The morning after Chere’s appointment, Shelby began the Psychological Autopsy of Claude Collette. it was formed from interviews and data from relatives and others regarding the emotional condition of the person prior to their death. She had created several in the past during an internship for her Master’s work. by talking to those who knew him, she hoped to reach an understanding of Collette’s mental state at the time of his demise. Maybe she could determine if something undisclosed was evident or if some folks, including she herself, were divining overtime.
Alone that day with Wil off, Shelby worked until two. when she finished, she left the office to try to meet with Chere and discuss the autopsy with her. She had mixed feelings about intervening and played both sides along her way. She told herself she should just focus on Chere and deal with what Chere presented. Still, the autopsy could bring a clarity that might help her in Chere’s treatment.
Her conflicts faded as she drove south to Route 50. She turned toward the east and crossed the railroad tracks. Shot with cypress knees, the land along the highway was the swampy ground of Richloam Wildlife Management. The air was hot; the grass was sere from lack of rain. beyond the Little Withlacoochee River, she moved past modest houses, mobile homes, and small horse farms between clusters of trees. on through Tarrytown to Linden with its cemetery entrance—the sign read 1842—toward the east.
A little distance past the cemetery, she saw a farmhouse on the right and a mailbox reading, “Buford Moats.” Wil’s Uncle Bub. She slowed to look around. The ranch house was a stucco trimmed in brown with out-buildings at back. a full-size pickup painted tan was resting in the driveway. Midway up the yard, a man was riding on a mower. He wore a faded blue ball cap and had a Santa belly clothed in white. He focused on his work. Shelby thought of Wil’s advice to talk to him, but, whether she did or not, the next step was to talk to Chere. She moved on toward the east.
Several miles along, she saw the Collette farm at left, pulled just off the road, and stopped. a neat white wooden arch above the gate was painted Cheval Ranch. She cut the motor, parked just off the road beside the drive, and glanced around. there were horses in a field off in the distance. The house itself was hidden by a yard of ancient oaks that were full of dying limbs and trails of Spanish moss. Vehicles sped behind her on the highway, prompting her to move. She reengaged the engine and turned into the lane. Emerging in the distance was the red brick face of the Collette home.
Closer to the house, Shelby saw the house was quite extensive. it seemed likely, as Claude’s resources bettered through the years, he had added other wings. Now a sprawling ranch with three-car garage along the east side at the right, an ell of rooms off to the west of brick with white wood trim, it looked more like a Northern home than a Florida one to her. a large screen room lay beyond the ell and, in the distance, was the corner of a modern white wood barn. beyond the barn, three caramel horses grazed in a sunny, open field. The lane curved to a circle just before the house. Here, Shelby parked, walked along the driveway, and stopped.
That she had come here in a hurry might be argued. Her thinking from her talk with Dr. Nathan had brought her out to try to talk to Chere. Though Chere and possibly Darley were to meet with her next week, Shelby felt a need to see the woman as well as her environs sooner. And alone. As she looked around this more than ample home and luscious acreage, she wondered how the daily life had been. Was it a wholesome family life? Was it productive? Caring? or were the players set against each other or themselves? And were they holding secrets?
At that point, she listened. The house seemed silent. Shelby climbed the front porch. it was stone with wrought iron railings on both sides. She knocked. Still nothing. She knocked again. a wreath of interwoven vines hung on the door. Leaves snapped behind her, and she jumped. She turned in time to see a skinny tiger cat tear around the corner to her right. The cat zoomed away. As it disappeared, an older woman padded through the yard toward her. She was small and stooped, a sparrow on the hunt for worms. Wearing beige slacks and an outsized blue sweater, she appeared to have come from the little yellow house beyond the fence. As the woman came, Shelby saw her hair was gray as fog with a fuzz of tiny curls around her head.
“Hello.” Shelby called to her.
“help you with something?” The woman answered in a frail, yet pleasant voice.
“I’m looking for Chere Blanton.”
Face lined like she has spent too much time in the sun, the woman slowly climbed the stairs and stopped, her fawn-colored eyes squinting in the light. “Not here just now, I’m afraid. Can I take care of something?”
