The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon

by M. Glenn Graves

  Lisha stayed in school until the eleventh grade and then quit halfway through. He simply got tired of learning, or so he stated often. He knew enough and wanted to be out and free. So, he just left. If he had paid attention and stayed long enough he would have come across the idea of the albatross around the neck from the famous poem. He could have easily applied that metaphor to his relationship with Sticky. If he had stayed in school. If he had paid attention. If he had wanted to know such things like that. But Lisha believed he had learned enough. Lisha was satisfied with the things he knew.

  Lisha had more in common with Sticky than being first cousins.

  “There’s nothin’ here,” Lisha said and headed to the truck.

  Sticky turned slowly at first and then decided to run. Despite his age, he liked to run, as if he were a child playing on a dirt road in the country. His movement was too fast, too abrupt, too hurried. His right foot got stuck in the mud hole and he fell sideways into the same hole where Laurel had jumped the night before.

  Lisha turned to see his cousin wallowing in the mud, trying to claw his way out without much success.

  “What in god’s name are you doin’ now?”

  “I jest fell down, that’s all.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “I couldn’t help it. Feet got tangled,” he said.

  As he was pushing upward with his hands in the mud he felt something buried in the dirty water beneath him. He was now on his hands and knees just like a child would be if playing in a mud hole. He pulled up a granola bar still in its wrapper. He tried brushing away the mud with his hands. Failing that, he leaned over and used some tall, wet grass to clean off the mud. He studied it thinking it was some kind of candy bar.

  “Hey, looky here, looky here what I found,” he yelled out to Lisha.

  Lisha turned toward his cousin. He was full of contempt. He started to curse the slow one when his eyes fell on the granola bar that Sticky was holding. He walked over to his cousin who was on his knees in the mud hole and jerked the granola bar out of his hands.

  “Hey, that’s mine. I found it!”

  “You have got to be the luckiest damn bastard I’ve ever knowed.”

  “I know,” Sticky smiled with delight thinking that Lisha was complimenting him. “Imagin’ findin’ a gen-u-wine candy bar out here in the middle of ….”

  “It’s not a candy bar, you idiot. The girl was right here last night.”

  “I don’t get it,” Sticky said.

  “Of course, you don’t. This was one of hers. She dropped it when she jumped from the truck.”

  “Jumped? How’d she jump? She was tied.”

  “She untied herself from your clever knots and then jumped. She won’t be free long.”

  “So, we’re goin’ after her, right?”

  “Well, one of us is. Now that we know where she left the truck, we have a better chance of finding her again.”

  Lisha opened the granola bar and took a big bite. He chewed a couple of times and then spit it out.

  “Gosh awful thing. How on earth could anyone eat such crap?”

  “Lettme try. Lettme have a taste,” Sticky begged.

  Lisha looked down at the granola bar portion still partially wrapped. He then looked at Sticky now on his hands and knees in the mud begging for a taste. He threw the granola bar still attached to its torn wrapper into the mud next to Sticky.

  “It’s all yours, cousin. Enjoy.”

  Chapter 7

  By the time we had finished supper with Ida Carter and she had driven us back to my Jeep, I was on the phone with Rogers as the four of us were heading to Starnes’ place. Both dogs were asleep in the backseat. I glanced over at Starnes and noticed that she was wide-eyed and thinking.

  “Some info for you, Madame,” Rogers said.

  “Lay it on me, dearie.”

  “Such kindness. You must be desperate for assistance in unraveling your present dilemma.”

  “I need to know what you found out. Spill it,” I said.

  “Impatience is not a virtue.”

  “Neither is stalling.”

  “Touché. I found one Hamish McClure who is known around the mountain counties as a ladies’ man. He appears multiple times on most of the social media websites. Some of the entries are scandalous; others are diatribes against his person. It seems that Hamish McClure, a.k.a. Curly, starts out as a Romeo and ends up on death row, so to speak, with too many females. Aside from his Don Juan side, he is also a person who has been arrested many times but seems to find a way out of his illegal behaviors. One exception to this was a little more than ten years ago when he was charged with kidnapping a minor with the intent to sell the child. The child, a female, was the daughter of his love-interest at the time. Do you think the man has a pattern?”

  “Old habits die hard, but I have nothing solid to go on presently. My gut tells me that he’s no good.”

  “But you’re going to stay on his case.”

  “Count on it. You discover anything else?”

  “There were two individuals charged with him back in 2000. Odell Elisha Ponder and Jerome Eugene Boswell. Odell is listed as Lisha in some of the police reports. Nickname or alias, not sure. Jerome, who happens to be his first cousin, is referred to occasionally by the name of Sticky Fingers. Sounds like a nickname. Odell Lisha Ponder left high school during his junior year. His cousin, Jerome Eugene ‘Sticky Fingers’ Boswell has some learning disabilities and dropped out after the ninth grade. They were charged with kidnapping and trying to transport a minor across state lines. The court had sympathy on Jerome and reduced his sentence to time served and community service. His cousin, Lisha, and Curly McClure each served three years. They were sentenced to ten years, but someone had their sentences reduced and both men were paroled on the same day.”

