Morgan James - Promise McNeal 02 - Quiet Killing

by Morgan James

  “Da,” she answered. Then she said it again. “Da. Alba.”

  Sheriff Mac asked Alba if she knew how she got to MaMa Allen’s house. When she answered, car, and was quiet again, Dick Jest rolled his cigar between his thumb and forefinger several times, then spoke up. “Fantell’s daughter took Alba after the Knoxville fire. Came over to Hiawassee and told me about it. She’s a good girl, tried to do the right thing by Alba. Knew firsthand Nan and Pokey are lousy parents. They got no right to knock a kid around like that. Daughter’s old enough now to make it on her own, and says she’s done with them. No reason for her to take their crap any longer. I gave her some cash and she’s headed west.”

  Mac looked up from his note taking. “I heard what you said about the Fantell’s daughter telling you she’d left the child with Mrs. Allen, but what made you think Alba was in danger.”

  Jest twisted around in his chair, maybe trying to get more comfortable on the hard oak bottom. As I watched him, I was struck by how well such a small man accommodated himself to a world built for taller humans. His clothes were expertly tailored. He obviously drove his own vehicle, was about to take on a new business, and had the guts to show up at the Perry County Sheriff’s Department when he knew a child was in danger. Good for him.

  The Shoulda-Woulda-Coulda Committee chimed in: Hello, hello, Dr. McNeal. Well duh…none of that depends on a person’s height. Now does it? For once, they were right. I shushed them so I could hear Jest’s answer.

  “Well Sheriff, I’m ashamed to say that my son was arrested for possession of drugs again. I knew he didn’t have any money, so when I went to the jail to talk to him about making his bail, I grilled him on where he got the cash to buy drugs. He wanted out, so he told me about selling information to that young lady over there.” Jest used his cigar to point at Susan. “He also told me he’d called Pokey Fantell and sold him information that the young lady was curious about Alba. When I traced her cell phone number to Perry County, I figured she wasn’t with the insurance company. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but knowing Pokey Fantell, I knew there would be trouble.”

  Susan confirmed. “Yeah, we paid Tempi Jest a hundred dollars to tell us what he knew. I guess his bail was more than that?”

  Jest didn’t bat an eye. “Don’t know. I refused to clean up his mess this time. Not after what he did.” He paused, and then said sadly, “The boy has no honor. He’s a great disappointment.”

  I was thinking: a broken nose from Susan, thinks drugs are the answers to life’s hard questions, sitting in a Georgia jail, your own father believes you have no honor, and your mother was a Basque—whatever that means. Almost made me feel sorry for the punk. Then I remembered his predatory smile when he thought he had Susan trapped. Never mind. No sympathy.

  After asking Dick Jest a couple of questions about where the Fantells might be, Mac adjourned the meeting. The decision was made for Missy/Alba and Mrs. Allen to stay temporarily at Mac’s house. Mac said it was because of the bad weather, but I think he wanted them safe with him, just in case the Fantells decided to return.

  The plan was for Mac to take them with him in his Bronco along with Daniel and Jest, whose car was back at the Perry County Sheriff’s Department. He’d drop Daniel at my house where his truck was parked, and Daniel would drive back to Mrs. Allen’s for Susan and me. A little complicated, but logical considering the snow.

  After gathering a few things in a bag for herself and the child, Mrs. Allen kissed Susan goodbye and gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder. Daniel told us he’d be back in twenty minutes or less. “Be careful,” I told him. “We’ll watch for you. If the drive is too slippery, blow the horn; we’ll hike down to the truck.” Once the words left my mouth, I realized I’d spoken to him just as I would have spoken to my son at age fourteen. Sorry, a mother will always be a mother.

  Daniel didn’t seem aggravated by my giving him directions. “Don’t worry about me, Babe,” he quipped back. “I’m mountain bred, remember? Got me a four-wheel drive Ford truck; snow chains in the back, and Redman chewing tobacco on the dash.”

  Humor: the great stress reliever.

  Susan and I shivered on Mrs. Allen’s back porch and waved goodbye. Mac’s Bronco slid sideways as he turned around in the new snow, but he soon righted the vehicle and drove slowly down the hill. We were alone for the first time since we entered the cave up on Fire Mountain.