“Well, no thank you. I must really talk to her. my name is Shelby Wallace.”
“Oh. you one of them renters?”
“No. No. Not a renter.” Shelby smiled at her. “Do you know when she’ll be back? I have some business with her.”
“Can’t tell ‘bout Chere. might be anytime.” She glanced up the drive as though to will Chere to return. “I come out to feed the cats and saw you over here. you see ‘em? There’s three of ‘em. they were ‘Rene’s.” She looked around, seeming downcast.
“I saw the tiger, Ma’am. you say, Irene. Mrs. Collette? I guess you knew her.”
“She was my bestest friend.” Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke.
Shelby asked her gently, “Do you mind my asking what she was like? Ah, sorry, may I ask your name?”
“Cora Hamer,” said like ‘lion tamer.’ “’Rene was good. to everyone. She had a lot to … put up with.”
“Oh. is that so? I guess her husband was quite busy.”
Her face was sorrowful. “Oh, yes. there was somethin’ happenin’ all the time.”
“who takes care of this place now?”
“Well, Robert and his boys still come. And Lyle, my boy, helps out. Mows the yard and keeps the engines runnin’ after he comes from work. And Chere. Well, she tries. but it’s goin’ to go downhill … unless some change is made.” Cora looked a little dizzy and reached out for the rail. “you all right, Mrs. Hamer?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled back at Shelby. “just can’t stand in one place very long.” Cora turned. “got to find those cats.” She began to leave the porch, and Shelby walked alongside her down the stone steps out into the yard.
“And Claude Collette, what kind of man was he?” Shelby felt uncomfortably relentless, but went on.
Like one who can’t do two things at once, Cora stopped and, after thinking for a moment, said, “Can’t speak ill of the dead.” She nodded as she spoke. “Worked hard. Gave them all … this. He was the world to ‘Rene. It’s just … he favored men.”
“He favored men?” Shelby prompted her.
“like his boy. like Claudie. Paid him more mind than … his wife.”
“And more than Chere?”
“Oh, more than Chere. Well,” she shook her head, “not when she was little. when she was older.”
As Cora Hamer turned to leave again, a list of questions flooded Shelby’s mind—about Irene and Chere and just who this Robert person was. She realized she had very little time with Mrs. Hamer so she wanted to make it count. “Mrs. Hamer, could you tell me how Mr. Collette was in the days before he died? his mood I mean?”
Cora looked aside at her and bit her lips. “Mood? Well, same as ever, I’d say. Claude always was, most times …, the same.”
Just then a roar sounded behind her, and Shelby turned. Chere’s bright blue Corvette raced toward them down the lane, a dust tornado in its wake.
“Here she is right now.” Cora exclaimed.
Chere Collette whirled around the circle and parked just behind them. She jumped out, dressed in tight designer jeans and a furry short-sleeved sweater of bright hibiscus pink, her hair a mass of taffy curls.
“you making house calls now?” Chere hurried toward them.
“Well, kind of.” Wallace replied. “Hello, Chere, how are you? is there somewhere we could talk?”
“you can come on in the house.” She turned to Cora, “is Satan back?”
“I have not seen a one of ‘em. This lady saw the tiger.” Cora turned away again.
Shelby called after her and thanked her for her time. “Hope you find your charges—cats—real soon.”
Chere led into the house, through a central hall and left into a living room that was mostly beige and brown. She guided Shelby to a large and sturdy sofa that was sienna and lemon plaid. they sat. a rattan coffee table sat before them.
“What’s up, Doc?” Chere laughed and wiggled in her seat.
“I see that you and Dar are set to come in Tuesday. I wanted to talk to you before.” so as to face her more directly, Shelby moved sideways on the cushions. “First of all, I want to tell you that I’d like to meet with him alone at first so as to ….”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass just what you do with Dar. just get him to turn me loose. And leave me alone till then….” Her baby face grew pink like a reflection from her sweater. Her perfect mouth down-turned.
