Humpty Bumpkin

by Sam Cheever

  “Of course, sit.”

  Hal caught my eye and pointed toward the door, indicating that he’d wait for me outside.

  I pushed my plate to the side and leaned my elbows on the table, giving the Reverend my full attention. “I hope you’re not here to yell at me for not coming to church.”

  He laughed and I grinned to show him I was kidding.

  “No. I understand your world was shaken when you lost your parents. Sometimes that leads to questioning.”

  With Cox’s recent attack still foremost on my mind, his statement alarmed me slightly. “Questioning what?”

  “Why did God let this happen?” He shrugged. “That sort of thing. Perfectly understandable.”

  I didn’t respond. In the days after their deaths I had wondered just exactly that. But I hated to admit it to the Reverend. And, if I was being totally honest with myself, it wasn’t a new suspicion of God’s motives that was keeping me from attending Sunday services. It was more a fear of how people would look at me. If my parents had been guilty of the things Cox and crew had accused them of, did I deserve the peace and comfort provided within the church’s walls?

  Reverend Smythe watched me carefully, his kind brown gaze seeming to pierce my skin and drive right into my heart, assessing my inclinations.

  I finally shook my head. “I’m okay.”

  “I knew your parents for five years, Joey. They were good people. Don’t let that terrible man convince you otherwise.”

  To my horror, hot tears filled my eyes again. I sniffled, nodding. “I’m trying. It’s not easy.”

  “I know it isn’t.”

  I glanced toward the window, seeing Hal leaning against a street light, talking on his cell phone. I wondered who he was talking to.

  “Well...I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you.”

  I turned back to the man across from me. “No, I’m glad you stopped to say hi.”

  “I did. But that’s not the only reason I came over.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I understand you’ve been asking Buck Mitzner a bunch of questions about what happened on your property.”

  “I...I know he’s been helping you out at the church.” And that would naturally predispose the kindly Reverend to take Buck’s side.

  The Reverend seemed to dismiss my excuse with a wave of his hand. “That’s not why I’m here. I get why you and Arno might suspect him...”

  “Arno spoke to you about Buck?”

  “He did. I told him what I’m going to tell you. I shouldn’t tell you, of course, but I feel as if I have to. Buck doesn’t need any more stress. He’s...” The Reverend frowned. “Well, let’s just say he’s fighting something right now.”

  I felt my eyes go wide. Fighting something? Of course my first thought was a disease of some kind. “Cancer?”

  “No, my dear.” He sighed. “But ultimately it might be worse.”

  I was intrigued. My mind spun over the possibilities. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Buck was with me until very late the night of the...erm...event in your woods.”

  “Oh. How late?”

  “Until well after Midnight. He’d come to a...meeting...at eight o’clock. The meeting shut down around ten, it ran very late, and then he came to my office and prayed with me for a while. After that we chatted.”

  “Okay. That’s good to know. Unfortunately, Arno hasn’t given me a time of death so I don’t know if Buck was...”

  “He wasn’t. Arno believes the poor creature in that chipper died around eleven pm. It couldn’t have been Buck.”

  I had to admit I was a little disappointed. Buck fit the bill perfectly for a murderer. Despite the nagging thought that he’d have to be exceptionally stupid to use one of his own chippers for the job. “Thanks for letting me know,” I told him.

  As Reverend Smythe stood up, I reached out and touched his hand. “What kind of meeting was it?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, child.”

  Putting it together with the other information he’d offered me, his non-answer was all the answer I needed. Buck had to be going to the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at the church. Given my past experiences with the man, that made total sense.

  But as I watched Reverend Smythe move carefully toward the door, stopping to clasp hands and speak briefly to several people along the way, I recognized that Hal and I would have to scratch a key suspect from our list.

  And that didn’t take me to my happy place.

  When I got outside, Hal was speaking to Arno. He disconnected and straightened away from the light pole. “All set?”

  I nodded. “Did Arno have any new information for us?” I fell into step beside him and we walked the four blocks back to where we’d left his car.

  “He did. He said Devon Little wasn’t the body in that chipper. The DNA isn’t a match.”

  I considered the information, relieved as well as disappointed. I was glad the body wasn’t someone I knew, but that meant we still didn’t know who it was. “I guess that’s good news,” I murmured half to myself.

  “It certainly is for Mr. Little,” Hal told me with a grin.

  “Yeah. But if it wasn’t him, then where is he? And why would he disappear?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Hal told me. “Was he a person of interest with the FBI too?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I know of. But to tell you the truth I don’t know why he wasn’t. He was my dad’s right-hand man. He knew everything about the business and he had a hand in all of it. In fact, given his personality and malleable moral fiber, I’d be more inclined to think he’d be the one to do something squiggy if something squiggy was done.”

  “His disappearance seems to suggest you might be right.”

  “Unless something’s happened to him.” I frowned. “Just because he wasn’t in that chipper doesn’t mean he wasn’t a target too.”

  “Agreed.” Hal clicked to unlock his car.

  I waited while he opened the door for me and then slipped inside. As Hal pulled the SUV away from the curb I asked. “Where to next?”

