The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

  “You’re getting the same salary I’m getting. Equal pay for equal work, I always say.”

  “Yeah, you always say that. And the pay is always the same. Do you ever do anything but pro bono?”

  “Sometimes I work for less.”

  We both watched Sam approach the house, sniffing along the way. I assumed he was trying to pick up a scent. He checked each bush and every tree in Saunders’ yard. He marked his spot near the metal garage. We watched him move stealthily towards a window of the house and look inside. Sam walked from window to window on the side facing our view, spending only a few seconds at each. I assumed that either his vision was obstructed or that there was nothing of real interest to him since he moved along so quickly. He disappeared around the back of the house.

  “How long have you known this dog?”

  “A few years.”

  “And you didn’t train him?”

  “We discussed it, but I never really saw the need.”

  “We discussed it?” Rosey asked in a voice that possessed the obvious quality of incredulity.

  “Sam and I talked it over. He really saw no need for it, and I concurred.”

  “You are absolutely out of your mind. And that’s a fact, Jack.”

  “Opinions vary.”

  Sam reappeared to us on the far side of the front of the house. He was now standing on the little house’s front porch, staring into the singular front window. He paused there and remained stationary. He sat down and continued looking into the window.

  “Reckon he is taking notes?” Rosey asked.

  “I don’t think I like the sarcasm in your voice.”

  “I’ve never had a dog like that.”

  “Jealous?”

  “A little. Is it that you just assume to know what he is thinking or is there some genuine communication going on between the two of you?”

  “We have our moments. I think we both read each other’s mind.”

  “No doubt. He doesn’t talk much. Does he ever bark?”

  “Only when he has something to say.”

  Sam got up and meandered over to the other front window on the other side of the small porch. There was no light on in that window, but he seemed to be watching something. He jumped off of the porch, sniffed another bush or two, and then broke into a run back to the Jaguar. I opened the back door and he climbed in.

  “Good job, Sam. Did you see anything of interest?” I asked.

  “I can’t wait for this report.” Rosey said under his breath.

  Sam raised a paw and touched my shoulder. I looked into his noble eyes and saw that he had seen something.

  “Well, Captain America, it is time for the two of us to go have a looks-see.”

  “I’m still waiting on Sam’s report.”

  “He’s already given it. I told you he didn’t talk much, but I forgot to mention that we use hand signals a lot.”

  “I shall remain skeptical and impressed.”

  “A paradox.”

  “Precisely,” Rosey said as we exited the car and headed towards Saunders’ house.

  “Blow the horn if you need us,” I said to Sam.

  “Has he ever blown a car’s horn before?” Rosey asked me as we crossed Leftwich.

  “Not as I recall.”

  54

  The knock on the back door was so soft she almost missed it. She was sitting in

  the small living room watching television. She waited to see if the sound would repeat itself.

  It came again, very softly. Like a shy knock.

  She opened the back door and greeted the black man with a half smile. He nodded and entered the kitchen.

  “Do you knows what he wants next?” he asked her as he followed her into the living room.

  “Yes,” she said without facing him.

  The tall, thin woman returned to her favorite chair in front of the television. The black man sat down on the brown couch and waited for some type of explanation or plan.

  She appeared to be watching whatever was on the set in front of them, but her eyes showed a distant stare that belied the direction in which she was looking. Her mind was not on the television show. She was thinking about the preacher and the way he treated her. If the black man had had any powers of intuition he would have come to the conclusion that the woman was angry. In fact, there was great rage behind her eyes, but that was not yet discernible on her face.

  The black man slowly became a part of the ambience of the room. He was waiting for her to explain their next job. The woman was silent, lost in her growing anger mingled with dissatisfaction. At some point, the man thought he heard something outside the window of the small living room. His eyes drifted to the thin, white curtains and caught a glimpse of some shadowy thing that moved on the other side of the window.

  He got up, walked to the window and looked out. Nothing that he could see moved. He waited to see if his eyes might permit some type of vision as he stared into the darkness. The television light had blinded him and he didn’t have the patience to wait it out.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Thought I heard something,” he said as he slowly eased back into the confines of the brown couch.

  “Night sounds,” she said emptily. She continued to stare at the television show without paying attention to it.

  “Thought I might’ve saw somethin’.”

  “Sit down and let’s talk,” she said. “There’s nothing out there. You’re just nervous.”

  “I’m scared,” he confessed.

  “You’re a big boy. Why are you scared?”

  “I’m scared of the same thing you scared of.”

  “I’m not scared any more,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice.

  He noticed the change of tone, but didn’t know what it meant. He looked at her from the side. She appeared to be watching the television.

  “You watch this show often?”

  “No.”

  “So … talk to me. Tell me a plan,” he said.

  “He wants us to take care of the last juror.”

  “Gonna be hard.”

  “We’re to break into the house and kill her.”

  “Dat all?” he asked.