“… give me a chance to see what’s he is thinking.” Wallace finished her sentence. “And I think our meeting will go better if you come alone. Without Mr. Kingston. but, Chere, Darley is not the reason why I’m here.”
“then what is?” Her blue eyes began to narrow.
“I want to be open with you. I’d like to know more about your father.”
“What do you mean?” Chere looked startled and began to brace.
Shelby began to answer when Chere continued questioning, “And what the devil for? He’s dead. That should be enough.” If looks could kill, Shelby thought she might be killed off at this moment, too. Chere stared at her with obvious hostility.
“Well, let me think just how to put this, Chere. there are several reasons. One is that I think you are extremely affected by him and knowing more will help me sort that out one way or the other. then I can help you better.”
Chere Blanton stood and started pacing up and down. With her height and stomping stance, she swaggered like an adolescent boy. Turning, eyes dark with irritation, she snarled, “What is it you need to know?”
“I know you’re upset. And I don’t blame you. I’m probing into something very painful. let me try to clarify.”Chere stopped pacing and moved closer to the sofa where her therapist sat.
Shelby was torn. Strictly speaking, she was blurring professional boundaries. nothing illegal nor violating confidence. Still, she was diving into murky water of her own agenda. Dr. Nathan whispered once again for caution. Shelby debated just how blunt to be, what terms to use. She ran the risk of causing Chere to run from unfelt pain about her father’s death or from any secrets she might be containing.
She decided to proceed. “I think it will help me with … your treatment, Chere, if I do what’s called a Psychological Autopsy of your father. It’s something of a record of your father’s feelings in the last days of his life that I’d obtain from you and others. This way I can understand what his mood was when he died and how that still affects you.” Chere faced her squarely. “What the hell for? The M.E.’s office did all this already.”
Shelby dodged the question. “could he have been depressed? just before his death especially?” She realized when she asked, if Collette had insurance and Chere were to want it, she might not want to answer truthfully.
Chere started on the move again. “No, Daddy was not depressed! Not right before he died. Not ever! And, in case you’re wondering, he was not a suicide! He just slipped and fell. an accident. That is all it was! And the M.E.’s office said so, too.”
“Yes, I hear you, Chere.” Shelby tried to keep her voice as calm and low as possible. “but I’d like to be aware of his emotional condition. I’m asking you to help me understand. Give me permission to … clarify this for my satisfaction, too. I promise you I won’t mention you or violate your confidence in any way. ”
Chere looked hard at her and didn’t speak.
In as nurturing a voice as she could muster, Shelby asked, “What did he do to cause you to feel the way you do?”
Chere clasped her fingers to her mouth and glanced quickly at Wallace’s face, then turned away. Silent for some moments, she avoided Shelby’s question and answered in a breaking voice. “I don’t know why you want to open this thing up again, but if my permission’s what you want, then you’ve got it. Do what the hell you want! I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Shelby reassured her that they would work together to help Chere resolve her feelings. That seemed to ease her somewhat. After some moments, they said a guarded, “goodbye.” Wallace left and drove back down the lane and onto 50 toward the west. The sun was midway in its slide to earth while a few, fat cumulous clouds floated just above.
As she proceeded, she saw the Moats’ farmhouse on her left. The man had stopped. He was standing by his mower, his head tilted upward. He appeared to be drinking something. Shelby slowed and then, on impulse, pulled into the drive. She stepped out of her car.
Moats looked at her, planted his two feel wide apart, and waited with his arms crossed on his ample front. He held a soft drink in his hand. “Yes, Ma’am? Can I he’p ya?”
Bub Moats was a saggy man with his wilted ball cap and jowls beyond drooping. He wore an ancient tee shirt and a pair of jeans, his stomach straining at his belt. Still, with neatly shaven ruddy face, he looked like a man who would likely slick up for events.
“Hello, Mr. Moats.” Wallace approached him and stopped. “I’m a … friend of Wil Maynard’s. She suggested I speak with you. about Claude Collette. Do I understand he was a friend of yours?”
