Blood from a Stone

by David M. Salkin

  “What? Why didn’t anyone do anything about that?”

  “That’s the deal. Even twenty years ago, Earl Stone had some juice. The guy I spoke to did ask about the deaths and ended up being transferred to the moon. Same thing with a cop who asked questions. Some old doc ready for retirement did the exam and the paperwork. I think he wrote whatever he was told to write. Stone got away with murder.”

  Amanda leaned back against the wall, looking grim. “We should leave here right now, Cory. Who knows who that guy was, asking questions? If you have to walk around with a huge gun in your own house, there’s a serious problem.”

  “Some chicks think it’s sexy. And besides, this isn’t a gun. This is Ice. He and I have traveled the world together. He’s a trusted friend.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Even with me here?” I asked, trying to be very Clint Eastwood about the whole thing.

  “Especially with you here.”

  The phone rang, interrupting what may have been a great segue to me taking off Amanda’s clothes again. It was Kim.

  “I’m coming down there!” She sounded very excited.

  “Yeah? The editor gave you a shot at the big-time?”

  “I told him you bought Congressman Stone’s old summer place on Harkers. I’m driving down there tomorrow.”

  Kim asked for the names of the cop, the coroners, the neighbors and a million other details. She was off and running, a hundred miles an hour, her reporter blood on full boil. She wanted all the details of what I had discovered so far, which I wasn’t about to share with anyone except Amanda.

  I gave Kim most of the information she wanted but left out the part about finding the diary. That was worthy of a face-to-face conversation.

  “If I go through a woodchipper tonight,” I told Amanda, “at least Kim will have some suspects.”

  Amanda didn’t think the woodchipper comment was funny, but I was only half kidding.

  I showed Amanda where I’d found Casey’s journal, then hid it again in the same spot.

  “Let’s go talk to Thomas Woods. He’s the guy who found Casey’s body.”

  I hid Ice in the hallway closet and we walked down to the pier where I had met Caleb and Thomas that first time. They weren’t around, but we kept meandering around the dock area until we came across Mike Jackson. Small island… We exchanged pleasant hellos, and I asked him where his dad’s buddy Thomas might be.

  “Where he always is if he isn’t out fishing. Tuckers.”

  Now there was a name I hadn’t heard yet. “Where’s Tuckers?” I asked.

  Mike laughed. “You really are a dingbatter. Just keep following this road until you hear music and see drunk old men.”

  Ah. The local watering hole. I thanked him, and Amanda and I walked arm-in-arm along the sandy road until, sure enough, we could see an old shack that was full of local fishermen drinking beer on the outside patios. Large garage-type doors were left open in the front of the bar so anyone could see right inside. There was a fire going in the backyard, with fish grilling and an old set of speakers cranking out some music that sounded like Johnny Cash on acid. We walked in and caught a lot of stares. I just squeezed Amanda’s hand and smiled, having a flashback of our first date that hadn’t ended so well. I rolled my bad shoulder out of habit.

  The tavern, such as it was, was a one-room shack with an ancient wooden-plank floor that had probably had more beer spilled on it in the last hundred years than most bars would ever pour. There were a few wooden picnic tables inside and a long wooden bar along two sides of the room. Mismatched chairs of wood and plastic were mixed in among the barstools, and white Christmas-like lights were strung on the porch outside to add to the ‘just throw anything anywhere’ decor.

  I felt better when I spotted Thomas and Caleb at one end of the bar. They noticed me then spotted Amanda and forgot I was on the planet. I introduced them to Amanda and they immediately started chatting with her, although I’m pretty sure she only caught every third or fourth word. They were tough enough to understand sober. I finally realized they were arguing over whose wooden decoy duck looked more realistic.

