The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

  “He could be the one,” he said.

  “Do you suspect him?”

  “Best lead we’ve had so far. Powerful enough. Motive sufficient. Thinks of himself as smarter than others. Ego, power, and motive. Could be a deadly combination.”

  “One more ingredient.”

  “That would be?”

  “Divine right of kings,” I said.

  “Yikes. I forgot the theological angle. It’s not always present, you know.”

  “But, when it is, it can be rather difficult to overcome.”

  “May not be able to overcome it. May have to obliterate it,” he said.

  We walked up the back steps and smelled supper cooking. Mother was busy watching over the several pots cooking away on the stove. She was in her element. Rosey turned to me as we entered the kitchen.

  “Anything in particular cause you to come up with his divine right?”

  “Just his whole aura. More or less adding things up rather than spotting something. He perceives himself to be a powerful man who does what is right. He is intelligent, to be sure. And he is very much in control. You did notice how he questioned us about our process for the investigation.”

  “I noticed.”

  “He is very much a control person. He is the man in charge…of everything. If he turns out to be our man, I would be surprised if his personal theology is not connected to the motive.”

  “If he is the man,” Rosey said.

  “Thought you might want to eat early so you could get over the nursing facility and stand guard over Sarah and J.R.,” Mother said from across the room.

  “Good idea,” I said. “Did you learn anything of substance from your visit with Mattie?”

  “Oh, that poor dear. Her husband, Ernie, God rest his soul, died just when the people from Residential Health Care were there getting Mattie to sign some papers. She was still emotional and distraught, but she showed me the papers that she was filling out. Couldn’t remember their names and who could blame her. She had a vague recollection of two people there helping her.”

  “Helping her with what?”

  “Well, I assume they called the funeral home. Mattie said she didn’t remember calling the funeral home.”

  “Did the folks from Residential Health Care stay with Mattie until the funeral home arrived?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her that. Is that important?”

  “Maybe not, but it would have been kind to stay and help her, if she needed it,” I said.

  “Oh, she would have needed it. She was in no state to function like that, even by the time I arrived. She had a hard time remembering where the kitchen was. I gave the plate of deviled eggs to her and she headed towards the bathroom with them. No telling what she would have done with them if I hadn’t caught her.”

  “So they called the funeral home and then just left?”

  “Can’t say, but you’re a detective. Go detect. You have some time before supper will be ready.”

  I used the newly installed telephone in the den, just off of the kitchen and the dining area to call the funeral home. It was late, but since they had at least one new body, I figured someone would be around.

  “May I speak to Allen, please? This is Clancy Evans.”

  I waited for the person on the other end of the line to find Allen.

  “Clancy, Allen here. How can I help you?”

  “Just curious about something related to Ernie Rowland’s death.”

  “Okay. I don’t have any information as yet. I just got the body this afternoon,” Allen said.

  “I meant the circumstances surrounding his death, not his actual death. Did you take the call concerning his death?”

  “No, I think Missy Shelton probably took that call.”

  “Did she happen to tell you who placed the call?”

  “No, I don’t believe she did. I have no memory of that. Is that important?”

  “Don’t know until I have the answer. Is Missy still there?”

  “No, she left just a few minutes ago.”

  “You have her home number?”

  He gave me the number.

  “Thanks, Allen. Sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy.”

  “No bother, Clancy. Call anytime.”

  I dialed the number Allen gave me for Missy Shelton. It rang four times and then some cutesy answering machine message took over, Missy and her children singing some gosh awful song. I left my phone number after the beep. I refrained from singing my number. I do have some limitations.

  We ate cornbread, beans, and cabbage for supper. Despite my mother’s sharp tongue and acerbic wit, she had the skill of a master chef, or at least I always thought so growing up. Rosey must have thought so too. He was on his second helping of everything before I finished my first.

  “We don’t eat like this in D.C.,” he said.

  “What do you eat like?” Mother asked.

  “Salads and fish. Salads and chicken. Salads and steak.”

  “We could have salad and meat, if you prefer,” she said.

  “I do not prefer. I love what you fix, Mrs. Evans. You’re an excellent cook.”

  “Don’t flatter me. I just throw together whatever I have in the cupboard. Whatever comes out, that’s what I eat.”

  “Well, you certainly do an excellent job of throwing it together.”

  “You must want something,” she said to Rosey.

  “Nothing but another piece of cornbread.”

  She passed the plate of cornbread to him. “Nothing here worth making over. You got any complaints?” she asked me.

  “Not yet.”

  I had the feeling that some dart from Mother was headed my way when the phone rang and interrupted whatever dig was about to emerge from her vast storehouse of insults. Saved by the ringing of the bells.

  “I’ll get it.” I was hoping it was Missy calling back.

  It was Missy and she was as chatty as ever.

  “This is Missy and I’m returning your call.”

  “Clancy Evans, here, Missy. Thanks for calling back.”

