Read Online Murder Among the OWLS by Bill Crider - Free Book Online

some of them were laughing. A couple of dogs barked and frisked around the edges of the group.
    When Rhodes got out of his car, he could hear the roar of a gas-powered chain saw above the babble, but he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. He walked over to join Ruth, who pointed at a small wooded area in back of the mobile-home park. The trees were close together, and vines of wild grapes hung from some of the limbs.
    Though he could still hear the saw, Rhodes didn’t see either the saw or the man wielding it.
    â€œThey’re back in the trees,” someone said in Rhodes’s ear. “They’ll show up in a minute.”
    â€œWho?” Rhodes said to Ruth.
    â€œI’m not sure,” she told him.
    â€œIt’s that Thorpe fella,” said the voice in Rhodes’s ear.
    Rhodes turned to see who was talking to him. The man must have been around seventy. He was tall, skinny, and his cheeks were as pink as if he’d just shaved, which might have been the case. Rhodes smelled Aqua Velva.
    â€œYou sure?” Rhodes said.
    â€œSure I’m sure.” The man pointed. “I live in that trailer right over there.”

    Rhodes wasn’t sure what that was supposed to tell him.
    â€œNext door to Thorpe,” the man said. “Name’s Sherman, Gid Sherman.”
    He offered his hand. Rhodes shook it, thinking that the man’s voice sounded familiar. He might well be the anonymous caller who had turned Thorpe in for gambling.
    While Rhodes was thinking this over, someone yelled, “Here they come!”
    A man ran from the cover of the trees. He was old, but he was moving along at a pretty good clip. Rhodes didn’t blame him, since Thorpe was right behind with the chain saw, which was getting louder now that it was closer.
    â€œShoot him, Sheriff!” someone called out. “He’s gaining!”
    Ruth turned to Rhodes. “Want me to shoot him?”
    â€œI don’t think he’s gaining, but keep your gun handy,” Rhodes said. “Isn’t that Alton Brant he’s chasing?”
    It was, and the Korean War vet was high-stepping it when he passed the little crowd. He was flat of stomach and clear of eye, and he didn’t even seem to be breathing hard.
    Thorpe wasn’t much younger than Brant. He wore cutoff jeans and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt. Rhodes didn’t think Thorpe owned a motorcycle, but it was the thought that counted. Thorpe was still muscular enough to fill out the shirt in the right way, with a flat stomach and wide chest. The T-shirt was soaked with sweat from Thorpe’s exertions, and his face was red, but he was a handsome man, not movie-star handsome, but rugged. Iron-gray hair showed on the sides of his head not covered by the Houston Astros cap he wore.
    When Brant went past, Rhodes moved out from the crowd and
stood in Thorpe’s path. Thorpe saw him and came to a shambling stop. His mouth was open, and he took deep, gasping breaths.
    â€œWhat’s the trouble?” Rhodes had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the saw.
    It took Thorpe a few seconds to catch his breath. When he did, he said, “Get out of my way, Sheriff.”
    Rhodes didn’t move. Thorpe revved the chain saw and made a feint at him. Rhodes smelled gas and hot oil.
    â€œAssault with a deadly weapon,” Rhodes said. “You don’t need that on your record.”
    â€œYou can’t fool me, Sheriff.” Thorpe revved the saw again. “It’s too late to keep that off my record.”
    Rhodes wondered if he should tell Ruth to shoot him, but the crowd was milling around, and some of them were already behind Thorpe. No good would come from firing a pistol in a situation like that.
    Thorpe jumped forward, thrusting the saw at Rhodes. Rhodes jumped backward, watching the spinning chain and remembering for some reason a cartoon he’d once seen where a character was sliced in half.
    The