by Scott Cook
Darn it.
I informed Trobridge about what had happened and strongly suggested that he immediately phone the Polk County Sheriff as well as hire a private security firm. He was understandably distressed and said he’d take my advice.
So I sat in my Jeep and watched as a considerable number of fluffy clouds began to roll in from the southeast. Another cold front might be moving in or perhaps the effects department had finally figured out that what this cemetery setting lacked was masked sunlight.
The first message was from Lisa. It only said that she’d found out some things and that she’d run into trouble and to call her. The second message was strange and a little eerie.
“Mr. Jarvis. We’ve never met, but I know who you are,” the voice was deep and had a hint of Florida cracker in it. “I find myself in need of some assistance and for a variety of reasons… I think you’re the only man who can help. For other reasons, I don’t want to say more. I’ve texted you an address. Please meet me there at midnight tonight. Oh… and it was me that sent you the package.”
For a moment, I didn’t understand the message. I looked at my texts and there was indeed an address… or rather, an intersection. County Road 751 and the Tamiami Trail. At first I couldn’t understand the shiver that ran up my spine until the pieces finally fit together.
That was the gas station where Shade had switched from Paul Franco’s SUV to a big custom made pickup. A truck that he took Lisa and Cynthia Bartlett out into the Everglades in… and where he’d left the body of the truck’s owner.
“But the package…?” I asked the inside of my Jeep and then the bulb snicked on. “Oh… the package…”
The caller was, or at least I thought he was, referring to a small package containing several random items that convinced me that Shade, a madman I’d dealt with last summer, was indeed dead.
I had my suspicions as to who the mystery caller was. Although he didn’t identify himself, I felt like he’d left me enough clues to figure it out. Of course, it could be a trap. I didn’t see that I had much choice, though. One way or another, when on a case and when you get a mysterious phone call, you have to follow it up.
I’m pretty sure I read that in the back of a Dick Tracy comic one time.
I could go and see Sharon… which I probably should anyway… and let her hear the voice. Yet I was almost certain that the mysterious caller asking for my help was Rick Eagle Feather.
When my phone rang with Lisa’s special ring tone, it drew me out of my reverie. I realized a little sheepishly that I hadn’t returned her call.
“Good evening and thank you for calling Paul Bearer, the world’s most spook-tacular in-specter!” I said in a sepulchral voice. “Make no bones about it… I can dig up anything you require, no matter how grave… ah-ah-ah-ah…”
A moment of silence and then it sounded like a giggle broke free, “Oh… my… God! Seriously, baby… do you need to talk to somebody?”
“I’m talking to you right now, love,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
She laughed, “This isn’t the time to be silly.”
“Now that’s just a bald-faced untruth. So how’s your day going, muffin-nips?”
She snorted, “Oh, just dandy. How about you? Check out the cemetery?”
I chuckled, “Oh, yeah. Talked to the security guard and he pulled a gat on me.”
“Well… I went to the library and got in a fist fight with a skinhead.”
I sighed dramatically, “Nobody likes a one-upper, Lisa… Are you okay?”
“Yeah… I chased him off… but it was weird. He knew who we are and that we’re working on this case. Said we should lay off.”
I pondered that for a moment, “My guy did the same thing. That seems really strange, considering that Palermo didn’t even hire us until yesterday. What are you doing now?”
“I’m at the office now, updating the file.”
“You sure you’re okay? You want me to come?” I asked.“Repeatedly,” She said with a reassuring giggle. “I’m fine, baby. No big deal. I did find out some rather interesting bits of information, though.”
“Lay it on me.”
She told me about the family connection between Ezekiel Tobias, Lucinda Granger and Rick Eagle Feather. Apparently Zeke was Lucinda’s grandfather by marriage and Rick’s great grandfather by blood… and Rick and George Nolen had a storied and mysterious past together…
“So what the hell were in those graves that somebody needed to dig them up?” I mused. “And are there going to be other grave robberies?”
“Maybe it’s time we talked to Sharon and this Uncle Rick guy,” Lisa opined.
I sighed, “Well, that brings up another point… I got a message from a man who doesn’t I.D. himself, but that wants me to meet him at a gas station on the Tamiami Trail tonight at midnight.”
I let that sink in, and it didn’t take long, “That gas station where Shade took Cynthia and me? Who the hell is this guy?”
“I think its Uncle Rick,” I said. “Because he said that he was the one that mailed me the package. It fits.”
There was a pause in which I could see Lisa in my mind’s eye thinking about what I’d said. She’d be sitting at my desk and biting her lower lip and I smiled thinking that I’d rather do that myself.
“Could it be a trap?”
“Sure. As I see it, though, I have little choice. It’s about a three-hour drive, so I need to leave O-town by nine… but there is some other investigationing that needs doing in the meantime.”
“Geez… one day and this is already a tangled-up mystery mess.”
“All things can be resolved, Watson, through the application of logic,” I Sherlocked. “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.”
“Well, as Mark Twain put it… when we remember that we’re all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained,” She said airily.
“You think you’re cool.”