  “How do you suppose those Fantell people found MaMa so quickly?”

  I was wondering the same thing. “I’m guessing once they had your cell number they used a cross directory to get your address. Then they followed you around. You’ve probably been over here a lot in the past two days, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But I sure didn’t notice a van following me.”

  “The other possibility is that the daughter told them where she dropped Missy, I mean Alba. Though from what Jest said, that is unlikely. No, I’d go with them following you and maybe seeing Missy out in the yard.”

  “Okay miss person-with-all-the-answers, there is one thing I have to know.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Up there in the Cave. I’m pretty sure I smelled sulfur just before Missy threw the fire. Did she have a box of kitchen matches? If so, it must have been the biggest box on record to make that much fire. Or did she have something else, something really flammable hidden in her pockets?”

  “She’s wearing pajamas, remember. No pockets”

  “Then how did she make the fire?”

  “I have no idea,” I answered, and that was the truth.

  28

  It was bone-chilling cold for the last days of March, nine inches of snow at higher elevations, and six down where I lived on Fells Creek. Not a lot by New Hampshire standards, but for us the world played in slow motion until the snow plows worked their way around the county to the side roads.

  Granny’s Store remained closed. Daniel and Susan were busy at home ushering cows in and out of the barn to keep them from freezing to death in the fields. Daniel swore he was selling every cow he owned at the April auction. Too much work, he said, especially for a man about to be a restaurant owner. After sundown on that first day of the snow, I saw Mac pull into Fletcher’s drive and lure Hubert into his barn with a bunch of carrots. With the long day he’d had, I was proud of him for venturing out again to do a neighbor a favor.

  My goat girls are smarter than Daniel’s cows. They bedded down in their house by dark on the first snow night, and there they stayed, assured I would hike out in the cold to bring grain and fresh water. The charred rubble-mound of the hay barn, now covered by clean fluffy snow, reminded me I needed to hire a contractor to rebuild, but with the weather and all the drama of the past two weeks, I was too exhausted to deal with the challenge. It could wait until spring returned. For the next few days, I was content to stay near the fireplace as much as I could, cuddle my two cats, and listen to Alfie’s life story. He is good company and I was glad he’d stayed.

  Sometime during the three days we were snowbound, Pokey and Nan Fantell ran a stop sign in Pickens, South Carolina and were arrested on three outstanding warrants. The first warrant was issued in Perry County for breaking into Mrs. Allen’s house; the second, also from Perry County, was for assaulting Mrs. Allen; the third was a federal warrant for child trafficking. It seems the orphanage, Alba’s home for the past eight years, and the Hungarian government took an aggressive European search international after they learned the child was seen leaving the playgrounds with a couple identified as American circus performers.

  On day four of the big snow, I met Susan at the entrance to the Perry County Hospital. I quizzed her as we moved through the automatic glass doors to the lobby. “So what did you find out from Mac? What will happen to Missy, I mean Alba? Will she go back to the orphanage?”

  “Probably. We were over at MaMa’s last night and Mac said the Hungarian Embassy in DC is waiting for a person from the orphanage to come over. Course MaMa was cryi
ng the whole time Mac was talking.

  “Then a woman from the orphanage called the house and talked to Alba. They were speaking Hungarian so I don’t know what was said, but when she hung up, oh Lord, you should have seen the look on the child’s face. All smiles. She went over to MaMa and hugged her, and then she said, “Da. Home. Thank you.” The child looked so happy. MaMa cried about a gallon bucket full of tears. I know her heart was breaking, but once she saw Alba wanted to go home she didn’t say anything else about fighting to keep her.

  “Sweet old MaMa. When she was cried out she said to me, ‘Honey, it’s like I say, a family is who takes care of you. If she’s happier over in Hungary, then so be it.’ But on the other hand, I got to tell you, I worry about what might happen when Alba gets to DC.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Susan smiled. “What if she changes her mind and decides she wants to stay with MaMa? If they try to take her away, she might burn the Embassy down. I mean, what if she starts throwing those fireball things at the Hungarian Ambassador? We could have ourselves another world war.”