  She turned to look at him. He seldom said or did anything that even suggested a bit of humor. He smiled at her.

  “That’s what he wants,” she said.

  “Gonna be real hard,” he said.

  “And dangerous. Too many in that house.”

  “And a dog, I think.”

  “Yeah, there’s a dog,” she said. “I doubt if the dog likes me. We’ve already met once.”

  “I don’t like dogs.”

  “He probably won’t like you either.”

  “I feel better already.”

  “You must be in a good mood this evening,” she said. “Humor is not your strong suit.”

  “I got paid. I have money. I feel good. Money makes me feel good. I don’t get suits, strong or weak. You get paid too?”

  “I don’t care about the damn money. I am tired of this whole thing. Lots of people have died just because he wanted them dead.”

  “What you be sayin’ now?”

  “I’m saying enough is enough.”

  “You can’t just quit, you knows. It ain’t that simple.”

  “Yeah. It’s that simple.”

  “He a powerful man. And he’s a man a’ God. We just can’t walk away. I don’t think he gonna like that.”

  “He won’t like it, but he may have to accept it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “I’m tired of doing his bidding. I feel like a slave.”

  He started to say something, but decided against it. They both sat in silence for several minutes. The only sound in the room was the nocuous noises coming from the television set. The direction of their conversation scared him. He feared the preacher, and now the woman was beginning to upset him. He wanted her to say something, to break the horrible silence be
tween them now, but he was frightened of what she might say next, what she was thinking. She stared at the television while his eyes searched the barely decorated living room for something to ease his troubled mind. The empty walls offered no solace for him. A cross, a picture of Jesus, or even some statue of the Virgin Mary would have helped. There was nothing there. Empty walls. Colorless. Dark.

  The sound of a board on the front porch creaked, and the black man turned around and looked out the singular window. He thought he saw a dog looking into the window. His mind must have been playing tricks on him. All that talk about that dog in that house probably made him see things, or so he thought. The woman was still silent. He got up and walked to that window to get a closer look.

  There was nothing there by the time he arrived.

  “Still hearing things?” she asked.

  “I saw something lookin’ in the window.”

  “You wanna go outside and check it out?”

  “No. It’s probably nothin’. I jus’ a little nervous, that’s all.”

  He sat back down on the brown couch. He noticed it was not a comfortable place to sit. His eyes searched the room in vain for another place to sit. There were no other options. He remained quiet for a few more seconds, afraid of asking her specifically what she was thinking.

  “Are we gonna break into the house and kill that woman?” he said, fearing her words.

  “I’m not.”

  “I has to do this alone?”

  “If you do it at all, you will have to do it without me. I’m finished.”

  “He won’t allow you to quit, you knows.”

  “Yes he will. I will explain to him.”

  “You playin’ a dangerous game, Marilyn.”

  He seldom ever used her name. It surprised even him as he said it. She turned away from her distant stare at the television screen and looked at him, as if for the first time. It appeared to him that she was really looking at him now. A smile spread across her face unlike anything he had ever seen from her. He sat motionless. He was waiting, but he had no idea for what.

  “That’s the best part, Henry,” she finally said to him. “That’s the best part. The danger is worth the price of admission. I think I finally feel alive for once in my life.”

  “You scarin’ me.”

  “I don’t mean to. I’m leaving now. You do what you have to do. His orders are that she be killed. If you want to do that, then go ahead. I’m finished. I going to see the preacher and tell him that. Shall I tell him that you are following orders?”

  Henry thought for a long time. He didn’t know what to say to her. She was serious, he could tell that. He thought about what he had to do in order to kill the woman. He was not good at planning. A different type of fear suddenly engulfed him and he sat frozen on her uncomfortable, brown couch. He was afraid to take the next step.

  The sound of the back door closing startled him out of his trance and he suddenly realized that the tiny living room was empty. The woman was gone.

  “Marilyn!” he called out, but only the sound of his fading voice returned to him. She had left. Whatever she intended to do with the preacher, say to the preacher, was now set in motion. He knew that his job was clear enough. There was a woman staying in Rachel Evans’ house who must die. If he did this, he would be paid handsomely. It wasn’t personal. He didn’t even know the woman. No one had given him a name. He had only been told that she was the last one. She was the last juror that the preacher wanted killed. It would be easier with Marilyn’s help, but that was out of the question now.

  He heard a small clock strike somewhere in another room. It seemed a lonely sound to him. He thought about the money. It would be good to have more money. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another job.

  55

  Rosey and I stood on the backside of the house, just to the right of the deck that covered nearly two-thirds of the back. It was so dark I couldn’t see Rosey who was standing next to me. I could hear him breathing softly.

  “That’s Saunders,” I said as we watched the tall woman shut the back door and walk towards her car.

  “Where’s Henry?” Rosey said.

  “Who knows? We have to decide,” I said.

  “We have to decide what?”

  “Do we split up?

  “Split up?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you know. I take Sam and the Jag and follow her. You stay on Henry.”