  They decided Amanda would be the judge. For ten minutes, that end of the bar paid very close attention as Thomas and Caleb each explained why their duck was better. Amanda, sharp girl that she is, remembered that it was Thomas we wanted to talk to. By coincidence, his duck won the contest. Caleb was only playfully a sore loser and had to buy the next round for that end of the bar, which was met with a loud cheer, roaring laughter and back-slapping. As the bartender served mugs of cold beer on the wooden bar, I felt very much at home here on Harkers.

  I made small-talk with Caleb, and Amanda started easing into local history with Thomas. By the time she’d mentioned Casey being found by his boat, he was fairly hammered, but Casey’s name seemed to sober him right up. I tried to listen to her politely grill him.

  “It must have been awful, finding that poor girl.”

  “Nothing you ever want to see, miss,” he said, and chugged his beer, I guessed to wash away the memory. “Why you two always asking about that girl?”

  Oops.

  I talked fishing with Caleb to keep him busy while Amanda worked her magic but kept one ear on the conversation.

  “I guess living in that house made us start wondering about what happened,” she said, being very cool. “And I don’t think everyone believes that Ben McComb killed her. He was just killed in prison.”

  Thomas sat back and changed his expression. I didn’t like how it looked. “Yep. Might have started talking about things that should just be left alone. Might be a lesson in that for everyone.” His face looked hard, and quite frankly, a bit scary.

  Amanda bounced back beautifully. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant no offense, Thomas. It was just bothering to me, that’s all. I had a friend who was killed when we were about her age, and I guess it hit a nerve.”

  Man, she was good. She’d just pulled that right out of her ass.

  Thomas faked a polite smile, but I could see he was upset. He was done speaking with Amanda. I interrupted their conversation and handed them each a beer. “How’s the fishing been?” I asked Thomas, with my stupid innocent grin on. I sometimes worry that my stupid face comes to me way too naturally.

  He looked like he was a million miles away. “Der’s feesh out there,” he said, almost to himself. His mood had changed and his face looked dark, and I turned back to Caleb, who was still going on about his decoy duck to the old-timer next to him.

  I told Amanda it was getting late and we should be heading back. She took the hint, said diplomatic goodbyes to everyone, and we left the bar. It was dark outside, and the island was eerily quiet. What should have been a nice romantic walk home was instead troubling. I found myself ‘on patrol’, and I hated that feeling. Amanda had polished off a few beers and was content to just rest her head against my shoulder as we walked, oblivious to me being back in combat mode.

  The entire walk home, I looked for tripwires, checked for fields of fire and kept my head on a swivel. It was hard enough to shed a lifetime of combat training under the best of circumstances. My quiet island home now felt like the Hindu Kush.

  Chapter Thirty

  A Visit from Timothy

  Amanda and I got home and undressed, slipped into bed and, much to my dismay, she passed out almost instantly. I got up, took Ice out of the closet and checked the perimeter. I hated feeling like that in my own house, but those were the breaks, I guessed. When I was satisfied that we weren’t under attack, I double-checked the door locks and went to bed.

  It felt nice to curl up with Amanda. She was soft and warm and looked very happy sleeping. I, on the other hand, ended up awake most of the night, listening to every noise outside, wishing some other guy in my squad would take a turn on watch. When the sun came up, I pushed myself out of bed and made a large pot of coffee. I filled two mugs and brought them upstairs. Amanda was still out like a light, so I sipped mine in silence and enjo
yed the view of my sleeping beauty. She was great-looking, even sound asleep with her hair all over her face. I was a very lucky man.

  I ended up drinking her cup, too, threw on a pair of shorts and went out into the backyard. It was cool out, with dew on the grass that made my bare feet cold and wet—a nice change from the hot, humid days. I looked over at the statue of the two angels, so white against the dark green pine-tree border, and saw condensation on the white marble. It looked like tears were running down their faces. How appropriate. I heard something move in the bushes, and without even thinking, I dropped and rolled across the wet grass, grabbing for a weapon that didn’t exist. I spotted the source of the noise—a very large, very fat gray cat. Timothy.

