Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  Stan and Dale found seats and Cranfield moved behind her massive desk. “Bud is investigating the case on behalf of the Sheriff's Department and Tim Dollar has employed Borders privately."

  "My case or Mrs. Dollar's disappearance?"

  "No way,” Dale said. “According to Lacy, Sandy's car was found in the

  "We think they may be related,” Bud Cranfield offered. parking lot of the Bi-Lo grocery store and she left a note saying she has run off with some guy she met. Even if she was abducted, it wasn't by my monster. He attacks, terrorizes and murders his victims in their own homes."

  "Let me fill you in on some details, Dale,” Lacy said. “Sandy left her house this morning about eight, telling Tim she was coming to see me to complain about you and then going to the grocery store. He expected her to be home by ten. When she didn't show up for lunch he became concerned, called all the places he thought she might be and called me at two."

  "I don't see how this has anything to do with me,” Dale interrupted.

  Stan placed his hand on Dale's thigh. “Let the lady finish,” he said softly.

  "I found her car and the note at Bi-Lo. The manager said she left shortly after nine."

  "From what you told me on the telephone, I don't understand the mystery,” Dale said.

  "Nothing fits,” Bud explained. “The groceries, including ice cream, were in the trunk of her car. Now why would she buy..."

  "Bud,” Lacy said sternly, “this is my show."

  "Sorry."

  "There are problems with the note she left also,” Lacy continued. “Sandy is a writer, but uncharacteristically misspelled numerous words in the note and she signed it S-a-n-d-i-e.” According to Tim, she never spells her name this way."

  "The woman is worth millions,” Bud interrupted, “but walked away with only a hundred grand in her pocket."

  "Bud!” Lacy said sternly.

  He hung his head sheepishly.

  "Mr. Anthony at the bank said she came in with Jerry Smith at approximately nine-thirty and cashed a large check. Again, she misspelled her name, but he didn't notice it at the time."

  "My J. Smith?"

  Lacy nodded. “We searched his trailer and..."

  "Wait a minute,” Dale said. “You told me you didn't have enough evidence to get a search warrant."

  Chief Cranfield sighed. “Do you remember that I told you there was someone I wanted to talk with—someone who might have been secretly dating Smith?"

  "You mean..."

  Lacy held up her hands while hastily interrupting. “I want to leave her name out of this if possible. Anyway, I did talk with her. When she understood the seriousness of the situation, she cooperated. She developed an attraction to Smith and one thing led to another."

  "He tortured her?"

  Lacy shook her head. “My witness is rather, uh, shall we say, naive. What she calls kinky is oral and anal sex. It was the anal sex that ended their relationship."

  "Then how..."

  "In North Carolina there is an old law still on the books that makes sodomy, even between husbands and wives, illegal. It was all I had and the judge bought it."

  "So you searched the trailer?” Stan asked.

  Lacy nodded. “With one exception, it was empty.” She looked at her husband.

  "I found a pair of monogrammed panties stuffed behind the toilet tank. Mr. Dollar confirmed they belong to his wife."

  "The plastic containers under the bed?"

  Lacy shook her head. “There wasn't even any dust under the bed."

  "Fingerprints,” Stan said. “Surely you found Smith's fingerprints. How about Mrs. Dollar's?"

  "There were no prints at all. The entire trailer was wiped clean,” Lacy replied.

  "We're guessing that he somehow forced Sandra to help and while she was cleaning the bathroom, she hid her panties for us to find,” Bud added.

  "I checked with Mrs. Frank who owns the trailer park,” Cranfield injected. “Apparently, Mr. Smith returned during the wee hours of the morning. He approached her about seven, paid three month's rent in advance with cash and apologized for moving out without notice. He told her he has accepted a job in Miami and must move down there in a hurry."

  Dale sighed and sank back into her chair. “If J. Smith abducted Mrs. Dollar, he's not the monster I've spent most of my life searching for. I've come to another dead end."

  "Not necessarily,” Borders said. “According to Chief Cranfield, you've spent thirteen years searching newspaper files for crimes that match the murder of your parents and you came up with a long list. That, however, doesn't rule out the possibility that your monster engages in different types of crimes."