  “No problem, Miss Evans. Sorry we weren’t around to talk with you when you called. We take the girls out to Dairy Queen now and again. They like those burgers the folks out there fix, so we try to splurge a little and treat the girls to some genuine deluxe Dairy Queen hamburgers and some French fries once a week. They also like their strawberry milk shakes. It sort of keeps the girls happy, if you know what I mean.”

  She paused to breathe and gave me the chance to interrupt her enthusiasm.

  “Missy do you remember who called you about Ernie Rowland today?”

  “Well, I certainly remember the call, like I always remember when someone calls to tell me that someone has died. It’s awful to have to receive those calls, but someone has to be there to answer the phone and I figure it might as well be me, and I do consider it a sort of ministry, at least that’s what my preacher says it is and he should know, right?”

  “But do you remember who the person was you talked to about Ernie?”

  “They never told me their name. Many times folks don’t give out their names when they call. Sometimes I guess ‘cause I know so many people around here and I recognize their voice and all, but this time I didn’t recognize the voice, but I do think it was a woman who called, I just didn’t know her voice, she could have been a distant family member or something like that, but I didn’t get a name. Is that important? Did I mess up?”

  “No, Missy. You did fine. I was just curious about who was in the home helping Mattie when she found Mr. Rowland.”

  “Oh, I heard through the grapevine, so to speak, that it was Residential Health Care who was there when she found the body, so it could have been someone from that place who called us. You might try calling them, they have offices in Dan River. They’re nice folks and would be happy to help you. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your questions … Put that down, Marcie! Don’t you hit your … I’m sorry, Miss Evans, I have to go. M
y girls need my attention. You know how children are, always needing some attention and testing their parents. Is there anything else?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have the number for Residential Health Care in Dan River would you?”

  “I certainly would,” she said and then rattled it off as if she was expecting me to ask.

  “You have all work related telephone numbers written down like that?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, Miss Evans. I have the ability to remember numbers real easy like. Since I was a little girl, I can recall just about every telephone number for all of my friends, ex-boyfriends, and stuff like that. I have no idea how I do it, but I just do. It comes in handy at work as you might imagine,” she paused once more to breathe.

  “I might indeed imagine the handiness of such a gift. I am impressed, Missy. Thank you for your help.”

  “Oh, you are most welcome…Marcie!!” she yelled into the receiver. “I do need to go now, Miss Evans.”

  I was grateful that she paused once again for a breath and I said goodbye after thanking her once more.

  I was tired. The woman could talk. So young and yet so full of words.

  “Learn anything?” Mother asked.

  “Nothing definitive,” I confessed.

  “You never learn anything definitive. Why don’t you and Rosey go on over to Peace Haven and do something constructive. If you can’t solve these murders, at least you might be able to prevent another one from happening.”

  Despite her caustic charm, I had to admit that she was right. We were getting nowhere and all the while people continued to die around us.

  Mother insisted that we head over to Peace Haven even though we offered to help her clean up and do the dishes after supper. She flatly refused.

  While en route I called Residential Health Care using Missy’s information. It was after hours, but someone answered finally on the sixth ring.

  “Can I help you?” the voice said.

  “I was calling to check on the two people who were here in Clancyville today helping the Rowland family with your program.”

  “You’ve lost me,” the voice said.

  “Ernie and Mattie Rowland were about to enroll in your program for home health care. You had two people working their case. Apparently, Mr. Rowland died during the interview process,” I explained.

  “We have no one working any Rowland case in Clancyville. Who did you say you were?”

  “My name is Clancy Evans. I was simply calling to thank the person who stayed and helped Mattie Rowland after they found Ernie in his bed. That’s all. I wasn’t trying to get anyone in trouble. I just wanted to thank them personally for their assistance.”

  “Well, they must be working for some other company. We had no one in Clancyville today, and we don’t know anything about any Mattie or Ernie Rowland wanting our services.”

  “Sorry to have bothered you. My error. Must have been another company. Thanks for your help.”

  They hung up without responding. Short and less than sweet.

  “You look lost,” Rosey said.

  “Not lost, just floundering on a detail.”

  “Floundering?”

  “It’s what I do best when lose ends come flopping by.”

  “Flopping … is that detective jargon?”

  “Must be. I seem to encounter it a great deal.”

  “And the loose end that flopped by…?” Rosey said.

  “Residential Health Care rep said that they had no one in our fair town today working the Rowland case. In fact, they don’t have a Rowland case here in Clancyville.”

  “That deserves a wow-ee. So what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that our mastermind killer was going after another juror who was not a resident of Peace Haven.”

  “He has broadened the playing field.”

  “Quite.”

  “Wow-ee.”

  45

  “Hey, why don’t you go on home and get some real sleep?” Rosey said. The sound of his voice woke me from my half-slumber, half-awake state. I was sitting in one of those tall-backed, cushioned, uncomfortable chairs always available in nursing or hospital facilities for the visitors. No doubt they were designed to be uncomfortable to keep people from staying too long.

  Sarah was snoring gently. Apparently the sounds of her sleep were what did me in.

  “You checked on J.R. recently?” I said.

