Unlucky winner
When Horace Boulder won the sweepstakes, no one was prepared for his plans to spend it . . .
Sheriff Henry Dobbs arrived at the Horace Boulder residence just as Doc Pederson, the coroner, was finishing up.
“It looks mighty strange to me,” Pederson told Dobbs. “I mean one day he wins the lottery, the next he falls and hits his head!”
Where do snowmen go to dance? A. The snowball!
Put that way, it did seem a stretch. Horace had won $100,000 in the weekly state lottery. There was even a nice write up in the paper: Local Man Wins Lottery, Plans Gift to School.
It was the “plans gift to school” part that made the story. It wasn’t often anyone local saw that much money come in, but to then suggest giving it away?
But Horace said his pension was all he needed, and he wanted to help.
Dobbs frowned. “Is it possible he could’ve just fallen? Just by accident?”
Pederson nodded. “He’d gone downhill this last month or so. That’s why I suggested the railings and the shower chair and all. But if he fell, you would expect the blow to be at the back of the head. That’s usually the way a fall goes —the feet shoot out and down you go, backward. But in this case, the blow was to his temple area, like someone aimed for it.”
Dobbs considered some possibilities. “Who found the body?” “Carrie Ann. His niece.” “She’s his only relative?” “There’s a nephew as well, Jimmy, but you don’t see him around. Carrie Ann’s the one you see. It seems she tried to help him out as much as possible.”
“Tell you what,” Dobbs said. “You do the autopsy and let me know if you find anything else. I’ll talk with Carrie Ann.”
Carrie Ann worked for a local insurance agency. She glared at Dobbs when he came in the door. “Don’t you start with me, Sheriff Dobbs. The poor man isn’t even cold yet, and you’re all wondering what I’m going to do with the money.” Dobbs raised an eyebrow. “We are?” “You’re the fifth person today with ideas about how I should spend Uncle Horace’s big winnings. Well, I don’t even know if I’m the one to decide that.” “I see.” Dobbs pulled up a chair and settled in front of her desk. “Actually, I’m just here to get information for my reports. Fatal accident, you know? Paperwork?” Carrie Ann blushed. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff. I thought . . .” “How did you happen to find him?”
“I stop by most nights on my way home in case he needs something. Only this time he was lying there beside the tub.”
“Did he have his shower chair?”
“It was tipped over. He must have hit it stepping out. Maybe that tripped him.”
“Maybe it did. You and Jimmy are his only relatives?”
Carrie Ann nodded. “I guess I’ll be seeing more of Jimmy now.” “Why’s that? “He called last night to see if Uncle Horace had a will.” Carrie Ann looked at Dobbs. “You should talk to him. He has a say in what happens to the money.”
Jimmy worked parttime at the farm and garden store. The sheriff found him stocking the shelf with bags of rabbit food.
Dobbs offered his condolences.
Jimmy shrugged. “Me and him never got along.”
“You didn’t get together, talk about things?”
Jimmy snorted. “He’d sooner throw a rock at me than talk. I haven’t seen him in a year anyway, maybe longer.”
“Not even now, when he’s come into money?”
Jimmy chuckled. “You sound like Carrie Ann. She called all concerned about a will. I don’t know anything about his money or his will. It is whatever it is.”
“You heard about his accident though?”
Jimmy nodded. “They tell me he fell in the tub.” He shook his head. “I thought that’s what the shower chair was all about.”
That evening, Pederson called. “I can say for certain that the blow that killed him didn’t come from the fall. So all you have to do is figure who did it.”
“I already know,” Dobbs told him.