  “How old was the minor?” I said.

  “Twelve.”

  “And a female, right?”

  “Bingo.”

  “A good detective is often a good guesser.”

  “And you have a reason for that guess,” Rogers said.

  “I do. It’s my studied experience of human nature.”

  “And since they did this once upon a time, they would do it again.”

  “You’re almost as smart as I am,” I said.

  “I do not allow for your foundation. Therefore, I do not agree with your statement. I am a computer with nearly unlimited resources, ever-increasing knowledge, and research skills which defy the imagination of mere mortals. Add to that list my ever-growing ability to process and draw conclusions, then, well, one must see that I am more intelligent than you, my love. There is no almost in terms of my being as smart as you. I have surpassed you, I fear. Therefore, your premise is false.”

  “I need to put my boots on if you keep that up.”

  “That would be a weak attempt at humor, I suppose. Everybody’s a comedian,” Rogers said.

  “Is that the only blemish on Curly’s record?”

  “No, he has some earlier items, but nothing I would call serious. He has some B&E’s, some assault charges, and some disturbing the peace citations.”

  “And the cousins, Lisha and Jerome, they have any other charges against them?”

  “Only Lisha. It seems that Jerome finds a way to receive some soft treatment due to his mental issues, but it doesn’t seem to stop him from teaming up with Cousin Lisha. He did serve ninety days for exposing himself to a minor in a public park in downtown Madison.”

  “Sounds like these three guys are real jewels. I need you to keep digging. See if you can find out who inside the system has been creative enough to keep Jerome out of jail. That might prove to be helpful information.”

  “If there’s a paper trail, I shall find it. You know that means real or electronic paper.”

  “I do.”

  When I entered the house, both dogs were bedded down and Sam was already deep into his heavy, rhythmic breathing. Starnes had dressed for bed and was sipping hot tea
while sitting in Spud’s worn out chair by the front door. Spud had died about a year after Starnes had returned to take care of her parents.

  I told her what Rogers had discovered regarding our three suspects.

  “They all sound stupid to me,” she said.

  “Well, Curly might be the evil genius behind the disappearance of Laurel, but I agree that none of them sound overly impressive when it comes to criminal deceit.”

  “Yet, sometimes stupid people can get away with it,” she said.

  “It does seem so.”

  “So, we have to be smart.”

  “At least wiser than whoever we’re tracking.”

  “So, wise detective, what’s our next move?”

  “You mean after a night’s rest.”

  “I mean, where are we headed first light?”

  “Back to Beth’s and hope that Curly is hanging around so we can ask him some more questions.”

  “And if Curly’s not there?”

  “Then we’ll ask Beth some more questions.”

  “Is that what they teach you in sleuth school?”

  “Naw. I picked up that technique all on my own. I began asking questions when I was a little younger than Laurel. I noticed it provoked a lot of people, especially those who had some reason to hide things.”

  “So, you went around provoking the good citizenry of that small Virginia community back when you were a little girl?”

  “I provoked some of them. If I thought they were hiding something, I talked it over with the local sheriff.”

  “So, you worked for your father, that local sheriff,” she said and finished her tea.

  “Unofficially.”

  “Which means your training was …,” she stopped and waited.

  “Unofficial.”

  “Figures. I’m running around the world with an unofficial detective.”

  “But I have a gun and I can still provoke people with my questions.”

  “You can provoke people even when you’re not asking questions. I’m going to bed. I need some rest,” she said and left me alone in the living room wondering what my next move was going to be after we questioned Curly McClure and Beth Call. I hate being reminded that detective work is way down the list of glamour jobs.

  “We could write down the questions before we go, if that makes you feel better,” I called out to her as I headed to bed.

  There was a long pause. I thought she hadn’t heard me. I stood still for a few seconds and waited just to be sure.

  “Turn out the lights and go to bed,” she called back at me.

  Chapter 8

  Beth Call was drinking a hot beverage from a mug when we arrived a little after eight the next morning. Starnes wanted to drive, so we took her truck. The dogs were riding in the back and enjoying the early morning breezes. They stayed in the truck bed when we went into the house.

  “Tea?” she offered.

  Starnes shook her head.

  “I’ll take a mug of that,” I said.

  “Have you found anything yet?” she asked, but she didn’t seem to be as worried as she was earlier.

  “We found some traces of what we believe to be Laurel. We think she was on the AT heading north.”

  “What do you mean traces of Laurel?”

  “Some indentions in the soil. It was really muddy up there and it seems that she might have fallen, or at least the person we believe to be Laurel had fallen.”

  “Why do you believe it was Laurel?” she asked.

  “The dogs were following the scent from the clothing you gave us. They tracked her scent to that spot.”

  “So, if the dogs are right, then she was heading north?”

  “If the dogs are right,” I said without going any further into our thinking about what probably happened to Laurel.

