Bitter Bones

by N. C. Lewis

  "Garrick disappeared all of a sudden like. One moment he was here, and the next he was gone. For a while, I didn't know what happened, but I get to thinking. A man that tries to live his whole life like an angel one-day snaps because he ain't one. Then he disappears, and lives on the wild side, I seen it all the time when I was in the Army. Men break, just like machines. I figured that's what happened to Garrick."

  Simpkins face took on a peaceful aura like a scientist that had cracked a secret from nature, and once again he closed his stone colored eyes, the arm extending towards the electronic cigarette. He took several puffs.

  Suddenly, his entire body became stiff, the eyes opened and grew two times bigger, not seeing, but seeing. Simpkins was muttering now, mumbling words that made no earthly sense.

  "You see Doctor Ollie's, one day, after Garrick's gone, I'm resting in me shack at Ealing Homestead and I sees it."

  "It?"

  "Yes, it."

  I waited for him to continue, but he simply muttered incoherent babble under his breath.

  Exasperated, I cried, "Simpkins, what did you see?"

  "Him, Garrick, walking as cool as you like pass me shack towards the creek."

  "Walking?"

  "Yep, with a face like the devil. I followed close behind but not too close, didn't want him to hear the tap tapping of me cedar cane walking stick. You see's when a man snaps he likes to leave his old life behind, don't want nobody to knows. Saw it over and over in the Army. I figures, if he hears the tapping he will know old Simpkins is following close behind. Good old Garrick wouldn't hurt a fly, but the new Garrick? I wasn't taking no chances."

  Simpkins’ lips were moving fast, the eyes open wide and wild. "Garrick was walking quick, like his new life gave him more energy or something, and I can't keep up, what with me old leg, and I lose him by the old oil well. The man just disappeared...like a ghost!"

  He stopped, half turned his head to look me in the eye.

  "What did you make of it?" I asked, baffled by his recollection.

  Simpkins’ brow furrowed but the eyes were still in the past. "Well, old Simpkins thinks Garrick has gone to live on the wild side and doesn't want no one to know. But now I knows the truth. It was Garrick's spirit what I seen, and he was leading me to his resting place."

  There was a long silence. The babble of water rushing along the creek and the occasional rumble of a vehicle atop the bridge fragmenting the sultry stillness.

  I pressed my palm to my cheek. "Simpkins, did you smoke your special tobacco back then?"

  "Two or three times a day, goes nice with a drop of whiskey spirit, used to drink me a half bottle of that every morning, but I was younger then."

  Simpkins’ eyes locked with mine.

  "Yesterday or whatever day," Simpkins said, "when I hears they found Garrick's bones, I sneaks, after dark, through the police cordon and says a little prayer asking Garrick to forgive me for not coming here sooner."

  His ancient forehead creased, and a small tear formed in the corner of his left eye and rolled down his cheek. "The only thing I know for sure is that the day before Garrick disappeared he got into a fight with Mr. Williams, you know, Bobby Williams." His eyes slowly closed, he took several deep puffs, reached for the mouth organ, and began to play that slow, doleful, tune.

  Chapter 13

  With the temperature now in the mid-nineties, the walk back to Creek Street took twice as long. My lemon sleeveless tee shirt was damp with perspiration, the khaki cargo shorts the same. I wondered how Simpkins could spend his days outside in this heat, even under the shade of a bridge.

  As I shuffled along at a sedentary pace, my mind raced to make sense of Simpkins’ words. I made a mental list of the facts. First, the body is Garrick Markovich. Second, he was an upstanding citizen. Third, there was a fight between him and Bobby Williams, then shortly thereafter Garrick disappeared.

  But the third fact wasn't a fact at all, it was the hearsay of a homeless man who admitted smoking special tobacco that gave him visions, and drinking too much alcohol. Yet, I could not discount his words. Simpkins had the uncanny ability to see things that others missed, and to know things others believed a secret. "Need to verify the fight, might be the booze and happy baccy talking," I mumbled as I approached Moozoos.

  Through the plate glass window, I peered. The barista, hands on his hips, surveyed the empty restaurant, his carrot shaped chin still. Just as I was about to turn away his lopsided eyes looked up directly into mine. With a big smile he waved me into the café.