  As soon as my heart rate slowed down, I sat up and shook my head at my own nerves. It was lucky that I hadn’t puked coffee on myself. I walked over and called his name, and the fat bastard walked over to me and sat up on his back paws. I bent over and picked him up. Jesus. It was like holding a dog, he was so big. I carried him back into his yard, where I found Agatha on her back porch, dead-heading some flowers in large clay pots.

  “Look who I found,” I announced, as I walked over into her yard.

  “Oh my!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know he’d gotten out! You naughty boy!”

  I was hoping she was talking to the cat. I put him down on her back porch and he ran to the door, which Agatha opened to let him back inside. She thanked me ten times and told me that he rarely strayed from the house and almost never from the yard.

  “He must really like you,” she surmised.

  Great. He’d probably taken a dump in my yard.

  “You’re up early,” she said.

  “Yeah, an old habit of mine. I usually wake up with the sun. Nice part of the day, though.”

  “I think so, too. Some folks are sunrise people, some are sunset people. I like the promise of a new day—especially at my age.”

  We both chuckled. She was a pretty cool old lady.

  “My angels were crying this morning,” I said, for no particular reason.

  “My dear young man, whatever do you mean?”

  “The condensation. The water running down their faces. It looks so sad.”

  “She was a sad girl,” said Agatha quietly.

  “Casey looked sad all the time?”

  “Not Casey. Anne. She was always so blue. She spent so much time in the garden. I think she tried to cheer herself up with the flowers. But she always looked so heartbroken to me.” She folded her arms like she was embarrassed. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead,” she said, almost apologetically.

  “Not at all. You were just making an observation. You said you two were good friends. Did she ever talk to you about what was bothering her?”

  “No. I considered her a friend and a nice summertime neighbor. I think I may have been her only friend, though. She was very quiet. If we hadn’t both spent so much time in our gardens over the years, I’m not sure we ever would have met. She rarely left the house, poor thing. I never saw her out at the restaurants. Maybe she just went to fancier places in Carteret County, but it was a bit strange, how she kept to herself. Might not have been a coincidence that she planted so many Bleeding Hearts in her yard.”

  She looked depressed to me as she spoke about her old friend. “What about Mr. Stone?”

  “Mr. Stone… I don’t think I said more than a few sentences to him in all the years he was here. He was away a lot. And not really an Islander, no offense. He never tried to get to know anyone here. Sort of ‘above it all’, if you know what I mean.”

  “Folks here didn’t like him?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Folks here respected him, maybe even were a little afraid of him. But he did a lot for the island. I know without him we never would have gotten that bridge when we did. He pulled lots of strings in Washington to get the money for that. He had the jetties fixed, the beaches replenished after the hurricane, got insurance money for the fishermen when they lost their boats… He was a powerful man, even back in those days. Everyone was very upset when the tragedy happened. When he sold the house and moved away, most folks here figured we’d be forgotten about. Now that he’s a congressman, though, Harkers Island has done pretty well. He always gets money for projects here.”

  “So I guess he gets your vote for President,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t vote for that son of a bitch if he was the last man in the country,” she snapped, suddenly red-faced. Then she caught herself and apologized.

  I was shocked but started laughing out loud. “What? I thought everyone on Harkers Island loved him? Didn’t you just tell me all the wonderful things he did for the island?”

  “I apologize, Mr. Wal-kah. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Come on, Agatha. This is Cory you’re talking to. Don’t apologize. Why don’t you like him?”

  “Woman’s intuition,” she said.

  I folded my arms. “I just rescued your cat. Fess up.”

  She stared at me hard with blue eyes that were still clear and sharp in her wrinkled face. “Anne was miserable. She had the prettiest house and garden on Harkers Island, and she was sad all the time. I don’t think he was ever nice to her. And,” she whispered to me, like anyone else was listening for a hundred miles, “I think he hit her.” She blushed and instantly looked very uncomfortable. “I’ve never said that out loud before to anyone.”

