“Should I watch the news to see if you will appear?”
“Not likely. As you said, cloak and dagger. So, what are you into these days?”
“Nothing as prestigious as your involvements.”
“You assume a lot.”
“I don’t travel on the military’s dime.”
“It’s not all prestige. Sometimes it’s nothing less than grunt work.”
“This one of those times?”
“No. This had some prestigious power connected with it. But, still cloak and dagger as far as the ordinary public is concerned.”
“You avert World War III?”
“Let’s just say we postponed Armageddon.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. It was nothing short of semantics.”
“You averted a war because you were able to translate something that no one else could translate?”
“I’m modest. Don’t make me boast.”
“So how fragile is our world scene these days?”
“We’d better talk about your work unless you really want to be depressed.”
“Yikes. My fare is small pickings by comparison.”
“Are you trying to save someone?”
“I don’t know. I was called down to North Carolina to try to help an elderly woman learn the truth about something which she can only remember bits and pieces.”
“And?”
“I was unceremoniously asked to leave and not return.”
“So, you found something.”
“Rogers did, but only tidbits. I found mostly hostility, which leads me to believe that I am on to something, something that some people in Riley Corners want to keep hidden.”
“Need some help?”
“If you’re offering, the answer is always.”
“Do I get paid?”
“The usual.”
“That’s very disappointing.”
“Altruism is alive and well in my work.”
“But I’m the hired hand.”
“No money, no fight?”
“Come one, come all. I shall fight to the finish.”
“Who said that, General Custer?”
“I have no idea. But it does sound impressive. Now, how can I help?”
“You ever heard of Riley Corners?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Then let me tell you what I know and we can decide what to do next.”
“I love a decisive leader.”
10
I informed Rosey with the little I had learned since my investigation had begun. It wasn’t much so it didn’t take more than one cup of coffee flavored with a few questions offered up by my sometimes-partner.
“You do a background check on Mary Elizabeth Carpenter?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t generally run a check on my clients.”
“She’s having a hard time remembering, so why not see if there is anything in her past that is helping her forget.”
“My, aren’t you the smart one.”
“It’s why you pay me so handsomely.”
“No doubt. Rogers, you want to see if you can find out anything new about Mary Elizabeth Carpenter of Riley Corners, North Carolina?”
“Do I have a choice?” Rogers said.
“Not and remain operational.”
“Tsk, tsk. You should not threaten a creation smarter than you.”
“Let me know what you find.”
Rosey stood, put on his jacket and headed towards the door.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I’ll be back,” he said with a poor imitation of the famous movie line.
I retrieved my Baldacci book, found a comfortable spot on the couch opposite Sam and decided that I would read until Rogers found something worth pursuing. For the moment I was satisfied to simply do some research just to see what was out there. I decided it was also a good thing to let Mary Elizabeth or Reverend Ainsley contact me if they wanted my help.
I was sleeping my way through the twelfth chapter of the book when Rogers awakened me.
“Hey, Mrs. Winkle, you might find this information interesting.”
I stumbled over to the monitor instead of waiting for Rogers to recite her findings. I sat down in front of her screen. She proceeded with her oral rendition while I followed the script on the screen.
“Mary Elizabeth Johnson was born on July 13, 1927 to Joseph Carmichael Johnson and Elizabeth Anne Tanner. She graduated from Riley Corners High School in 1944. She married William Robert Carpenter, better known as Billy Bob Carpenter, on June 1, 1947. They had one child, William Robert (Robby) Carpenter who was born on March 17, 1948.”
The screen remained fixed on the data that she had just finishing reading to me. I waited for the next screen to offer up more background. Nothing happened.
“Is that all?”
“It’s a start.”
“You woke me up from my deep reading experience for this?”
“I figured you wanted to know something sooner rather than later.”
“Where’s the son, Robby Carpenter?”
“Don’t know. I’ll some checking to see if anything pops.”
“I’m going back to my book,” I said as I waddled to the couch and tumbled onto the soft cushions. Sam raised his head and stared at me as if to remind me that he was also trying to sleep.
I waved at him and he laid his head back on his pillow, then covered his one exposed eye with his paw. I took the hint. Let sleeping dogs lie.
“You might find this interesting,” Rogers said.
“Tell me. I’m not getting up again.”
“Robby Carpenter died in 1949.”
“He was born in ’48, right?”
“You got it.”
“What happened?”
“It’s an obituary and it didn’t provide that information.”
“He was only a year old. It must have been something unusual.”
“The obituary said he was thirteen months old,” Rogers corrected.
“Really?”
“As I live and breathe,” Rogers said.
“I don’t think that expression fits you.”
“What’s that you always say about coincidences?”
“No such thing,” I said.