  “I know you’re trying to be funny, but come on, we don’t know if Alba has any fireballs things or not. It could have been plain old kitchen matches up there in the cave.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but do you really think a box of matches would stay dry if you left them in a cave for days? And you said yourself that she didn’t have pockets in her pajamas to carry them up there the morning she ran. And what size box would it take to make a fireball that big? No, I’m telling you Alba knows a way to make fire.”

  “Umm. I don’t know. Maybe a circus magic trick. It is peculiar.”

  “I’m going to ask her.”

  “Okay, ask her. Can’t hurt,” I said to Susan, though I didn’t really think Alba would tell. “Come on. Let’s go visit before they bring lunch. I don’t want to be in the room when Fletcher pitches a fit about the food.”

  He looked smaller, swallowed by the half-raised hospital bed. Left leg in a cast and hanging from some sort of pulley suspended above the white, blanketed surface of the bed. Neck brace. Right arm resting in a sling against his body. I wouldn’t say my neighbor was thrilled to see us, but he was polite.

  “Daughter’s been coming regular. Worrying the fool out of me with all her hovering and yakking. I don’t need nothing but to get the hell out of here.”

  I took his comment as a hint that our visit should be short, and got to the point. “We just want you to know we are thinking about you, and grateful you’re going to be all right.”

  “Yeah, I’m old but too mean to kill. Mac stopped by yesterday. Reckon the Goddard twins will be cooling their heels in jail for a while. No loss to Perry County, that’s for sure. They’ve been sorry pieces of humanity since they took their first step. I even heard tell when they owned the place you bought, they was selling homegrown marijuana from the store.”

  Susan and I shared a knowing smile. “Yes, I think I heard that somewhere myself. By the way, I’m selling Granny’s Store to Susan and Daniel. They’re opening up a restaurant.”

  Fletcher thought about that idea for a few seconds. His injuries must’ve impaired his ability to lob critical bombs at me, because he replied almost approvingly, “That a fact? Sounds like a humdinger idea to me. Gonna make some respectable North Carolina barbecue?”

  Susan replied, “You bet. Gotta have good barbecue.” There was a pause while she stood up and took a couple of steps closer to the bed. Fletcher recoiled into the bedcovers; maybe worried that Susan was going to hug him. I’m sure she knew better. “Mr. Enloe, I’m real sorry about The Red Bird. I know your heart must be broken about it being so torn up and all.”

  Fletcher bristled and let out a derisive snort. “Ain’t nothing gonna stay broke, little girl. I done got her hauled over to Tucker’s Body Shop. That boy’s daddy used to work with me and my brothers back in the day. He’s a good’un. Knows his stuff. He’ll do right by Bird. She’ll be rebuilt better than me.”

  “No kidding? That is really good news. I’ll look forward to seeing you driving her in the parade again this year. Listen, I hope you get well fast so you can go home. I’m going to wait out in the hall for Miz P. You take care.”

  Fletcher nodded and Susan left, closing the door. We really hadn’t planned for her to leave me alone with Fletcher, but I was glad to have a few minutes with him. “So the twins found your ruby mine,” I said as soon as she left.

  He stared at me with those Enloe electric-blue eyes, probably gauging whether he was going to tell me the rest of the story or not. I waited. After several moments, I won the silent treatment game and he spoke. “It won’t the rubies worth a pretty piece. I ain’t found much of them over the years.” He paused, reached for the glass of water from the bedside table. After sipping through a straw, he continued. “Hit’s them chunky green stones that are worth the digging. Green garnets. Worth a lot more per carat than any local ruby. The way I figure it, the Goddard boys didn’t notice the green rocks. They was looking for red rubies. Course, I can’t know that for sure till I get back up to the mine and see what all they stole. I understand those ignorant, no-count twins shot off a couple of rounds in there and left me with a fallen down ceiling and few tons of rocks to sift though.” He smirked. “Course, might’ve done me a favor and blown out a bigger vein than the one I was working.”