“I believe that’s been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, baby.”
I chuckled, “All right… it’s lunchtime. Why don’t you order us some delectable food stuffs and have it delivered? I’m headed back downtown now. Be about a half hour, I think. We can plan our next moves then. I’m gonna try and get ahold of Sharon.”As I drove out of the cemetery property, I pondered the circumstances. Two separate individuals threaten Lisa and I to stay off the case. Three graves have been dug up that are all connected by a thread of relation and something else. That something else is probably the more important item. Further, and I had to remind myself not to forget this, Virginia Chandler’s new property was the target of some shenanigans. I had no proof now, yet I couldn’t dismiss that as coincidence. The housing development was connected, too. More than simply because it was only a few miles away from the cemetery. No more than seven or eight as the crow flies.
I dialed Sharon and was a little surprised when her voice came through my speakers, “Nolen.”
“Hey, it’s me,” I said.
“I know, Scott… not sure if you realize this or not, but when you call a cell phone, the screen will display the name of the incoming call.”
“I’m not familiar.”
No laugh, which was telling, “What’s up?”
I drew in a breath, “I’ve… got some news. I’ve also got some questions. The other two graves that were vandalized are connected to your Uncle Rick. And I think he left me a message to meet him tonight down in the Glades.”
She was silent for so long that I thought maybe she’d hung up on me. Finally she said: “What do you want to know?”
I was getting mildly annoyed at her evasiveness. In the past I’d let this particular subject alone. She didn’t like talking about her dad or her family or anything. When she did talk about Rick Eagle Feather, which was rare, she did so with affection, at least. Now, however, it was no longer just a personal issue.
“Sharon,” I began, maintaining a neutral tone. “I need to
know everything. I need to know about your dad and Rick, I guess.”
“My dad is a raw wound Scott and you know that… why can’t you just— “
“Goddammit, Sharon,” I said a little more firmly. “The woman whose grave was exhumed was Rick’s mother. The civil war soldier his great maternal grandfather. Your dad’s coffin, if my source is to be believed, was empty. As in, it had never contained a person in the first place. This morning, both Lisa and I were threatened and warned off by two separate people. One the security guard at the graveyard in my case and some kind of punk skinhead at the downtown library in Lisa’s. Now I’m sorry if this is painful for you… I really am… but some bad shit is behind all this and you are connected. I need your help.”
“I can’t help you,” She said flatly. “You said you were meeting Uncle Rick… so let him tell you the story. He knows more about it anyway.”
I felt myself getting mad now. I was sorry for her pain but how bad could it really be? She didn’t know her dad most of her life and only talked to him a little before he died. I’d known Sharon for over ten years and she’d never expressed this much emotion about her family. Even when her dad was alive and she was talking to him.
“I’m meeting him at midnight and I don’t even know if it’s him,” I said irritably. “It could be a trap, Sharon. For Christ’s sake, I’m sorry this is bothering you, but you can’t simply stick your head in the sand and— “
“Just leave me alone! For fuck’s sake, Scott! Can’t you just fucking leave me alone about this!”
“No, I can’t,” I said calmly. “Sharon—"
“Go to hell, Jarvis!”
The connection was broken. I simply sat there, gazing out at the traffic ahead of me on I-4. I was stunned. I hadn’t expected her to explode like that. It wasn’t like her at all.
I blew out my breath, “Well, that went swimmingly…”
8
“So what do we do about all this shit?” Lisa asked as we sat around my desk and enjoyed a variety of Asian-centric food items.
“You mean this chow mein and fried rice?” I asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna gnaw that S right down to the bottom of the container, baby-cakes.”
She chuckled, “Shithead. You know what I mean. The gun toting skin head security guards and what not.”
“Oh! The case… yes… yes…” I chewed thoughtfully on a beef teriyaki on a stick. I really love food on a stick. “Well, the first thing we need to do is find the connection. For both of these dudes to accost us almost simultaneously and deliver the same basic message is certainly intriguing and must therefore be considered a vital bit of info. What it means in relation to Mr. Palermo’s case I don’t know, though.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is bigger than his own concerns?” Lisa asked.
“Because I do too. We now know, thanks to your diligence, that there is a connection between the three disturbed graves. We also know, thanks to my diligence, that Sharon’s dad was not buried in the grave with the fake name that was used for him. That alone is really weird on a couple of levels.”
“Yeah… like where is he really buried?”
I chuffed, “No idea. But maybe if some of the tales are true, he was moved out of state or something to protect him or to protect Sharon? No clue.”
Lisa sighed and slurped up some lo mein, “Do you think meeting with Rick Eagle Feather will shed some light on things?”
I nodded, “Yes, no matter what happens. Right now, we’re in that early stage of information deficit. Yet with everything that occurs, we learn more.”
She grinned, “Jarvis’ law. I believe you’ve written a monograph on the subject.”
I have not,” I peeved.
“I’d like to do something, though,” Lisa said. “I hate reacting to others. I prefer initiating action.”
