Someone to watch over me

badly equipped to get other work. Jobs weren’t easy to find, and Ralph didn’t make a good impression on strangers. For all his apparent outgoing and often boisterous bragging to his friends and acquaintances, he became shy with people he didn’t know. And it was the type of shyness that seemed surly and uncooperative.
    But the main reason he couldn’t get rid of him was that Ralph and his cousin Jack were buying a house. This was no time to put a man out of a job he did fairly competently. Especially when he himself was the one who wanted to take over the premises where Ralph and Jack were currently living when they moved.
    Howard couldn’t finish the sandwich. It was such awful oily peanut butter. He shouldn’t have scrimped and bought the cheapest he could find—and far too much of it. He went out on the porch, broke up the rest of the sandwich, and threw it out in the road. A mob of seagulls descended on it immediately.
    Howard had to keep his deputy. Ralph wouldn’t find anything else he was qualified to do. And maybe his lack of interest was a benefit. He didn’t run off harebrained to investigate on his own. He could follow simple orders. He was stupid enough to do very dull work and not mind. And Harry Harbinger was good at scrambling in the pursuit of helping his family. He always had something to do. He was well liked, meticulous with every job he took on. Was able to charm people into thinking they needed something done. All told, Harry probably made more money doing odd jobs than the town paid the deputy.
    Robert pulled up in the Duesie while Howard was still brooding.
    “Thought I’d drop by and find out if we know anything more about the mummy,“ Robert said, making a circle around the seagulls polishing off Howard’s sandwich.
    “Mummy?“ Howard said. His mind had been miles away. “I haven’t even asked the guy in Albany.“
    “How come?“
    “Robert, your mummy has been dead for years. I’ve got a murder that’s only a day old. The mummy can wait a little longer. He won’t care.”
    Robert grinned. “You’ve got a point.“ But Robert wasn’t especially interested in Donald Anderson’s death. He’d been generally disliked and wasn’t liked any better dead. The mummified man fascinated him because it was a real puzzle. “Could I pretend to be your temporary deputy and call up to Albany myself ?“
    “Go ahead.“
    “How’s the search for the satchel coming?“
    “It’s not. No sign of it. If it doesn’t turn up today, I’m going to have to do something I don’t want to.“
    “What’s that?“
    “Search the Anderson house.“
    “Why?“ Robert objected. “Mrs. Anderson’s the one who brought up his always carrying the satchel, even though everyone in town had seen him with it every day. Even if she was involved in his death, wouldn’t she have disposed of it by now?”
    That’s why I’m giving her another day, Howard thought privately. He just shrugged. “We may still find it in the woods.“
    “What’s Doc Polhemus got to say?”
    Walker waved Robert inside, where he’d been studying Polhemus’s report.
    “Not much,“ he said, skimming the document. “Middle-aged white man in relatively good health. Slight asthma. Evidence of broken tibia (left) in childhood and broken ring finger (right) sometime in his last seven to ten years.
    “Immediate cause of death: severe horizontal blow to the left temple. No sign of what sort of weapon. Most likely an object both heavy, relatively smooth, approximately four inches in diameter (determined by skull damage distribution), and traveling at a high velocity. Shattered orbital cavity leading to extensive blood clotting in the leftside of the brain. Paralyzation with unconsciousness resulting in approximately five minutes, death following close behind. Minor postmortem abrasions on back, legs, back and right side of head.“
    “Does that tell us he was murdered?“ Robert asked.
    “Nope. But it confirms that he was dragged from the site where he died. And it suggests a hard blow to the head, not just falling onto something. He didn’t die from anything that matches the description of any weapon in the vicinity. At least nothing we’ve found yet. Lily’s theory of a coal car dropping something on him doesn’t jive with the horizontal impact if Polhemus is right. I’m obligated to treat it as a murder.“
    “So where do you go from here?“ Robert asked.
    “I ask a lot of Nosey Parker questions