by A. E. Howe
I pulled through Dad’s gate and up the gravel drive to his small house. It sat on twelve acres surrounded by woods. Dad kept a couple of horses that he rode in parades and when directing searches with the mounted posse. He tried hard to be the very picture of a sheriff.
I was greeted at the door by… nothing. I walked down the hall. “I’m here!” I shouted.
A gruff woof, deep and low, came from the living room. The “baby” I was there to sit. Lying on the dirty sofa was the one-hundred-and-ninety-pound, two-year-old Mauser. Black with white markings and floppy ears, the Great Dane looked up at me from under hooded eyelids.
“Yeah, it’s you and me tonight, boy-o,” I told him. He closed his eyes and stretched out his legs.
“He’s had his dinner,” Dad said as he entered the room while adjusting his coat. He stood a little shorter than my six foot even. His grey hair was cut short over his square head, illuminated by green eyes that penetrated bad guys, deputies and voters—basically anyone that he wanted to control. Those eyes were Sheriff Ted Macklin’s superpower.
“What’s this?”
“Thirty-fifth high school reunion. I told you all about it.”
“Right. And how long do I have to babysit the monster?” Mauser moaned as though he understood me.
“Hey, don’t hurt his feelings,” Dad said, only half kidding.
“You know, if you had trained him when he was younger you wouldn’t have to have a babysitter for him.”
“He has a free spirit.”
Dad had no idea how to train a dog. We’d had Great Danes when I was growing up, but it was my mother who trained them. Dad trained me. That was the division of labor between my folks. Clearly Dad was a failure at raising kids or pups.
“I boarded over the hole in the dining room wall.”
“He got out again?” Mauser had dug through the wall, making his own doggy door when he was just six months old. Whenever he was unattended and bored he simply dug through the drywall and went outside.
“The kid I’ve got taking care of him in the afternoons was late.” My dad placed the blame for the huge hole in the wall squarely on the boy. “I’ve put the padlock on the refrigerator. The keys are in the drawer next to it.” Mauser could open the refrigerator like a pro if it wasn’t locked.
“Yeah, yeah, go. I’ll take care of the beast.” The beast looked unimpressed with my bravado.
“He gets a snack at eight, his walk is at nine and his final bedtime snack at eleven, but he probably won’t want to go to bed until I get home. Just go ahead and give him his bedtime snack. If I need to, I’ll give him another one when I get home.” Dad frowned as I dramatically rolled my eyes. “I’ll be back by one o’clock. If I have a lady in tow, just sneak out the back door.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
“Back at you, Romeo.” He patted his pockets for keys, pulled them out, spun away on his cowboy-booted heels and left me with the oversize lap dog.
“Remember, I’m not a softy like your dad,” I told the couch weight.
Checking my phone, an email told me that a preliminary autopsy report wouldn’t be done on my victim until tomorrow. So with nothing to keep me out of trouble, I transferred the photos of Matt’s arson file to my iPad so I could check it out. Maybe with a little luck I could solve it before him.
The fire had started in the middle of the house. A small amount of accelerant was used, but not much was needed. It was an old house and built out of heart of pine. Once the fire got a taste of that fat pine the flashover happened in the first ten minutes and the house was a lost cause by the time the fire department got there.
Motive. That was the big question. Maybe it was a firebug just getting his jollies. Possibly. They usually try not to hurt anyone, so an abandoned building that was not being used by squatters would fit the bill.
Mauser was just finishing his evening snack when I decided I wanted to drive over and take a look at the arson scene.
“Hey, you.” Mauser turned and gave me a suspicious look. “Want to go for a little drive?” I had his full attention now. “Come on.”
I had to use Dad’s ratty old minivan since Mauser didn’t fit in my car. Dad had removed the middle seats of the van to give Mauser a large area behind the front seats to stretch out. Mauser took full advantage of his position as backseat driver by drooling over my arm and huffing into my ear whenever he saw something interesting. Between the dog smell and the fact that the van had a large “Ted Macklin for Sheriff” sign on the side, it pretty much sucked as a joy ride vehicle.
“You know, you’re going to have to grow up on your own,” I told Mauser as we traveled through the night toward town. “Dad isn’t going to give you the proper training. If you want to stay out of trouble, you’ve got to learn to control your impulses.”
He put his head on my shoulder and drooled down my chest. I gave up. Mauser would have to solve his own problems growing up with Dad just as I had.
I slowed down as I approached the location of the arson. The burned-out house was in an older section of Calhoun known as Deep Water, with medium-sized homes on large lots, most of them built at the turn of the last century. I was going to park in the driveway, but it was filled with boards and other crap that the fire crews had pulled from the house, so I parked at the curb.
As I stepped from the car I looked around to see what other houses might have a view of the crime scene. There were three houses across the street that could see the driveway and the house. The houses on either side had too much shrubbery and trees between them to be able to observe anyone coming or going. Most of the homes in the neighborhood still had their lights on as families settled in for the night.
I took out my flashlight and headed up the drive, leaving Mauser to guard the van. For him, “guarding” involved lots of heavy sighs and lying down out of sight.
