The Wild Hog Murders by Bill Crider Read Free Book Online Page B

I do. That Sage Barton has a lot on the ball. You take things too easy.”
    Rhodes didn’t mind the criticism, mainly because he knew Ballinger was joshing him.
    “I’m not cut out for the kind of adventures Sage Barton has,” Rhodes said.
    “I wouldn’t say that. Lose a couple pounds, work out a little, you might be just like him.”
    Rhodes stood up. “I don’t have time to work out. Too busy catching crooks.”
    “Well, good luck with that,” Ballinger said.
    *   *   *
    Rhodes was almost at the Chandler place when Hack came on the radio.
    “Mikey Burns is mighty upset with you,” Hack said.
    “You might not want to broadcast that,” Rhodes told him. Quite a few people in town had police band scanners and nothing better to do than listen in.
    That didn’t bother Hack. “Oh, I expect half the town knows about it already. Seems there were a couple of things you forgot to tell him this morning.”
    Rhodes hadn’t mentioned the damage to the car, but he had a feeling Burns still didn’t know about that.
    “He’s heard about the Milton Munday show,” he said.
    “He sure has, and he’s not happy. I told him you were hot on the trail of the killer, so you couldn’t see him. That’s the truth, ain’t it?”
    “Absolutely,” Rhodes said.
    “You better see him tomorrow, then. You might want to have a talk with Munday, too.”
    “Or I might not,” Rhodes said.
    *   *   *
    The Chandlers’ house sat in the middle of what would have been a green yard in the summer, but the fall weather had already turned most of the grass to brown. Rhodes turned the county car at the open gate and drove through.
    Both sides of the short road leading up to the house were fenced with hog wire, so the gate was usually open. The wire glinted in the sun.
    Rhodes parked in front of the house and got out. He could smell the hog pens, but they didn’t smell nearly as bad as the chicken farm that was located on the opposite side of the county. Or as bad as the farm once had. Qualls had cleaned things up as well as was possible, and Rhodes thought most people were okay with that.
    Janice Chandler came around the house from the back. She wore an old-fashioned sunbonnet and a pair of overalls over a red and blue plaid shirt. White cotton work gloves covered her hands.
    “Hello, Sheriff,” she said. “I thought you might be dropping by.”
    “Now why would you think that?” Rhodes asked.
    “I heard Milton Munday’s show this morning.”
    Rhodes thought she was grinning, but he couldn’t tell for sure because the bonnet shadowed her face.
    “Why would that make you think I’d be coming by?” he asked.
    “From what he said, it sounded like somebody killed a hog hunter,” Janice said. “I figured I’d be the first person you’d want to see. I’ll tell you right now, though, that I didn’t do it.”
    Munday didn’t know as much as he liked people to think he did, since the dead man hadn’t been one of the hog hunters. Or maybe he had been. It hadn’t occurred to Rhodes that he might be because he had on a blue shirt, as had the driver of the car, but there were lots of blue shirts in the world.
    The dead man had worn slacks and casual shoes, however. No self-respecting hog hunter would be dressed like that.
    “What about Andy?” Rhodes asked.
    “He didn’t kill him, either.”
    “I’d like to have him tell me that. Is he around?”
    “He’s working in back. We have a sick goat.”
    “Have you called the vet?”
    Janice waved the question aside. “Andy’s taking care of him.”
    Rhodes didn’t want to go around back and pay a visit to the sick goat, but he’d do it if he had to.
    “You want to call him,” he asked, “or do you want me to go back there?”
    “Andy or the goat?”
    Rhodes had to grin at the joke. He’d had an English teacher who’d made the same kind of comments, but that had been a long time ago.
    “Andy,” he said. “I don’t need to talk to the goat.”
    “I’ll