  We sat quietly, each waiting for the other to get around to the heavier subject. He finally danced up to it. “I figure you found the other room.”

  I nodded. “Yes, we did.”

  “Shoulda known. Can’t leave nothing alone, can you?”

  “I guess not. Is that where you found my great grandmother’s and the baby’s bones?”

  “Yeah, I found them early on after I bought the land from old man Sorley. They were together on that stone ledge. Used up, old yellow candles sitting around, and Ezekiel 37 scratched on the wall above them. Don’t know what the hell that was all about, but I buried them near the cabin along side where old January was buried.”

  “Who buried January?”

  “Don’t know for certain. Maybe one of the Sorleys. They got the land back once January died. I reckon maybe cause your granddaddy was still a child. I figure none of them ever knew about Reba and the child being in the cave, or I reckon they would’ve buried them back in the Methodist cemetery.”

  “Is there a marker for the graves?”

  “Of course there is a marker. You don’t think I’d just dump them in the ground without a way for folks to remember them and say a prayer now and again, do you? If you look beside that big old forsythia bush up there, you’ll see a flat piece of granite put down to mark all three McNeals. When I found Reba and the baby, somebody had cut a wooden cross from a rowan tree to mark January’s grave. It’s long gone, but the granite is still there. I’m sorry you came up on the cave. I’d never taken you back in there. I was meaning to show you the graves, but never the cave.”

  “Did you say a rowan tree?”

  “That’s right. Two or three up there on top. Pretty red berries in the fall.”

  “Aren’t rowan trees said to keep away evil spirits?”

  Fletcher frowned “I don’t know nothing about that foolishness. You’d have to ask Honoree Allen about that. She’s the one keeps up with all those old wives tales. Talking about spirits singing little songs and moving about up on Fire, a lot of caca-noodle, if you ask me. She’s a sweet lady, and her tea tree soap is the best in the state, but my stars she does come up with some tall tales.”

  29

  I left Fletcher’s room to join Susan and found her at the end of the hall, her back to me. I walked in her direction and as she turned aside, I saw she was talking with none other than the Rev. Kolb, and her new friend, Sam. Being the gentleman, Rev. Kolb rose to his feet as I approached. “Good afternoon, Ms. McNeal. How delightful to see you. The Rev. Quinn and I were sharing a few interdenominational observations, following our respective shut-in visits. And whom shoul
d we meet, but the lovely Susan Allen. I understand she and Rev. Quinn are newly acquainted.”

  Susan looked sheepish and muttered to me, “Don’t look so shocked. I told you Sam had a day job. Didn’t I?”

  How interesting. Why was Susan so flustered? Was she uneasy because her new friend was a pastor? Not like Susan to be intimidated. I raised an eyebrow to Susan and took Rev. Kolb’s outstretched hand. “Nice to see you, Rev. Kolb. Please sit down.” He shook my hand politely and sat. I offered my hand to Rev. Quinn. She took it and closed a small, but determined, hand around mine. “Rev. Quinn? Is that correct?’ She nodded yes and smiled, more at Susan I think, than at me. “I’m Promise McNeal. I’m pleased to meet you. Are you affiliated with one of the local churches?”

  Susan gave me one of her you-are-being-nosy-again looks. Rev. Quinn tilted her head, ever so slightly, and kept her easy, comforting smile. “No ma’am,” she answered pleasantly, “I’m visiting a parishioner who became ill over here. I’m with St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Asheville. Assistant Rector. Please call me Sam, everyone does.”

  We sat with the reverends for a few minutes chatting about the weather, the efficiency of the Perry County Hospital, and the high price of gasoline in North Carolina, until Rev. Kolb excused himself for a luncheon meeting at First Methodist. The conversation drifted over to how I came to leave my Atlanta counseling practice and move to Western North Carolina, Sam’s pottery hobby, and Susan’s banjo playing abilities. The easy banter between the two young women told me they were better acquainted than Susan had admitted. How interesting that Susan would be almost secretive about her friendship with Rev. Quinn. I considered again that Susan was uncomfortable with Sam Quinn being an Episcopal priest. Somehow that didn’t ring true. Not at all like Susan.