“Well, it appears you have one here. I’ll bet you want me to keep digging.”
“Dig on, oh blithe spirit. I fear we have much to learn.”
11
The ring tones of my cell phone interrupted my breakfast the next day. Rosey was calling.
“Good morning, sunshine. I hope you are ready for an adventure.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Would you like to join me for lunch?”
“Sure. Where shall I meet you?”
“How about Maybelline’s?”
“As in Maybelline’s Sandwich Shop in Greater Riley Corners?”
“The same. Shall we say noon?”
“Why don’t we ride down that way together?” I said.
“Because I’m already down this way. I decided to do some private investigating on my own before the whole village knew I was an acquaintance of yours. I wanted to see what I could see.”
“And have you seen what you could see?”
“I am wiser from the experience.”
“Do tell. Then we must of necessity meet and share.”
“Are the sandwiches really worthwhile?”
“Better than that. Maybelline knows a thing or two about making sandwiches.”
“See you around noon. I have some more contacts to see, but I should have much knowledge to share with you by the time you arrive.”
“My heart is pounding.”
“Of course it is. Drive safely. Don’t forget that the local law is out to get you.”
“I’ll be prepared.”
I decided to enjoy the spring weather more fully by riding one of my bikes down to Riley Corners. Since I had l
ost my favorite bike, the one given to me by my father, I chose to ride my next favorite, my 1989 FXR Super Glide Harley. It had more than sufficient power to assure me of a pleasurable ride to say nothing of its capacity to outrun most law enforcement vehicles. The downside of taking my hog was that Sam was forced to baby sit Rogers, a fact I never mentioned out loud.
Even though I arrived fifteen minutes before noon, Rosey was waiting on me in a corner booth near the door. He liked to sit in places where he could see who entered and exited. As soon as I sat down, Maybelline greeted me as if we were longtime friends.
I ordered the Club since Maybelline knew a thing or two about presentation and the sandwich was delightfully edible. Rosey ordered a Rueben just to see if Maybelline knew what she was doing. When our sandwiches came, she plopped down a larger order of some reddish fries between us which we had not ordered.
“These are not ours,” I said politely.
“They’re on the house. Sweet potato fries. If you ain’t ever tried them, you owe yourself the experience. Besides, they’re free. Go for it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Welcome. Let me know what you think,” she walked off abruptly to help another customer. The place was crowded and bubbling with enthusiasm. I wasn’t the only one who thought that Maybelline knew a thing or two about sandwiches.
I took a bite of one of my Club wedges, chewed as if I hadn’t eaten in three days, and smiled with great satisfaction at Rosey. He took a bite of his Reuben and winked at me.
“Hmmm, that is good,” he said.
“The lady knows her stuff.”
“Indeed. We may have to come back here again, unless of course they run us out of town before we can solve this case.”
“Let’s mind our manners and see if we can fool them. What’d you find?” I said while chewing another bite of my sandwich.
“The people with whom I spoke seemed to share one opinion regarding Mary Elizabeth Johnson Carpenter. Most of the ones I talked with think she’s crazy.”
“So she’s making up this story about witnessing a brother being murdered in his crib.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What makes her crazy then?”
“Heredity. It seems that her mother Elizabeth Anne Tanner Johnson, or Beth Anne as she is tenderly referred to by those who knew her, was also a fruitcake.”
“Is that a technical term from your sensitivity training proffered by Uncle Sam?”
“No, that’s pretty much the word thrown around by the folks who would talk with me.”
“Speaking of said group, who did you find in this small town who would willingly talk with you about Mary Elizabeth and her mother?”
“I found what would amount to a gathering of willing conversationalists who knew quite a bit.”
“Mary Elizabeth is 83 years old. She doesn’t have that many peers.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I would. I am. Tell me where you found these souls.”
“The Morning Glory Nursing Care Facility on Sunrise Street in Riley Corners, North Carolina.”
“Imagine that.”
“Quite.”
“So you found folks who knew both Mary Elizabeth and her mother, Beth Anne.”
“I did.”
“And they talked with you?”
“My ears were ringing all morning long. In fact, I began there yesterday afternoon, interviewed several and then returned for more sessions today. Those folks are quite lonely, as you might expect, and were more than willing to sit and chat with me. You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard.”
“Recurring theme.”
“Fruitcake City, all the way.”
“And the murdered brother story?”
“Never proven, but to a person all of my octogenarian and older interviewees believed that Beth Anne’s nanny smothered the child; and, most of them believed that Mary Elizabeth witnessed the murder.”
“Town legend by this point no doubt.”
“That would be my assessment. Story has likely been embellished through the years, but the skeletal facts seem to remain the same.”
“Was there an investigation back in 1933?”
