knocked again. The dog continued to bark, but no one tried to quiet it again.
“All right, all right,” the man’s voice called. “Keep your britches on. I’m coming.”
The back door opened and the barking got louder, though Rhodes couldn’t see the dog.
He could, however, see a man who was bigger than Rhodes had expected. He must have weighed two hundred pounds, and he was solid and wide.
The roofer was wearing a threadbare Joe Camel t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the top of his faded jeans. He wasn’t wearing a belt. No shoes, either. His head was completely bald, but there was hair coming out of every opening in the t-shirt, pushing up Overton’s neck and down his arms. It made a furry fringe between the t-shirt
Rhodes parked the county car in front of Overton’s house. It was the one with the car up on blocks in the driveway. Rhodes couldn’t tell what kind of car it was because it was covered by a cream-colored tarp.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t Overton’s only vehicle. There was a shiny new Toyota truck parked behind it. The roofing business evidently paid pretty well. At least the kind of roofing business that Overton conducted.
Rhodes was curious about the tarp-covered car. It didn’t look as if it could be a Jeep Cherokee, but you never knew unless you looked. He’d heard of a hit-and-run case in Houston in which the car had sat in an apartment parking lot for two years before somebody looked at it.
So when he walked past the covered car, he lifted the tarp at the front for a look at the grille. He saw a vertical chrome fish-mouth, which could mean only one thing: he was looking at a 1958 Edsel. His curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted the side of the tarp. The Edsel was a four-door hardtop, red and white, one of the ugliest cars ever made in the eyes of some beholders.
But not in the eyes of Rhodes. He was instantly in love. In Texas in 1958 fourteen year olds could get a “learner’s permit,” but Rhodes hadn’t been quite old enough even for that when Edsels appeared on the scene. Not that it mattered; to him they represented the high point of a decade in which Detroit seemed determined to make the gaudiest cars possible. He wondered whether Overton would sell the car or whether he was saving it for himself.
Rhodes lowered the tarp and walked to Overton’s covered porch, which wasn’t connected to the ground by any steps that Rhodes could see. He put one foot on the porch, grabbed one of the roof supports — a two by four nailed to the floor of the porch and one of the roof beams — and pulled himself up. He could hear muffled voices inside the house, but as he knocked on the rusty screen door he realized that the voices were coming from a TV set. Either that, or Overton had invited Oprah to come over for a visit and she had accepted.
No one answered his knock. He knocked harder, but there was still no response.
Rhodes stepped off the porch, which proved to be no easier than stepping up on it had been. About the time the Edsel had been new, he would have jumped both up and down with no trouble at all, but those days were long gone.
He walked around to the back of the house. There were three bundles of shingles and a stack of warped two-by-fours in the weeds near the steps leading to the back door. Rhodes was glad to see the steps. He mounted them and knocked on the door. There was no screen this time.
And there was no answer to the knock. Maybe Overton was out somewhere chiseling someone out of money for a worthless roofing job. Or maybe he was just asleep. Or the TV was too loud. Rhodes really did want to ask him about the Edsel. He hammered so hard on the door that it rattled loosely in the frame.
A dog started barking somewhere inside, and a man’s voice yelled, “Shut up, you mutt!”
So Overton, or someone, was there after all. Rhodes knocked again. The dog continued to bark, but no one tried to quiet it again.
“All right, all right,” the man’s voice called. “Keep your britches on. I’m coming.”
The back door opened and the barking got louder, though Rhodes couldn’t see the dog.
He could, however, see a man who was bigger than Rhodes had expected. He must have weighed two hundred pounds, and he was solid and wide.
The roofer was wearing a threadbare Joe Camel t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the top of his faded jeans. He wasn’t wearing a belt. No shoes, either. His head was completely bald, but there was hair coming out of every opening in the t-shirt, pushing up Overton’s neck and down his arms. It made a furry fringe between the t-shirt
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