  “A few minutes ago. Deep sleep and snoring loudly.”

  “I think I will go and let you have the first night shift. How about I return around 2 a.m.?”

  “Two it is. Take care of my car…and yourself,” he said.

  I slept peacefully in my old bed at Mother’s. Sam slept on the floor nearby. I set the alarm for 1:30 and went to sleep quickly.

  Just before two a.m. I arrived at Peace Haven to relieve Rosey. All was quiet there. Sarah was still gently snoring while J.R. was fretting about something in his dreams. The night was uneventful thus far. After Rosey left, I moved the uncomfortable chair into the hallway between the rooms for my guard post.

  It was after eight when I saw Joy enter Sarah’s room. I was more than willing to devoid myself of the chair-bed modeled after something used by the Spanish Inquisition a few years back. I moved my limbs slowly as to not do permanent damage by stretching after the five hours of nocturnal torture. I followed her into the room.

  “How you folks doin’ in here?” she said

  “Hey, good morning,” I said behind her.

  “Good mornin’. Everyone okay?” Sarah was still sleeping away, although when I checked in on her earlier, she had been busy rolling from left side to her right side multiple times.

  “I think all is well here. You want to check on Mr. Blair next door?”

  “Not really,” she said with a mischievous smile, “but I will.”

  I stretched for a few minutes more. My muscles were yelling obscenities at me from the self-imposed agony of sleeping in that chair from Hades. I recall frequent waking and napping during the hours since my return to relieve Rosey. There is nothing restful about keeping a vigil in a nursing home.

  Joy stuck her head in the door and said, “Miss Evans, you needs to come quickly. I think something is wrong with Mr. J.R.”

  I followed her into the next room. Sure enough J.R. was in trouble. The man was convulsing, violently shaking the whole bed. The corded button for the nurse’s station was wrapped around one of the side rails. I pushed it twice, hard. A voice from the speaker above his head answered, “May I help you?”

  “Room 240. Mr. Blair is convulsing. He requires medical attention. Send someone down here quickly,” I said.

  I tried in vain to stop him from shaking so violently. It was obviously beyond my expertise. I was afraid that he might shake himself off of the bed into the floor despite the side rails. Something white was oozing from his mouth. One of his legs slid off of the bed and I grabbed it and put it back on the bed.

  “Joy, you hold his chest down and I will hold his legs. Hopefully the nurse will be here soon,” I said more from desperate hope than assurance.

  I moved quickly to the end of his bed and put both hands on his feet. Something stuck me, like a sharp pen prick.

  “Ouch!” I said and moved my right hand from his foot to see if I could find what I had inadvertently touched. An object was sticking out from between his big toe and first toe on his left foot. There was a box of plastic gloves on the night table, so I grabbed two and put them on. I removed the short, metal object from between his toes. It was a broken needle. It appeared to me that someone had broken off the needle of a syringe while injecting something into his foot. Despite my lack of knowledge concerning medical procedures, I knew that between the toes was not the usual spot for injecting patients with their meds, to say nothing of leaving a broken needle in the foot.

  While still holding onto the broken syringe, I removed the plastic glove from my hand over the object, wrapping it completely in the one glove, and p
laced it in my pants pocket. I was hoping to preserve some possible prints, just in case the person who injected him had tried to remove the broken needle. At any rate, I had another clue.

  “What you got there?” Joy asked.

  “Don’t know. Probably nothing. I’ll have to check it out,” I said. I was reluctant to tell her more than I thought she needed to know.

  J.R. Blair stopped convulsing and lay perfectly still. I was checking for a pulse at his throat when the nurse came in. I moved aside to allow her to do her job.

  “What did you do to this man?” she asked.

  “Whoa there, Queenie,” I said, taken aback by her question. “Let’s get your facts straight. I came into this room, found this man shaking violently, called you and you just arrived. I’ve been trying to help him for five minutes or more. I’d change that tone if I were you.”

  “Sorry, but he’s dead now. I need to know if you did anything to him?” she asked in a kinder voice.

  “We held him down to keep him from jumping out of the bed; and, just now, we tried to take his pulse.”

  I looked at Joy and held off on telling the nurse about removing the broken syringe needle from the foot. “That’s whut she did,” Joy said.

  “So you found him convulsing and then he just died?”

  “That’s the short version. I found him convulsing, tried to hold him into the bed, you showed up, then he died.”

  She pushed the button for the nurse’s station and spoke to the monitor on the wall behind J.R.’s head, “We need a doctor in Room 240. Then call the funeral home.”

  The nurse ushered us out of the room and closed the door.

  “You can’t go back in there, but I need you to stay close so the doctor can talk with you.”

  “We’ll be next door, Room 242. My friend Sarah is in this room,” I pointed to the door of Sarah’s room.

  “Just don’t leave. The doctor will definitely want to speak to you.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “You both need to stay,” she said more to Joy than me.

  “I’ll be with her,” Joy said and pointed to me.

  The nurse walked away briskly.

  “I don’t think she believed you,” Joy said.