“Somewhat, but few people remembered that. The word was that the town all felt sorry for Beth Anne and her family but had little sympathy for the nanny. She was black. It is my conclusion that their sympathy held sway for all these years. That could be why the good sheriff doesn’t want you snooping around and upsetting the status quo on this.”
“And the fact that they are cousins. That could have something to do with Roscoe’s feelings.”
I finished the final quadrant of my Club Sandwich, enjoyed a few more sweet potato fries, and sat back to meditate on Rosey’s revelatory stories from the Riley Corners’ senior citizens.
“There was one more interesting tidbit that turned up.”
“Go on,” I said as I drank my sweet tea.
“One old timer named Bishop told me that Mary Elizabeth was as fruity as her mother.”
“He have a reason for saying that?”
“He did.”
Rosey finished his Reuben while he made me wait. He swallowed, drank the remainder of the water in his glass and then smiled at me.
“He said that Mary Elizabeth did the same thing her mother did.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said she killed her son.”
“We need to go back and talk to this man some more. What’s his name?”
“Bishop Tanner.”
12
On the way to the Morning Glory Nursing Care Facility on Sunrise Street to talk some more with Bishop Tanner, I called Rogers to see if she had discovered any details on the death of the infant Robby.
“Robby Carpenter died on April 28, 1949.”
“I think you told me that already.”
“No, ma’am. I told you that the child died in 1949. I did not give you the exact month and day.”
“Okay, so the infant son of Mary Elizabeth and Billy Bob Carpenter died on April 28, 1949. Is that significant?”
“It was for Robby.”
“You do stand-up now?”
“No, just being cute. But, my dear, it is significant, I think.”
“Tell me why you think this.”
“Beth Anne’s infant son of 13 months died in April of 1933.”
“But not on the same date, as I recall.”
“Correct. Colby died on April 24. Robby expired on April 28.”
“Okay, besides both of them being 13 months old when they died, and both of them dying in April of a given year, is there anything else of value here?”
“Yes.”
I waited for the shoe to fall. Rogers loved the dramatic effect. My waiting silence alerted Rosey.
“The computer hang up on you?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Rogers, you still there?”
“I am.”
“So, talk to me. Is there anything else of significance about the two infant deaths?”
“As of this moment there is only one other fact I have gleaned. Both died in a full moon phase.”
“You jest.”
“I jest not. It is a fact and, somehow, I believe it to be relevant.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. But, as you say, there are no coincidences when the evidence comes forth. Merely clues or leads. This is one of those. You’re the detective. Go for it.”
This time she did hang up. I heard the click. I closed the phone and put it back in the front pocket of my slacks.
“Yes?” Rosey said as we pulled into the parking lot of the nursing care facility.
“Both mother and daughter did in fact lose 13 month old sons.”
“Tragic similarities.”
“Maybe more than that.”
“What?”
“Both died in April.”
“You making allowances for a painful coincidence?”
“Nope.”
Rosey parked his Jag near the building, turned off the motor, and we sat watching the ambulance drivers roll out a body on a gurney.
“Rogers tell you anything else?”
“Nothing that I think is relevant.”
We waited for the ambulance to leave before we entered the Morning Glory facility. Once inside we ran into Sheriff Roscoe Tanner standing in the hallway along with Maxine Shelton, a nurse whose badge told me that her name was Mildred Jones, RN, a man in a long white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck, and another officer whom I guessed to be one of Roscoe’s deputies. The Sheriff was listening to the man in the lab coat. The lab coat walked away and Roscoe turned in time to see us approach.
“And what are you doing back in my county?”
“Just visiting some of your senior citizens.”
“You know anyone here?”
“Not yet.”
“So who did you come here to see?”
“Bishop Tanner. Any kin to you?”
“My uncle.”
“Small world, isn’t it?”
“Too small I suspect. What business do you have with Uncle Bishop?”
“Conversation.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen today.”
“Your uncle have a full schedule?”
“Not quite. He died about an hour ago. They just took his body to the funeral home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That means you can leave now.”
Since I knew that Roscoe was not making a suggestion for us, I decided it was best if we avoided a head-on conflict in this setting. It seemed like bad karma to agitate a grieving family, to say nothing of a local sheriff.
Rosey and I left the building and headed to his car.
“You and the sheriff have a history?”
“Brief, but developing.”
I told him about my run-in at the roadside park just outside of Riley Corners.
“Sounds as if he has issues with dogs.”
“And private detectives from Virginia,” I said.
“Okay, Miss Detective, in light of the fact that Bishop Tanner is no longer available to tell us anything regarding the Carpenter family history, where do we go from here?”
“The funeral home.”
“Location?”
“Somewhere on Main Street. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Small town.”
Mercy Killing Page 5