  "You think he intends to hold Mrs. Dollar for ransom?"

  "I can't think of any other motive,” Borders replied.

  "Miss Ryder,” Bud Cranfield said, leaning forward in his chair, “is there anything you remember from your childhood experience you haven't told Chief Cranfield?"

  "He was a sadistic monster, wore a mask, stole Mom's jewelry, raped her, cut off her nipples and slit her throat. After making Dad and me watch, he slit Dad's throat but said he was saving me for later. He ... he had a dark birthmark at the base of his penis and no body hair. That's it."

  "And Jerry Smith has no body hair,” Lacy commented, “according to both Sucker and my informant."

  "Do you have any idea of the man's age?” Bud Cranfield asked.

  "Age?” Dale responded. “Let me think. I, uh, damn ... I don't know. I think of him as being my dad's age. Dad was thirty-six when he died."

  "And that was thirteen years ago?"

  Dale nodded.

  "That would make your monster approximately fifty, now."

  "That fits Jerry Smith,” Lacy commented.

  "He's older now Dale—not as strong and agile as when he attacked your parents. That's a possible reason for changing his MO."

  "But he's slipped through the cracks again."

  "Maybe, but don't give up hope. If he is holding Mrs. Dollar for ransom, he's holed up nearby. We have an all points bulletin out for him. We, of course, have a good description of Jerry Smith and know he drives a large light-blue Dodge van. Unfortunately we don't know the tag number."

  It was after midnight when Dale and Stan returned to her motel room. As he unlocked the door for her, he said, “Dale, it's been a long day. Try to get some sleep."

  "Come in, Stan."

  "I ... I think you need time alone."

  "Stay with me until I've checked my email."

  He nodded, followed her into the room and sat quietly on the bed as she plowed through one hundred and thirteen messages.

  When she turned from the computer, the look in her eyes told him the messages were worthless. “You're a good friend, Stanley Steamer. Do you sleep in the nude?"

  "No, boxer shorts."

  "Do you mind if I do?"

  He chuckled. “I wish you hadn't told me that. You're planting images in my mind that are inappropriate tonight."

  "Go brush your teeth, get your boxer shorts and hurry back."

  "Dale, are you sure?"

  "I couldn't have sex with you tonight if my life depended on it. I want you to sleep with me—hold me—not screw me.” She pulled her revolver from a dresser drawer and placed it on the bedside table.

  "You're frightened, aren't you Wonder Woman?"

  "I'm not frightened,” she said defiantly. “I'm just not going to take any chances."

  * * * *

  "Stan, I'm sorry."

  He looked up, surprised. “I forgive you. What did you do?"

  Dale added more syrup to her pancakes. “At least, now I know you really do want me."

  "Wonder Woman, I have no idea what you are talking about."

  "I have terrifying flashbacks of that evil thing between my monster's legs. It was ugly—brutal—crooked—red with huge purple veins and that ungodly black band. Yours ... yours is a work of art—a sculpture—but I'm still not certain I can take it."<
br />
  His face glowed. “Oh, boy. I had a morning erection and you saw it."

  She snickered. “I did more than that. I touched it. It's so soft and smooth."

  "I'm sorry, Dale. Most men have morning erections. Did you get any sleep at all?"

  "A few hours."

  "You said there were just a few email messages this morning."

  She nodded as she chewed. “Four. Do you think I should post another plea?"

  "I don't know much about these things. Besides, I think we've already heard from Sucker."

  "Yeah. I agree."

  "Funny though, that she would get all bent out of shape over anal intercourse."

  Dale shuttered. “Even if we become passionate lovers, you'll never poke your huge thing up my butt. I'd rather have it in my throat."

  Stan grinned. “Talk about kinky."

  "Let's change the subject. Is something wrong with your pancakes?"

  He pushed away the plate. “No.” He chuckled. “I know I'm the one who insisted on coming to the Korner Kafe for breakfast, but I miss Mom's bacon and eggs. I promise that when we're married, I'll never complain about your cooking."