  As soon as I walked through the door, the barista grabbed a Moozoos china mug from above the bar and filled it to the top with piping hot coffee.

  "Decaf on the house."

  I took a sip. "Oh, this is very good."

  "Yep, it's a new Sumatran blend, tastes almost as good as the regular."

  The barista watched me take another sip and said, "Any news?"

  "About what?"

  "You know, the body, Garrick. Any news about the investigation?"

  "Nothing I can report."

  "Oh, come on, Ollie, this is Moozoos the news hub of Medlin Creek. Marge McCloskey mentioned you attended the Sisters of the Creek meeting this morning, said you had a plate full of bacon avocado and tomato tacos. Jenny Jones, stopped by to say she saw you turning onto the Riverwalk trail, and in this heat! I told her you brought two cappuccinos and a box of pastries, probably for Simpkins."

  I smiled. "Guess nothing gets past you. I'm doing a little digging into the death of Garrick. But don't suppose I'll find anything the Sheriff's department don't already know."

  The barista nodded. "Yep, that's what Gratia Violeta figured. I'll have to give her a Creek Jolt on the house now." It was Moozoos signature beverage–an indulgent combination of Kenyan coffee loaded with fresh cream alongside a heavy dash of brandy. He shrugged his shoulders. "Guess Gratia was right about Garrick being murdered, too. I've no idea how that woman does it, she always has the inside scoop."

  The whole town, I realized, probably knew that Garrick died of unnatural causes. Deputy Dingsplat had tried to be discreet when he indicated it to me, but the Sheriff's department has more holes in a Baker's sieve.

  The barista leaned forward, looked around the empty restaurant and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me tell you something, Ollie, the Sheriff's department won't have too far to look for Garrick's killer. Don't quote me on this, but if I were you, I'd have a quiet chat with Bobby Williams."

  The doorbell pinged as several customers entered the store. With a dramatic flourish the barista placed his index finger to his lips and winked. For a second I considered waiting until he served all the customers to continue the conversation, but I knew he had told me his best nugget. I suspected it was a nugget the entire town had already digested.

  I walked across the Moozoos parking lot, and climbed into the Tahoe truck. The engine started, air conditioning cranked up high, the forced air hot, warm, cool, cold. For five minutes I just sat letting the chilly air refresh and revive as an idea formed in my mind. I pointed the truck towards Ealing Homestead, I knew what I had to do next.

  Chapter 14

  The drive from Ealing Homestead to the Medlin Creek Baptist Church took less than ten minutes. Marge McCloskey, at the Sisters of the Creek meeting, had mentioned that Bobby was working in the churchyard today. If he had fought with Garrick, I figured it was better to hear it from him directly, and what better place to ask the question than in church? Even if Bobby didn't level with me, there's a lot you can learn from body language.

  As back up, I brought Bodie along. Bodie and Bobby are old friends. The playful hound, I hoped, would soften up Bobby enough for him to answer my questions. I'm no psychologist, but people often find it easier to share their innermost thoughts while petting animals.

  The black tarmacked pavement of the church parking lot, recently resurfaced, had blue painted lines marking handicapped spots near the church entrance. Next to these, bright white lines with litt
le placards bearing the word 'visitor' printed in bold black letters.

  Except for the church bus, the parking lot was empty. "Seems If Bobby was here, he is done for the day," I said to Bodie who sat on his haunches and looked up his wagging tail brushing against the seat. I pulled into a 'visitor' space near the main entrance.

  "Looks like a wasted journey, better go back home."

  The urgent buzz of the cell phone interrupted my thoughts. It was a text message from Millie.

  Want to join me and Roger for dinner tonight? Six p.m. at the Green Bar Grill. Bob's traveling this week.

  Millie's boyfriend, Bob Lukey, a hotshot lawyer, worked in Austin and traveled one or two weeks every month. When in town, he attended the Speaker Circle. Bob, Millie, Roger, myself and a few others, often dined at the Green Bar Grill. I smiled inwardly at the thought of fun conversation over a meal. At least, I thought, it would take my mind off things. My fingers moved quickly across the cell phone screen.