  I patted her hand. “Your secret is safe with me, Agatha.” We had just bonded, and I really liked her more now. Too bad she hadn’t put a round through Earl’s forehead about twenty years ago. “Did you ever see him hit her?” I asked.

  “Oh no, of course not.”

  “But…?”

  “I saw her face enough times to know, makeup or not.”

  I was finally getting somewhere. “What about Casey? Think he hit her?”

  She made a face, then said a quiet “No.”

  “But…?” I asked again.

  Agatha let out a tired sigh. “I don’t think he hit her, but I think she was scared of him. She avoided him. That much I do know. Anytime he was home, she found an excuse to be somewhere else. She only visited me when he was around.” Then she added, “Not that I minded. She was a sweet girl, and always welcome here, bless her heart.”

  “Did she ever talk about Stone? Ever say anything about him hitting her mom?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. She would never say anything like that. She was quiet, too. But I’ve always had cats here, and she used to love to sit with my kitties. Anne had her garden, and Casey had my cats. I think they were both just finding ways to avoid him. Anyway, enough of that talk. Oh, look, here comes your little friend.”

  I turned around and spotted Amanda in the backyard wearing my T-shirt and not much else. Damn, she even rolled out of bed looking hot. She called my name. I told Agatha I’d better go and make Amanda some breakfast before she got cranky, and she laughed. I promised her I’d bring Amanda over when she was dressed, and I walked back to my own yard.

  I gave Amanda a hug and said good morning, and she informed me that I had once again scared the crap out of her by leaving her alone so early in the morning. And I thought I was jumpy. We went inside and I caught her up on my conversation with Agatha.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Phone Call

  Over scrambled eggs and toast, I told Amanda how Earl Stone had funneled a lot of money to Harkers Island. And although he wasn’t exactly loved for his charm, he was respected. I also told her that Agatha hated his guts.

  “Smart woman,” she said.

  We finished breakfast to a darkening sky. The phone rang, and I hit speaker phone to hear Kim’s voice on her cell phone.

  “Morning. How’s it going down there?” she asked.

  “It’s another beautiful day on Harkers Island,” I responded.

  “Really? It’s raining so hard here I can barely see my hood. I might be a little late, but I’m on my way.”

  “No worries.
Drive safe.”

  “Cory, are you going to give me any clues about what you found? I was up all night googling old news articles and going through every file we have on the Stones and Harkers Island. What did you find?”

  “Oh, come on now, Kim. If I told you now, it wouldn’t be any fun. When you get to the bridge, give me a call and I’ll tell you how to get to the house.” I didn’t mention to her that I was no longer comfortable speaking about this on the phone anymore, even in my own house.

  “You’re already in my GPS. See you in a bit.”

  Amanda made a dramatic gesture of throwing her hair back and said, ‘You’re already in my GPS…’

  “Oohhh…somebody’s jealous,” I teased.

  “And somebody better be a good boy if he wants any more booty before I go home.”

  “You are home,” I said.

  She made a face. I knew the place was creeping her out more and more. The diary gave me the same feeling, like I needed to take a shower or something after I read it.

  We turned on the weather channel and watched a front moving in from the mainland. It didn’t look nearly as nasty as the hurricane that was forming down in the Caribbean. The Outer Banks had been hammered, and Harkers Island had been devastated by hurricanes. At least my house was rock solid. The weather could huff and puff all it wanted.

  I suggested a walk around the island before the weather got lousy, and Amanda obliged me. Cape Lookout National Park was a decent walk from the house, not far from the dock where the ferry tied up. The east end of the island, being federal parkland, was undeveloped and pristine. We walked through the sand dunes and dune grass, watching the squawking sea gulls zip back and forth between their nests and the ocean to catch their lunch.

  When we arrived at the shoreline, the waves had picked up a bit, perhaps a foreshadowing of the hurricane that was heading our way. It really was a beautiful spot, with a picturesque lighthouse standing atop the dunes. I’d have to blame the natural beauty of the park for my next outburst.