  "Married? Where did that come from?"

  "From a secret recess of my heart that I shouldn't have shared with you just yet."

  "Stud, you know I like you but marriage isn't on my agenda."

  "I understand. I spoke out of turn.” He smiled faintly. “A few days ago, nothing was on your agenda beyond getting revenge."

  She glanced at her watch. “You look nice in your new suit."

  "Thanks. Your green dress is a perfect combination."

  "Combination?"

  "With your flaming red hair."

  "You don't think the hem is too short?"

  He took a deep breath. “You are wearing underwear, aren't you?"

  She playfully flicked a piece of pancake at him. “I'm wearing your gift and, as snuggly as it fits, it makes me look better down there than when I'm in my birthday suit.” She again glanced at her watch.

  "We have plenty of time."

  She nodded. “There are many things you don't know about me, Stud. One is that I hate to be late for anything."

  "Well, let's get out of here then.” He paid the bill and, as they drove to the church, said, “It's a fantastic day, weather-wise."

  "Want to visit the pool after church?"

  "You read my mind,” he said, turning into the church parking lot. “Will you wear the black suit for me?"

  She grinned. “You have a thing about black?"

  "Well,” he replied, setting the parking brake, “I'm not African-American, but I agree that black is beautiful."

  She waited for him to open her car door and, as she emerged, said, “Isn't that Bud and Lacy Cranfield?"

  Stan followed her gaze. “Maybe they can tell us where the adult bible class meets."

  While Bud and Stan chatted on the way to the building, Dale whispered to Lacy, “You've convinced me."

  "Of what?"

  "No implants, but this morning you forgot to put on your padded bra."

  "Are you a lesbian?"

  "Hell no. Why would you think that?"

  "You seem to have an unusual interest in my boobs. For your information, whenever I'm in uniform I wear a bulletproof vest. It makes me look bigger than I actually am."

  For the next few minutes, Stan and Dale endured inevitable introductions to a room full of strangers. Finally everyone took a seat, but conversations continued.

  "Morning, everyone,” Mack McGee said as he burst into the room. “I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with me this morning and I have absolutely nothing prepared."

  "Tell us those stories of how you used to be a pool shark,” someone joked.

  "What's this ‘used to be’ stuff,” Mack said. “I can still whip every man, woman and child in Dot."

  "Where's Chris?” someone asked. “I hope she's not sick."

  The preacher smiled his toothy grin. “To tell the truth, I don't know where she is. It's not like her, but I suspect she overslept. I tried to call a few minutes ago and there was no answer. She probably turned off the ringer before going to bed."

  Lacy stood and pushed her way past Dale and Stan. “Excuse me, Mack. I just remembered I left the coffeepot on this morning. I don't want to burn down the house."

  "I'd better go with her,” Bud apologized.

  Dale began coughing. “Something stuck in my throat,” she alibied as she headed for the door.

  "Uh, we'll be right back,” Stan said, following Dale.

  "Hey, I'm not that unprepared,” Mack joked.

  Stan chased Dale down the long hallway and up the steps to the ground level, catching her at the door.

  "Hurry up,” she urged.

  Together they jogged to the parking lot, jumped into the Ford and, without taking the time to fasten their seatbelts, fell into pursuit of the Cranfield's departing vehicle. They crossed Old Charlotte Road, turned left on Lumbermill Road and pulled into the driveway of a tiny white house.

  Without speaking, the four grim-faced people rushed to the front porch. They repeatedly rang the bell, knocked and shouted Chris’ name, but there was no response.

  Bud Cranfield placed a handkerchief over the doorknob and tried it. “Locked,” he announced. “I'll try the back door."

  Stan looked at Dale.

  "Hide your eyes,” she said as she fished in her clutch bag for her slender tools. In seconds the tumbler clicked and the Sheriff's Department Detective pushed the door open.

  "Don't touch anything,” he cautioned as the quartet inched their way inside.

  "Holy shit!” Dale exclaimed. “Looks like she put up a hell of a fight."