I grinned at her, “A girl after my own heart. Now… when you say action…”
“Yes, I am partially referring to the fondlement of your dangly portions,” Lisa said wryly. “However, I’m also referring to… like… our job and stuff.”
“Boring.”
“So what’s our next move, Spenser?”
“Well, aside from me meeting Uncle Rick finally,” I said. “We have several things we can do. For one, I’d like to drive back out to Davenport and check out Virginia’s property. Specifically, the section where the artifacts were uncovered. Second, I’d like to put eyes on this Clint Proust douchebag. See what he does and where he goes. I’ve got his home address from the cemetery records.”
The clear morning had clouded over significantly and a distant low rumble of thunder filtered in through the open windows. Lisa raised a brow at me, “Sounds like dirty weather, Skip.”
“Well, then we’ll take in a reef and batten down, Mr. Gonzalez there,” I said. “And honestly, that may work in our favor. Easier to tail somebody in foul weather and also less likely to run into ne’er-do-wells in the rain poking around a construction area.”
“Should we go together?”
“Yes and no. I think we should switch vehicles. I’m not totally sure, but I figure Proust might have seen my Jeep. Either that or I put you on him… In the meantime, we can both drive out to the Chandler Homes property and check it out. Might want to stop at the house and grab our foulies, though.”
“What about tonight?” She asked a little nervously.
“What about it?”
She sighed, “Am I coming? Or are you gonna drive off into the night, alone, and go into a potentially dangerous situation without any foreknowledge or a backup plan.”
“Probably the second one,” I said. “Why? What’s the problem?”
She scoffed, “Jesus… has that ever worked out well for you?”
I grinned, “In a sense, no… yet in another, yes. It always leads me to something vital, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah… or a bullet wound, a sap, a doping…” Lisa grumbled.
“Good point… you go then. I’ll sit home and watch reruns of Friends or something.”
“Dick.”
“What about it?”
“You’re a dick.”
“I’m not following.”
Lisa glared but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, “I am comparing your actions and attitudes to that of a penis.”
“I’m not familiar,” I intoned and chuckled. “And I thought you liked dicks?”
“Not really… I only tolerate yours because I have to.”
“I appreciate the levels of selflessness toward which you strive,” I rejoined.
“Pfft! Oh God yeah… compared to me, that Gandhi was a selfish prick.”
As I turned off 192 and onto Formosa Gardens, I mused that this would’ve been a better time to go to the cemetery. The sky was completely blanketed by dark gray clouds and a steady winter rain came down. Not in buckets as you might expect in the summer, but something between a drizzle and a pour. Even at four o’clock in the afternoon, there was the impression of impending night. Many streetlights were on and just about everyone had their headlights burning. If it didn’t clear, then normal sundown, which would’ve been around six in the evening, would come in about an hour.
Lisa and I decided that we’d proceed to the construction site with about ten minutes between us. She’d follow me and show up a little after I did. Just in case there were any shenanigans, I’d have a backup. We’d already been warned once… twice if you count the warnings separately… and it could be that the next time would be more adamant.
And yes, I had no doubt that there would be a next time.
I turned right onto Funie Steed and drove for about a half mile before coming to the obvious future home of an as-yet developed sub-division. A swath of land had been mostly cleared of trees, although not entirely, and the bare patch of land stood out starkly against the thick foliage that surrounded it.
I was a little surprised to see that some work had already begun. This property, as mentioned, had been starte
d a decade earlier and then abandoned. However, I didn’t know that Chandler Homes had already progressed so far. For one thing, the obligatory facing wall had already been constructed along Funie Steed, or at least a portion of it. This portion included a large entryway with island and a guard house that would eventually preside over the gates. The main street had already been paved and based on the few random transformers that surrounded the road, electric, water and possibly sewer systems had already been installed.
This was convenient, the road that is, because with more than an hour’s rainfall, the bare white sand that made up most of the property was now a dull gray and considerably muddy. The central loop went all the way to the back of the property, perhaps half a mile or more deep and then out again. That was also convenient, as the potential pre-Columbian artifact site was to be found in the southwest corner near the meandering lakes.
I’d called Virginia before leaving the office and she told me exactly where the surveyors had found what they’d found. Although the site was unmarked, probably a wise precaution now that things seemed to connect. Based on the landmarks, I was able to find the spot with relative ease.
I was already wearing my foul weather gear, including the parka and waders. Instead of sneakers, I’d donned my dive booties. No sense in ruining even an old pair of running shoes with mud. Not to mention that the temperature was dropping and cold wet socks and sneaks just wasn’t much fun.
I was glad for the gear, because the spot at the back corner of the property was a fairly long way from the road. At least a hundred yards or more. Either these were going to be big lots, or I was venturing out on what might someday grow up to be a cul-de-sac. The land sloped down slightly and I had to walk through a loose stand of scrub pine and oaks to get to the edge of the cleared portion that would eventually be a neighborhood. The cleared land ended abruptly at a short decline that angled down to a large lake, although it almost seemed more like a river at this point. These would no doubt become valuable waterfront lots when the place was being sold out.