The yard was well kept for an empty house. The lawn was mowed and the hedges in the front looked like they had been trimmed this summer. My flashlight illuminated the blackened structure. There wasn’t much left except for parts of the walls. Looking through the charred windows, I could see that the house still had lots of furniture in it.
A loud woof sounded through the quiet neighborhood followed by an even louder “Shit!” I trotted back out to the van to find an older gentleman holding his chest and shaking.
“You okay?”
Mauser gave out another bark as though I’d asked after his health.
“Not you, you big idiot.”
“I’m fine. He just scared the holy ever-loving crap out of me.” The man was still holding his chest and breathing hard.
“You sure you’re okay?” I really didn’t want to have to call an ambulance for him.
“Fine,” he said, straightening up and smoothing back the wispy strands of white hair that surrounded a sparsely populated dome. “Just came over to see who was poking around the Daniels place.”
I pulled my bi-fold out and showed him my badge as best I could in the light from my flashlight. “I’m Deputy Larry Macklin.”
“I figured that out seeing as this is your daddy’s van.” He looked at the van. Mauser stared back out at him. “And his horse,” he said gruffly, clearly not having forgiven Mauser for the fright. “I’ve known your dad since he was a teenager.”
“And you’re…?”
“Sorry, I’m still recovering. Tom Canfield.” He held out his hand. I switched my flashlight to my left hand and shook with him.
“They know who did this?” Canfield asked, sounding sad and puzzled.
“It’s early days.”
“I thought someone else was in charge? Some guy named Greene, I think.”
Awkward. “Small department. We all have to pitch in,” I said, wanting to leave it vague. “Just thought I’d help out.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Did you see anything?” I pointed toward the burned-out house.
“No. Told the other deputy the same thing. I’m not
one of those neighbors who sticks their noses into other people’s business.” He realized that coming to check me out seemed to put the lie to that. “Of course, with the fire and all, I’m keeping a closer eye on what’s going on in the neighborhood. Guess that’s closing the barn door after the cows got out.”
“Still a good idea. Crime scenes can attract some unsavory characters.” I made a small joke at my expense. “Do you think anyone else might have seen something?”
“Doubt it. Only real nosey barker in the area lives over on the street behind me.”
I let that one go. I didn’t need to hear a grievance list against a neighbor that couldn’t help with the investigation.
“Why has the Daniels house been empty?”
“Well, Mr. Daniels died and his wife, Susan… Well, she was getting pretty dotty. Her daughter took her back to wherever she lives. Tennessee, I think. Maybe it’s Georgia.”
“When did she move out?”
“Look, my hip can’t take all this standing.” I thought he was going to bug out on me, but he surprised me. “Why don’t you come over to my porch where we can be more comfortable?”
Once we were seated on wicker chairs and his wife had fetched us both a glass of tea, we got back on track.
“Susan moved out two, maybe three, years ago. I’ve just been happy they hired Jack’s to mow the grass and keep the place looking decent.” Jack’s was the most reputable of the lawn services available in the county.
“Any reason you can think of for someone to burn the house down?”
Canfield shook his head. “No. The Danielses had lived there for almost as long as I’ve lived here. Never made no enemies. Raised two girls. One a lot nicer than the other. That’s Dell. She’s the one that took her momma to live with her.”
Could the cost of keeping the house up be a good enough reason to burn it down?
“I thought they might try and sell it. But I guess it means something to them. Dell was acting like her mother might be able to come home. I knew that was wishful thinking. But from what Susan used to say, Dell and her husband have plenty of money.”
There went that motive.
“You don’t look much like your dad.”
I took this as a compliment. “Guess I take after Mom.”
“I was sorry to hear about her. I met her a couple times. Real sweet.”
“She was the sweet to Dad’s sour.”
“Ah, now, your dad’s all right. He used to hang around the Daniels place.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, that was back when he was a teenager. High school. Must have been the late seventies.”
This was an odd turn. “Why was he hanging around over there?”
“Ha, ha, the girls! Both of them were nice looking. A year or so apart. I don’t know which he was more interested in. I didn’t pay much attention back then with work and all. Our boy was a little older so he didn’t run with that crowd. But there were always kids hanging out over there. Playing football in the yard and smoking when they thought they could get away with it.”
He was clearly lost in days gone by. I didn’t really know how any of this could help, especially that part about my father, but I was always fascinated to hear about the gruff ogre’s younger days.
“They’d ask for help sometimes. I think your dad, or might have been one of the other boys, got his truck stuck one time. Just things like that.”
A couple more stories and I could tell that he was getting tired. I stood up. “Thanks, Mr. Canfield, it was a real pleasure talking to you.”
He took my hand again and shook it vigorously. “Same here, young man. But tell your dad to keep his damn horse at home.” He laughed at his own joke.
In a few minutes I was headed back to Dad’s house. “Well, Mauser, what’d you think about all that?”
He butted my head with his and flung slobber down the side of my face.
“Let me guess, ice cream? You really think you deserve a treat for barking at that old man?”
He bumped my head again—a clear answer. “Fine, Buster’s it is.”