  Lacy placed her hand on Dale's arm. “You two go back to your car."

  "No way,” Dale protested.

  "We're going to find a body, you know. It won't be pretty."

  "You think he killed her?"

  Detective Cranfield nodded. “She has no money that I know of. He must have found out that she talked with Lacy and decided to shut her up permanently."

  Carefully they searched each of the four rooms. Borders joined them at that point and they searched the yard and crawlspace under the house.

  "Is that Reverend Norway's car?” Stan asked.

  "Yes,” Lacy replied.

  "You think he took the body with him?"

  "I can't figure why he'd do that, but neither can I think of any reason he'd kidnap her,” Detective Cranfield said.

  "Maybe,” Lacy offered, “she's good in bed and he wasn't ready to give it up."

  "How well do you know Chris Norway?” Dale asked.

  "She's the salt of the earth,” Borders responded.

  "What's on your mind, little lady?” Bud said.

  "What if your adorable little minister is head over heels in love with the man? What if they're in this thing together?"

  "You read too many mystery stories,” Stan said dryly.

  "Go on,” Borders urged.

  "Both Stan and I think Chris is Sucker. What if she and Jerry Smith planned the whole thing together? Yesterday, Lacy, you put the squeeze on Chris. They decided it was time for her to disappear and made it look like another abduction."

  "There's a flaw in your theory,” Detective Cranfield said. “If they conspired to kidnap Mrs. Dollar, why would they have lured you to Dot?"

  Stan coughed and toed the ground with his shoe. “There's something you don't know about Dale. To use her words, she's a rich bitch."

  Dale squatted, pulled a blade of grass and stuck it between her teeth. “If Chris was murdered or abducted, Smith would have overpowered her and whisked her away as quickly as possible. If she went with him voluntarily, she would take her clothes with her."

  "Screw the clothes,” Dale said. “The one thing no woman would willingly leave behind is her makeup."

  They rushed to the bedroom. The drawers and closets were empty and there was no makeup in the bathroom.


  * * * *

  "Scoot over and let me massage your back."

  Dale made room for him to perch on the edge of her chaise lounge. “I'm sorry, Stan. I'm not much fun this afternoon."

  Stan worked his fingers into the small of her back. “The black swimsuit has given all the men here an erection."

  "Those guys with the tight fitting briefs are having difficulty hiding it,” she agreed, but there was no mirth in her voice.

  "Wonder Woman, let's try a few more laps. It'll get you mind off of..."

  She flipped over and glared at him. “Don't you understand? We've lost him."

  "Not if he's holding Sandy Dollar for ransom."

  "Poor Tim. He must be going out of his mind."

  "Yeah."

  "Let's go visit him."

  "Why on earth would we do that? We hardly know the man."

  She sat up. “Maybe he knows something he hasn't yet revealed."

  "Let the officers do their job, Dale."

  Her eyes pleaded with him. “I never thought to mention the monster's age. Maybe there's something Tim hasn't mentioned that we can draw out of him.” She stood, slipped her fingers under the rear hem of her suit, tugged it down over her curvaceous bottom, and walked towards the bathhouse. Reluctantly Stan followed.

  "I think this is ridiculous,” Stan grumbled after they changed and climbed into her new Cavalier.

  "Humor me,” she replied, cranking the engine.

  "We don't even know where the man lives."

  "I asked someone in the dressing room. She said he lives on Highway 8, between here and Dot and that there's a huge sign next to the driveway that reads, ‘Double D Acres.’”

  He leaned back in his seat, gazed out the side window and watched telephone poles passing. “What are we going to say? ‘Hello, Mr. Dollar. We're here to stick our noses into your business.’”

  "I don't think we'll have to say much of anything. After all, I did warn Sandy that the monster might be after her."

  "There's the sign."

  "My God!” Dale exclaimed, slamming on her brakes and pulling to the side of the road. “That patrol car must be travelling a hundred miles an hour."

  Stan shivered. “Screeching sirens give me the willies."

  "Shit, Stud, it's turning into the Dollars’ driveway!"

  "Floor it!” he responded.