Bub took another swig of the soft drink which appeared to be root beer and pursed his lips. “Yes, ma’am, good friend.” He stopped there and looked hard at her.
“I wonder if I might ask you about Collette’s mood in the days before he died.”
”Mood?” Moats shifted weight, creases forming in his forehead.
“I mean, could I ask what you noticed about him around then?”
“Noticed? Say, who are you? What’s your racket? did John Saylor send you?” She thought that Moats must mean the Sheriff of Quarry County.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I should explain.” Shelby considered what to say. “Mr. Moats, I’m Dr. Shelby Wallace. I’m a psychologist, and I’m doing an emotional, ah, post-mortem, you might call it.”
“How do you know Willowdean?” He took a last swig of his root beer, set the can down on his mower, and, pulling a cloth from his jeans, mopped his glistening face.
Shelby hedged for a brief moment before she answered, “She does a few things, part-time, for me.”
“Oh.” He ran his tongue along his teeth. “Well, I been waitin’ to say this somewhere. I told it to John when Collette first died, but he just brushed it all off.” again, Shelby thought, he must mean Saylor. “Claude was just like ever … before he died. there weren’t no problem there at all. ‘Cept maybe Chere. She’s a wild one. but Claude knew how to deal with her. Yeah, he was fine. Worked every day. never changed.”
“Was he in good health?”
“Yes, ma’am. old Claude didn’t smoke. never did. Older than me, by five years. Still strong. only thing I saw goin’ was his ears. Couldn’t hear too good. but that ain’t gonna kill ya.”
“did you see him, those last few days?” Wallace asked.
“I seen him on Thursday. Day before. He stopped by on his way to town.”
“And he seemed the same then to you?”
“He was fine, just fine. like I say, better health than me. With this ticker.” Moats struck his chest with his hand. “We talked, as I remember. made some plans. We’s fixin’ to go over to the horse auction that next week. Now, that don’t sound like someone who’s cashin’ it in, seems to me. so,” he mopped again, “he didn’t bump himself off like some people wondered, if that’s what you’re thinkin.’ but,” he slowed, “there’s somethin’ there ain’t right…”
“like what, Mr. Moats?”
“Bub. Call me Bub. ‘S what everyone calls me.” Moats scratched his head. “What was it happened? Don’t know for certain. but when there’s money’s involved, ya got vultures. Tell ya what. you ought to look into Frenchy. That’s his brother. Always anglin’ for money.”
Wallace listened carefully and tried to make mental notes of Moats’ choice of words and his inflection. “Frenchy? is he Louie?”
Bub nodded. “Yep.”
“Where would I find him?”“old Frenchy’s out on the ‘Coochee. out past the Wal-Mart, you know, under 75. Ya turn right just ‘fore the river”. Moats looked at this watch. “Lord, I got to get goin.” He turned around, grabbed the drink can off the mower, and climbed on. He sighed into place. “I’ll tell you this, the old man didn’t swim, and he didn’t like water ‘cept to pull a fish from. He’d a been most careful. you ask me; somethin’ else went on out there.”
Bub cranked up the engine, calling above the roar, “Glad there’s somebody lookin’ into this. I thought right along, if it be up to me, someone oughta do it. I told the wife, there’s something fishy, and it ain’t what old Claude was catchin’.”
Shelby tried to say that she would not be looking into it in the way he meant, but Moats continued talking. “Now, missy, I just got to go.” He began to move forward, the mower nearly drowning his words. “you look on into it. I’ll pay ya. let me know what you find.” He yelled, “be worth it to me.” Bub Moats fed the gas and drove on up the yard leaving Shelby standing there in thought.
Now what do you have? What is Moats responding to? What indeed? More than one person, and with different agendas, had said Collette wasn’t depressed, that he was careful, and not a person to get into trouble. She also knew, that Chere was extremely distressed by her father and not willing to say what that involved. Shelby reached for her cell phone and dialed.
“Cole? hi. you want to go out jukin’ later?”
There was silence for a moment, then he answered, “sure. my bar or yours.”
Coming Tuesday, August 3: Installment 8: The River Rats