  “You seem to trust your dogs,” she said.

  “I do.”

  “So, are you going back to follow her trail?”

  “We need to ask you some more questions before we return to our tracking,” I said, trying to be honest as well as evasive.

  “Questions about what?”

  “Who, really. I want to know some more about Hamish McClure,” I said.

  “Curly? Why are you so interested in Curly?”

  “I suspect he may be the reason that Laurel ran away.”

  “What are you talking about? Curly had nothing to do with her running away.”

  “Maybe it was what Laurel thought he might do that caused her to run.”

  “That’s silly. Why would Curly be interested in a fourteen-year-old?” she asked.

  “He’s a male,” Starnes said. “And let’s not forget those male hormones.”

  Beth frowned as she considered what Starnes had said. She then shook her head aggressively, as if trying desperately to shake off some insect bothering her.

  “I think you’re way off the mark here. I don’t like what you’re suggesting.”

  “We have reasons to ask these questions,” I said.

  “What reasons?”

  I told her what I had found out about Curly’s past and his jail sentence connected with the kidnapped girl a few years back.

  “Did you know about that?” I said.

  “I knew he was in jail for a short stint. He told me all about it. Said it was simply a miscarriage of justice and mistaken identity. He told me he was innocent, which is why he got out early.”

  “Early release does not mean not guilty.”

  “I’m going by what he told me. I trust him,” she said as she continued to drink her tea.

  “Does your daughter have any friends she might go to if she was feeling threatened?”

  “She would come to me,” Beth said.

  “And she didn’t say a word to you about Curly, about anything, any little thing?” I said.

  “Yeah, she told me that one night after supper when I was washing the dishes that Curly was teasing her and tried to kiss her. I told her that it was nothing, that he was just playing a fool. He likes to tease and all. Everybody knows that. So, I told her to forget about it.”

  “What did she say?” Starnes asked.

  “She insisted that he wasn’t playing around, that it didn’t seem like teasing to her. I told her to let it alone.”

  “What does that mean, let it alone?” I said.

  “It means that she needs to stop being so childish and learn to know when someone is teasing. He’s the first man I’ve dated since my husband died and I like him. I don’t want to lose him because my daughter is behaving like a child. Now, if you two don’t have anything better to do than to waste my time with these ridiculous questions, I have things to do. Curly is my friend. He had nothing to do with her leaving. Maybe you should leave now.”

  I tried to decipher her skewed logic or lack of logic. Nothing would compute. On the other hand, she was being a typical female, in my experience, when it came to believing that the boyfriend might be the culprit.

  “Thanks for the tea,” I said and handed her the mug.

  We left without another word.

  As we were driving away, I looked back at the house out of my habit with checking my rear position, and I saw a curtain move. Shrewd detective that I am, I deduced that someone had been watching us from Beth’s bedroom window as we departed. Since Beth was on the front porch making sure that we left the premises, clever person that I am deduced that Beth was not alone in the house. Shrewd with superior vision.

  “You seem to have honed your skill,” Starnes said.

  “Which skill?”

  “Provoking people with questions.”

  “Yeah, I have that down pat. And did you happen to notice that someone was watching us from the bedroom window as we were pulling out of the driveway?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, you’re getting the hang of this detective stuff.”

  “I have my moments,” she said flatly. “You think it was Curly?”

  “Be my bet.”

  “So
where to now, Ace Detective?”

  “Can I confess something?”

  “You’re not among strangers here. My lips are sealed. Confess away,” Starnes said.

  “I have no idea where to go next.”

  “Yikes,” she said, “and I say that particular word to quote a famous detective.”

  “Yeah, I feel a desperate yikes at this point.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “And it makes you so endearing to me.”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  “Let’s go see my dear friend Aunt Jo.”

  “Can we get to her place before sunset?” I said.

  “McAdams is a big county, but not that big.”

  “Then by all means. Let’s consult the medium.”

  “Wow, no rebuttal, no snide remarks, no rejection of my idea … just that erroneous term medium.”

  “It’s as close to naming what she does as I can find.”

  “Yet so far away,” Starnes said.

  “Sometimes the unknown is so vast that I will do anything that might open a way. I want to find this girl. Sooner rather than later. Whatever it takes.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Starnes said and smiled.

  Chapter 9

  “Come in, Starnes Carver, and you have brought Clancy Evans with you once again. You are both welcome in my home. I’ve been expecting you,” Josephine Starling said as she opened the door and invited us inside her small, out of the way house at the edge of the world.

  “I hate it when she says that,” I whispered to Starnes as we walked into her sitting room.

  A teapot was sitting on the antique wooden table in the middle of the three chairs and sofa. Three teacups were waiting to be filled. She was at least expecting someone, if not us. The usual eeriness saturated the room. Maybe that was just my impression of this dear, sweet, and rather strange woman who had helped us solve some unusual crimes in the past. I owed her much, but my debt did not eliminate the oddness with which Aunt Jo operated. Her skill set was an enigma for me.