  He glanced at me. “Do you know where Buck Mitzner lives?”

  “I do.” Frowning, I considered what Reverend Smythe had told me. “But I don’t think he’s involved in this.”

  “Why not?”

  I told Hal about my conversation with the Reverend.

  He listened carefully, taking the shaded twists and turns of Country Road 57 at a sedate speed. But when I’d finished he didn’t look convinced.

  “You still think Buck’s involved?”

  “I don’t not think that.”

  I stared at him, my brain screaming in pain as I tried to untwist his statement for its actual meaning. “Okay, how about we try that again. Do you think Buck is involved in the chipper murder?”

  “I think the Reverend is probably a very good man who’s predisposed to think the best of his flock. And, having met the man, I think the idea of Buck praying for two hours is a stretch.”

  I felt my eyes go round. “I can’t believe you think Reverend Smythe is lying.”

  “I didn’t say that. But my experience is that sometimes even the most honest people will obfuscate if they believe it’s helping someone who they perceive doesn’t deserve what they’re facing. There’s at least a small possibility that’s the case here. Enough of a chance that it’s worth looking into Buck.”

  I sighed. “Okay. But I want to go on record as thinking it’s a waste of time.”

  “Duly noted.”

  We came to a sharp turn in the road and Hal eased the speed down a few notches as we approached. To our right, the woods pressed against the edge of the road and to our left, the landscape fell away to a stunning and intimidating vista of rocks, trees and a plunging decline. CR57 had many such spectacular views. As a result, three-foot-wide gravel shoulders graced its entire curvy length to accommodate lookyloos.

  I let my gaze slide over the breathtaking vista, barel
y noting the low-slung muscle car parked on the opposite shoulder, its driver no doubt enjoying the beautiful panorama. I didn’t even have time to notice the car was facing the wrong direction before its brake lights went dark and it surged across the other lane and into ours.

  I screamed. We were going to collide.

  Hal’s foot slammed down on the brake and he jerked the wheel toward the far side of the road, no doubt hoping to pull around the other car. I hit the shoulder strap of my seatbelt and pain stabbed through me as it locked into place.

  In the blink of an eye I had a new terror, as Hal’s SUV headed straight for the guardrail, and the steep and deadly drop beyond.

  He fought the wheel as the big car, unsteady because of its height to width ratio and the curve in the road, started to wobble and fishtail.

  Somehow, he managed to slow and ease to a stop. Turning to me, he must have been alarmed by my white face. “You okay?”

  I slid a finger under the shoulder strap, wincing. “I think so. But I’m definitely going to have a bruise.”

  He opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance. A horrendous crunching noise preceded a violent wrenching of the car sideways, toward the looming precipice.

  Hal swore, turning in his seat to find the same muscle car, windows too dark to see inside, backing up to hit us again.

  “Hold on!” Hal yelled and he wrenched the wheel toward the road, hitting the gas as our attacker lunged forward again and caught the outside corner of the bumper.

  The SUV skidded sideways on the gravel and the left, rear bumper crashed into the metal guardrail to the sound of crunching and groaning.

  The tires spun wildly on the loose rock and the car skipped sideways, finally catching on the asphalt and surging forward as the muscle car shot off the mark after us.

  Hal’s big hands on the steering wheel were white around the knuckles, his gaze alternating between watching the curving road ahead and the muscle car surging forward in our wake.

  He came up on another sharp turn and I sucked air, bracing myself on the dashboard as he swerved out into the other lane so he could take the turn without braking. I prayed no cars were coming from the opposite direction because we were blinded by the curve and definitely in position for a head-on collision.

  The SUV’s oversized tires screamed beneath us and we started to skid. Hal was forced to slow to keep from losing control.

  The muscle car took the opportunity to roar forward and hurtle into the back bumper again.

  For a horrible moment there was a dragging motion and the SUV slowed.

  Hal’s face lost color and the engine of the car behind us roared, the wide, flat nose weaving back and forth and dragging us with it. Like a shark trying to rip its prey from a hook.

  “He’s caught on our bumper!” Hal said in a voice that made my stomach twist with fear.

  We were all probably going to die. And if Hal and I managed to survive the deadly fall to the rocky floor far below, we’d surely be crushed by the weight of the muscle car smashing down on top of us.

  “Do something!” I screamed in a total panic. As soon as I yelled at him I regretted it. I was being unreasonable. Why should I expect him to fix a problem I couldn’t begin to find a solution to?

  But Hal wasn’t paying attention to me anyway. His quick brain had apparently already formed a plan. As we headed straight for a massive tree growing just beyond the guard rail, he threw one last look at the car jerking along behind us and grasped the emergency brake. He yelled, “crash position!” and slammed his foot down on the brake pedal as he wrenched the emergency brake up. The SUV squealed, its back-end swerving and its tires sending smoke up to obscure the car behind us.

  For a long moment I didn’t think his maneuver had accomplished anything. We were still heading toward the massive tree, almost certainly to our deaths if we hit the tree head on, or to a fiery end at the bottom of the ravine if we glanced off and sailed through the guard rail into the abyss. But then there was a wrenching sound and the muscle car jerked free, barreling even more quickly toward the tree as the driver clearly fought for control.