It was only a slight detour to get him a cup of vanilla and a waffle cone for myself. Mauser is well known at Buster’s and the woman working the window greeted him by name. She asked where the sheriff was, but didn’t seem to remember me from the half dozen times I’d come by. That’s life in the shadow of my dad and his dog, I thought.
Chapter Four
Half an hour after midnight Dad came through the door looking tired. Mauser greeted him with a couple of loud barks and gently taking his arm in his mouth. Dad patted the side of Mauser’s head and ruffled his ears.
“My God, it makes you feel old hearing about everyone’s illnesses, their grandchildren, divorces and dead spouses.” He sat down on the couch and Mauser got up beside him, dropping his head into his lap.
“Did the boy treat you all right?” he asked the Dane, scratching him behind his ears.
“I even got him ice cream,” I said without thinking where it might lead.
“Why’d you go out?”
To get the dog ice cream would not have been believed. “I drove over to one of your old haunts.”
“How’s that?” I’d piqued his interest. Probably not the best idea.
“The Daniels house. The fire last night.”
“The arson. I didn’t realize it was their house. Knew it was close. Isn’t that Matt’s investigation?” His eyes narrowed. He was paying full attention now.
“It is. I just thought I’d take a look at it.”
“Bullshit. You don’t take on extra work for the fun of it. Did he ask you to look at it?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “No. ’Cause he doesn’t like you. You don’t like him. So knock it off.”
He’d worked himself into a mood. He was always quick to anger and even quicker to anger when he was tired. Time to change course.
“So you were hot on one of the Daniels girls?”
“Where the hell did you hear that?” he asked with more puzzlement than anger. Redirection was the best method to use on Dad.
“Talked to a fellow who lives across the street. Tom Canfield. Said that you used to hang out over there. He thought it was something to do with the girls.”
“Margret and Dell…” He got a wistful look on his face. “Margret was prettier, but had a mean streak. Dell would do anything for anybody. Both of them moved out of the area years ago. Margret was in my class. I kinda wondered if she’d be at the reunion tonight. Funny. Thinking about her for the first time in years and I come home and you bring her up.”
“So you had a thing for her?”
“I went out with Margret once. But that temper of hers ruined the evening. She stormed out of the theater and I spent an hour looking for her. High maintenance, for sure. Your mother was more my speed. Easygoing country girl. Margret married Jim Devries… You met her a few times when you were younger. ’Course, they’ve been divorced for years.”
I hadn’t realized that Margret Devries was Margret Daniels. I vaguely remembered her from trips with Dad to Mr. Devries’s farm. She’d never seemed like a farmer’s wife. I guess she wasn’t.
“Mr. Canfield made it sound like you spent a lot of time over there.”
“Not that much. But it seems like there was always a lot of drama around the Daniels house. Somehow that equated to excitement to us small town kids. There was a group of us. The two Daniels girls. Jim Devries. Fred Chandler. Fred died ten years ago in a car accident. Anyway, those were the regulars and then there were always a couple more girls or guys hanging out too. Margret and Dell’s parents both worked so we could get away with a little more there. Most of the rest of us had a mom or dad who was home after school.”
Dad’s mind returned to the present. He looked at me. “House burned down. That’s a shame. It was empty, right?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Daniels was the last one living in the house and, according to Mr. Canfield, Dell came and took her home to Tennessee o
r Georgia so she could take care of her.”
“A lot of the folks at the reunion are taking care of their parents. Wish my folks were still around, but I’m glad neither of them suffered long. Who could have burned down the house?”
“That’s what I was looking into.”
Wrong thing to say. “Well, knock it off. Leave it to Matt.” He eased Mauser’s head out of his lap and stood up. “I’m serious, stay away from that case.”
That did it. Having Dad tell me no just made me more stubborn and more determined to keep an eye on the arson case.
At noon on Wednesday I got a text from the coroner: Something you might want to see before we send the body to the morgue.
It was a great excuse to go for a drive. Our community was too small for its own hospital, so our coroner did his work out of a hospital in Tallahassee, about thirty-five minutes away. The leaves were changing and the weather was cool and dry. I rolled down the windows and lived for the moment.
Dr. Darzi was sewing up the giant “Y” incision in the victim’s chest as I came in.
“Ahh, good. Just in time.” His Indian accent and complexion were light. Not more than forty years old, he was a good-looking man with the confidence of one who is seldom wrong. We had met half a dozen times over victims: two or three car accidents, at least one stabbing and a gunshot.
“Come here, come here.” He waved me over. “Put some gloves on and help me turn him.”
I looked around to see if there was an assistant he was talking to. No one. He pointed to a box of plastic gloves. I didn’t mind looking at a dead body, but I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of touching one.
We awkwardly rolled the body over. Darzi waved his hands toward the victim’s ass and smiled wide. Reluctantly, I looked. There on the dead man’s right butt cheek was a tattoo about the size of a playing card. It was a quality piece of work, reading in gothic scroll “Kiss My Ass.” Now I smiled. A piece of art like that was going to make my job easier.
“Nice,” I said, inspecting it closer.
“A quality tattoo,” he said. I pulled out my phone and took a couple of pictures. He continued talking. “You’re lucky he was lying face down. The lividity. The blood went to his belly and not his backside.”