  Yes, that'll be great.

  I peered again through the truck windshield at the deserted parking lot. A clump of leaves and twigs swirled around in little circles. High on some unseen perch, a bird chirped a merry song. From my handbag I popped a stick of gum into my mouth. "Well," I sighed, "since we are here we may as well look around."

  To the rear of the church I walked, Bodie dancing merrily at my side. A huge expanse of land, that eventually backed onto the creek, formed the churchyard. The area close to the church building had a neat green lawn sprinkled daily, and a garden with dark green Ivy growing up little wooden trellises. The rest of the churchyard was indistinguishable from the rugged cedar, oak and bushy Hill Country landscape that lay beyond.

  Bodie, now off the leash, sat sniffing the warm breezy atmosphere. Then, with an air of immense importance, bounded off to investigate a nearby bush. I waited under the shade of a mature live oak tree which towered above the many cedar trees.

  "Tuk, tuk, tuk."

  The irregular noise, heavy and metallic, came from behind an ivy clad trellis.

  "Tuk, tuk, tuk."

  I walked in the direction of the sound. Bodie, having finished his investigation of the bush, trotted dutifully at my side.

  Through the trellis, we came out into an area with perfectly symmetric Xeriscape flower beds. There were several Crape Myrtle trees in full bloom, with large pink clusters of flowers on the tips of new branches, and bushy green Texas Mountain Laurel growing vigorously in small groups dotted around the edge of the area. At the center, three huge Prickly Pear Cactus, majestic, like a monument to some long-forgotten hero.

  Bobby, applying the perfecting touches around the edge of a bed of Texas Lantana, wielded a wooden garden hoe with mechanical accuracy. His toned muscles tensed into tight balls at each strike, and the white tee-shirt, sweat stained, clung tight to his torso.

  He didn't hear us approach, but continued to work, occasionally stopping to wipe his brow and survey, with a critical eye, the product of his labor. As we drew closer, Bodie gave a little yap of recognition and darted forward. Bobby swiveled around, hoe held high above his head.

  On seeing the dog, he laughed, a light hearted and merry sound. "Bodie, what are you doing out here?" Bodie rolled over onto his back for a belly rub. Bobby complied, twirling Bodie around as he rubbed the hound’s belly. "You're a clever old hound, aren't you? How'd ya make it all the way to church?" Bodie wriggled around eagerly, his tail jerking jauntily against the dusty ground.

  After several minutes Bobby looked up. A surprised expression creased his face.

  "Whoa! Doctor Stratford, I didn't see you there."

  There was an air of formality in his voice.

  "Hope to see you in church this Sunday." The tone remained formal, but friendly.

  "Nope, brought up Anglican."

  His lips tugged into a wry smile.

  "There is always room for a good Anglican in the Baptist Church, you know."

  We both laughed, and Bodie, tail wagging, darted off to continue his investigation of the area. Bobby watched, rubbing his sweaty chin, as the dog disappeared behind a large Mock Orange bush. Then he smiled, a mischievous glint in the eyes. "Could always do with a little extra help in the garden, you here to volunteer?" The voice, hopeful, kept its formal tone.

  "Oh no!"

  "Then, I take it you're not here just for the exercise… How may I help you?" His eyes stared with curiosity, and I noticed a certain stiffness in his posture.

  "Bobby, I'd like to find out more about…" My mind raced to come up with a delicate way to inquire about his argument with Garrick, and the discovery of the poor man's bones on my property, but with the heat and humidity it failed.

  Before I could form my next words into a sentence Bobby raised a meaty hand like a juror about to take an oath.

  "Doctor Stratford, I'm responsible for the whole entire mess."

  "You are?"

  His eyes searched my face for something, possibly compassion.

  "Yes, I am," he said, the voice hesitant and sad.

  I flashed my most compassionate smile, my inner amateur psychologist told me the man was ready to talk. It was correct.

  Bobby sucked in a long breath and exhaled slowly.

  "I'm sorry, was hoping to visit with you, so I could confess. But I didn't have the courage to visit you at the Sisters of the Creek meeting this morning, even though my sister Chastity said you would be there. I told her I would stop by Ealing Homestead later this afternoon. I do hope you will forgive me."