  I screamed and tucked my head between my knees, saying a prayer that my death would be quick and painless.

  The tires squealed beneath us again and the engine roared, a loud clanking sound settling in to follow us down the road. After ten seconds and no crash, I slowly lifted my head. We were back in our lane and barreling down Country Road 57.

  I dared a quick glance behind us and saw only empty road. “He’s gone?”

  Hal nodded, his jaw tight and his hands squeezing the steering wheel so tightly it creaked.

  “Oh my god,” I moaned, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Hal skimmed me a quick glance then, some of the intensity leeching from his green eyes. “You might want to wait on that until we get to your house,” he told me.

  I looked through the windshield, finally seeing where we were. It was less than a mile until the turn onto my road.

  We’d made it.

  Some of the terror clawing at my stomach eased and I found it easier to breath.

  Until the adrenaline started to drain away. Then I started to shake so hard I almost vibrated off the seat.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My dog was an immobile, furry weight across my lap. Where usually she’d lay her big head on my thigh when I sat on the couch, Caphy had apparently decided I needed even more support and had draped her big body entirely over me.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  I dug my shaky hands deep into her soft fur and massaged, enjoying the soft groans of pleasure and the way her pretty green eyes narrowed as I worked my way down her body. Slowly but surely my ministrations were calming me down.

  I’d been a wild-eyed, vibrating mess when Hal had pulled up in front of my house. He’d had to take the keys from me because I couldn’t hold my hands still long enough to insert one into the lock and open the front door.

  When I got inside Caphy leapt at me, tongue lolling and tail whipping the air with manic pleasure. I dropped my purse and fell to my knees, burying my face in her fur and giving into tears as she scraped her wide, pink tongue over my arm.

  Caphy calmed immediately, falling back on years of experience soothing me when I hit the edge of my emotional reserves.

  I felt Hal’s hand on my arm. “Come on, Joey. Let’s get you inside and onto the couch. You can rest while I make you some tea.”

  I let myself be drawn to my feet and moved like a zombie toward the living room. After the terror in the car and the subsequent emotional response, I was starting to feel drained and numb.

  “She’s all yours, girl,” Hal told my dog, scratching her head before leaving us for the kitchen. Even through my emotional fog, I followed his movements in the kitchen, hearing the clank of the tea pot, the rush of water and the thrum of it hitting the bottom of the pot, and then the clinking of spoon and mug as he prepped my tea.

  Then silence.

  I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of soft fur in my fingers and the reassuring weight of my devoted pibl.

  Hal’s voice broke my reverie and, for a brief moment I thought he was talking to me. But he was far away and his voice sounded strangely hushed.

  He was telling someone about the ambush on the road.

  I tried not to listen because just hearing him describe it again brought panic oozing back up.

  Caphy whined, frantically licking my fingers in an effort to calm me.

  “Shhh,” I hushed her softly. I took a deep breath and tried to calm back down again.

  “I think you need to come over,” Hal said, his voice firm.

  My eyes shot open.

  “Okay,” he said in a half-angry tone. Then silence.

  The teapot whistled sharply and cut off with a dying whine as Hal apparently grabbed it off the stove..

  A moment later his footsteps sounded on the hallway floor and I closed my eyes again, pret
ending I was unaware.

  I wasn’t sure why I was pretending, but I was going on pure instinct at that point.

  Caphy’s tail slapped against the couch cushions and I felt Hal’s presence in the room. I opened my eyes.

  He handed me my favorite mug, which said “The most dangerous part of a Pitbull” and showed a picture of a wagging tail.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the mug. It was steaming hot and the aroma rising from the liquid was soothing and sweet.

  “I added honey to ward off shock. Just in case.”

  I didn’t sip from it, preferring to hold it a moment, warming my hands.

  Hal sat down across from me and gave me an encouraging smile. “Drink your tea, Joey.”

  A surge of resistance rose up inside me. I suddenly didn’t want to drink the tea. I was mad at him for sneaking that phone call in the kitchen and I couldn’t help wondering who he’d been talking to. “I don’t think I want it. But thanks.”

  “It will help relax you,” he said, eyeing me carefully.

  I gave a quick jerk of my head. Caphy scraped her big tongue over my leg, leaving a giant wet spot on my shorts.

  “Who were you talking to?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  He hesitated just long enough to make me believe he was going to lie. “Arno. I told him about the...incident...on the road.”

  I held the tea and stared at him. He stared back. “Is he coming over?”

  “He can’t. He says he’s too busy. He wants us to come into the station later today or in the morning to give him all the details.”

  I wasn’t sure if Hal was telling me the truth or not. What he said sounded like Arno. He’d be feeling all threatened and manly about Hal’s intrusion in his case. But at the same time he’d feel grateful Hal had managed to keep us alive. He was most likely in a quandary.

  Like I was.

  I’d had trouble trusting people all my life. It probably had something to do with the way my parents ran their business, like a giant, special secret that they kept just between the two of them. I’d always envied them their secret. It seemed to bring them closer together. They were like an island in the world. Alone and happy.

  But an island for two had left me out in the cold.