  “Oh, that kind of split up. I don’t think so.”

  “It’s a plan.”

  “Yeah, but not a very good one.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Okay, you take the Jag and follow Saunders. Wherever. Not important. But then Henry comes out, gets into his car and drives off in another direction. I’m supposed to run after him and hope that he drives slowly enough for me to keep up? Or better yet, I accidentally run into Henry and ask him to give me a lift?”

  “Oh, didn’t think of that.”

  “No, you did not. So here’s another plan, better plan. We stay together and follow her.”

  “And the reason we’re doing this…?” I asked.

  “It’s my Jag and Saunders is likely the playmaker in this duo. Henry follows orders.”

  “Okay, but I think the real reason is that you don’t like the idea of following someone on foot, you being lazy and all.”

  “That may have something to do with it,” he said as he ran towards the Jag after Marilyn had pulled out of her driveway. I ran closely behind Rosey as we trotted to the Jaguar.

  “She’s going north, towards Lynchburg,” I said when we were several car links behind her.

  She then turned off onto Old Highway 29, through the short, dangerous tunnel, and out towards the preacher’s estate in the northern part of Pitt County.

  “Awful late to be calling on the preacher,” Rosey said.

  “You think that’s where she’s heading?”

  “Best guess. And her attitude is different.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “She’s driving faster. Usually she’s a deliberate driver, going the speed limit, methodical. She’s doing ten miles over the speed limit. She’s in a hurry.”

  “Perhaps the preacher called an emergency meeting.”

  “Perhaps, or maybe Saunders called an emergency meeting with him.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” I said.

  “Sho’ nuff.”

  Saunders’ car slowed and turned into Preacher Rowland’s long drive. Rosey slowed the Jag and waited for Saunders to get closer to the house before turning into the drive. We watched her taillights become smaller and then suddenly her brake lights came on and her car stopped.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Her car lights went out and it was instantly black. Rosey quickly turned off the Jag’s lights and we sat in the road in the darkness. There was no moon so it was hard to see at first. There was a row of lamps near the front entrance of Rowland’s mansion which provided a sort of backlight for us to view Saunders and her car. As far as we could tell, she was simply sitting in her car in his driveway with the lights out.

  Rosey pulled the Jag off of the highway onto the shoulder near the driveway entrance to the mansion. He left the motor on.

  “You have a plan?” he asked me.

  “I’m working on it. I would welcome any ideas from the former Navy S.E.A.L.,” I said in an intended pleading voice.

  Rosey put the Jag in gear and road the shoulder of the old highway down to a dirt road about five hundred yards from Rowland’s entrance. He turned left onto the road and parked the Jag.

  “We’ll go on foot since this is likely her destination. It will be easier to maneuver. We’ll move closer to Saunders and her car, and then wait to see what she does next.”

  “I want Sam to come, too.”

  “Can he keep his mouth shut?”

  “Few better.”

  We cut through the tr
ees that lined the road and into the open field which I am sure that Rowland called his front yard. It was probably no more than five acres, give or take. Even without a moon, the lampposts near the front of the house provided us with ample light for moving safely towards Saunders and her vehicle.

  Rosey stopped our trek across Rowland’s front lawn about fifty yards from Saunders’ car. Her motor had been shut off. She was sitting very still in her car. We found a spot next to one of the large trees between the shrubs which helped to form the line around his long drive. The pattern of tree, shrubs, tree, etc., fashioned Rowland’s landscape theme all the way to the oval portion of his driveway. The trees and shrubs fanned out and simply ended at the edges of the oval drive when the drive turned toward the house. Stylish. He obviously spent a good bit of money on landscaping his country home.

  “Now what?” I said.

  “Nothing. We wait. The fun part.”

  “Fun, yeah,” I said as I tried to find a comfortable spot against the tree bark to rest my back. I wasn’t having much success. Sam lay down in the grass near the tree next to my feet. I could see his shadowy figure from the lights do his typical circle dance in search of just the right spot.

  “Time check,” I said.

  “Twelve fifty-two,” he said. “I should have asked Sam if you could keep your mouth shut.”

  “Wise guy. I’m resting my eyes. Wake me when there’s some action,” I said.

  “Roger.”

  We had a long wait. I slept for some time. I imagine that Sam slept too, but I had no way of knowing for sure. He could play the game of possum as well as any animal I had ever known.

  Rosey shook me at some point.

  “I need you to watch while I sleep some. It’s two-thirty. Nothing’s happening. Saunders is still sitting in her car.”

  “She must not have made an appointment. You think she’s waiting for the light of day?”

  “Good guess. Breakfast at six, perhaps. Wake me at 5 if I’m not awake by that time.”

  “You got it.”

  I think Rosey was asleep before the period was solidly on the end of his last sentence. I marveled at his ability to control his body that way. Sam got up and moved closer to me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could sense that he was looking at me, asking something.