  "Of course," I said, bracing myself for his revelation about Garrick. "It must be a heavy burden to carry."

  "Yes, it is. I'll be glad to get it off my chest. You read about these things all the time in the newspaper, but when it happens to you…" Bobby's eyes were bright with relief.

  "Yes," I added, "it's not so easy when it results in the dead body on your property."

  Bobby nodded sagely, then with an open body posture and the garden hoe still in his hand responded. "I mentioned to Mr. Reynolds that I would have a crew over at your property. I've never know him to take the slightest interest in the daily schedule. However, when I mentioned the oil well at Ealing Homestead he became agitated and ordered me to reschedule the appointment. The man is a hot head, but I'm used to it. The pay helped with that, kinda like danger money. Can't think of a time when I've seen him that angry though."

  Bobby paused, a sheen of perspiration appeared on his upper lip. "Doctor Stratford, I wanted to help you get the oil well open as quickly as possible, I couldn't figure out why Mr. Reynolds wanted the delay. Since I had the crew lined up I decided to go ahead, my mistake. Now, Doctor Stratford, you can understand why Mr. Reynolds behaved the way he did. The man is a stickler for orders, he was furious, as you saw, at my disregard for his specific instructions…cost me my job! I've sent my resume to a few companies in Austin, but I doubt I'll find anything that will pay close to what I was earning."

  He stopped, looked at my face without making eye contact, then continued. "I'm afraid Havis County Engineering Company will never reopen your oil well, as long as Bryant Reynolds is a partner. It is all my fault. Doctor Stratford, I'm truly sorry."

  As the words began to sink in there was a wild yapping from behind the Mock Orange bush. Bobby darted towards the sound, garden hoe in hand like an ancient warrior, his muscular frame accelerating away. I trailed behind conscious of the growing alarm at the urgency of Bobby's movement.

  Suddenly, with the sense of alertness that accompanies slamming the brakes at an unexpected road obstacle, I saw Bodie facing off a bowlegged, pigeon-toed porcupine. The dog crouched low, a heavy growl rumbling from deep within his chest.

  Quills still flat to its back, the porcupine peered with menace into the hound's eyes. Transfixed by its savage dark stare, I let out an involuntary cry.

  "Bodie!"

  The dog half turned at the sound of its name, but kept one eye on the porcupine.

  It was then that Bobby slipped, with
great care, in-between Bodie and the wild animal, his arms flapped like a bird, waving the hoe as if signaling to the animal in an exaggerated form of Morse Code. The creature craned its neck, then as if it understood, turned and waddled away, swinging its fat body from side to side. Bobby followed at a safe distance, until the porcupine was out of harm's way. Then turned and ambled back towards us.

  "Amazing animals! But not good around dogs, Porcupine quills can do a lot of damage to a hound." Bobby drew out the word 'porcupine' as if tasting a fine wine. He seemed pleased with himself for saving Bodie, and I've got to admit I was a little more than impressed.

  Bobby's voice once again filled with formality. "Now, Doctor Stratford, your business please."

  "It's about Garrick Markovich."

  I felt a sudden chill. His eyes flashed.

  "What about the man?"

  "It's just that his disappearance was so sudden," I said with a weak smile.

  Bobby's lip curled into a snarl as he folded his arms tightly across the chest.

  "And?" he asked.

  "Garrick's disappearance was so out of character."

  "How would you know? You never met the man."

  The words punctured my curiosity balloon like a tack tearing into a bicycle tire. He was right, I didn't know the man. We stood for several moments staring at each other.

  "I've spoken to others who knew Garrick," I said curtly, "and to a person they say he was a wonderful person."

  Bobby's nostrils flared, a little white rim forming around the edge, and I noticed a tiny muscle tugging at the corner of his lip. He's about to break, keep talking, urged my inner psychologist, I did.

  "Garrick disappeared after a fight with you—"

  "What are you trying to say," yelled Bobby moving a step closer, the hoe slightly raised.

  Sucking the warm afternoon air deep into the lungs, as my heart pounded in my chest, I asked the question I came here for him to answer. "How did Garrick's bones end up on my property? Bobby, do you know what happened to him?"