Coming of Winter

by Tom Threadgill

  “You know I’m right.”

  “What I know is that if you don’t do what you’re told, you’ll end up in here a whole lot longer.”

  He exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling. “Fine. Subject change then. Did Rebecca’s dad have any problem keeping her this week?”

  The nurse entered the room, silenced the alarm, and turned to Maggie. “Can you do anything with him?”

  “I’m not sure anyone can.”

  “We’ll take care of that in a little while. The doctor prescribed a sedative so he’ll rest, hopefully for the rest of my shift.”

  Maggie smiled at her. “They don’t pay you enough.”

  “I know that’s right.” She cut her eyes toward Jeremy before leaving. He cleared his throat. “I can hear you, you know.”

  Maggie patted his arm. “Uh-huh. I’m guessing they have a betting pool on how long before one of them snaps.”

  “And I’m usually such a people person. Must be the drugs. So how’s Rebecca?”

  “Great. My ex was thrilled to get her for the week.”

  “How did she feel about going?”

  Maggie shrugged. “She said she’d rather come here and go to the zoo again.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Oh. She also said she wanted another chocolate shake from that diner.”

  Jeremy squeezed her hand. “That was a good day. Nothing else?”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “She sent that and told me to tell you she missed you and would—let me make sure I get this right— ‘tell Jesus to fix you up quick.’ You’re in the regular rotation for her bedtime prayers. Mine too.”

  Emptiness swept through his stomach up to his chest, and he sniffled. “I miss that little fireball.”

  Maggie nuzzled against his face before kissing his cheek. “Somebody needs a shave.”

  “What I really need is my laptop.”

  “Uh-uh. No work. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Seriously? I’m not wasting the next two days laid up in here. I’ll go insane.” He lowered his voice. “It’s in my car. I just want to clear out my email. Catch up on a couple of things.”

  “Can’t you do that on your phone?”

  Jeremy stroked the back of her hand. “I can do some of it, but I need access to a few files. Please?”

  Maggie frowned, shook her head, and lifted a padded black case from behind her chair. “I swear, you’re worse than Rebecca. Here. You can use mine, but only for a few minutes. I’m not leaving. And if the doctor asks, you didn’t get this from me. Agreed?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You thought about how this affects your plans? Still going to resign?”

  He unzipped the laptop case and handed her the power cord. “Doesn’t change anything. Bailey’s got it all worked out. The full package—pension and insurance. And now, with all this, it gives the Bureau more ammo to relegate me to a nice, quiet desk in the corner of some tiny FBI satellite office.”

  She grinned and plugged the power cord into a wall outlet. “Insurance? I figured an old guy like you’d be on Medicare.”

  “Don’t make me call the nurse.”

  Maggie pulled the sheet higher and placed a blanket across his legs. “They wouldn’t come if you called. Besides, there’s no need. I’m already here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Mason shifted in the tractor’s seat and glanced back at the planter. The device had six containers, but only the four in the middle worked properly. They spat out one seed every three and a half inches, a tighter spacing than most farms preferred, but if conditions were right, he’d boost his yield. The two broken containers would have to wait for more money and another year. Hopefully.

  It’d take longer to get the seed in the ground, but not enough to be a concern. There was plenty of time and, if the weather cooperated and prices stayed high, he’d turn a decent profit. Not enough to pay off everything, but a good start. By early or mid-October, the fields would be white as snow with the cotton.

  Snow. Funny how a word could take you back in time. Sometimes the recollections weren’t good ones, but this one was. A little snow, a lot of stress, and a hunt that ended in a clean kill. A memory to be cherished.

  .......

  It had happened a couple of years ago. October was rainy, putting a damper on attendance to the maze. Money was tighter than usual, and it looked like Santa would be skipping their house again this year. By early December, he was ready to explode.

  A trip to Arkansas eased his stress. Two or three inches of wet snow covered the ground in Village Creek State Park, and the overcast sky kept most people indoors. Too late in the day to hunt deer, but that wasn’t on his agenda anyway.

  A lone vehicle, an older white Mercury Marquis with handicap tags, was parked near a trailhead with one set of footprints leading off into the woods. He stopped near it, stepped outside, and glanced casually inside the car. Only two hours from home, Paula would have plenty of time to get here to help move the vehicle if his hunt was successful.

  After a last look around, he followed the tracks into the woods. It was too risky to carry his rifle since this clearly was not a hunting area. He did, however, have his pistol and hunting knife, though if the situation seemed safe, he wanted to try something different today. Just his hands.

  He quickly spotted the hiker shuffling along not far ahead. The woman had to be in her mid-seventies and leaned heavily on her walking stick, but still managed a decent pace. Not so fast, though, that he’d have any trouble getting ahead of her and planning the attack.

  Mason closed the gap between them and, when he was near enough, cleared his throat and coughed so he wouldn’t startle her. She stopped and turned around, then pulled her scarf away from her mouth and waved.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Thought I’d have the place to myself today.”

  He smiled as he approached her. “Sorry. Was hunting not far from here and, since this is my first time in the area, I thought I’d check this place out in case I want to bring the family sometime.”

  “Well, this is a wonderful park. You can fish or ride horses, and the campground is very nice. How many children do you have?”

  “Two boys, and they’re a handful. They love being outside though, so this is just the kind of place they’d like. Let them burn off some energy, you know? Anyway, I won’t keep you. Enjoy your walk.” He quickened his pace and edged ahead of her.

  “I’d love the company if you don’t mind listening to the ramblings of an old woman.”

  Why not? “Be my pleasure. What brings you out here in such dreary weather?”

  She tapped her walking stick on the ground and moved forward. “I try to come every day for the exercise. Can’t walk if it gets too hot, but the cold doesn’t bother me much. I’m Gloria, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gloria. None of your friends come along?”

  “Not in this weather. Too afraid they’ll fall and break something. At our age, a broken bone can be a death sentence.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “You’re not afraid?”

  “If it happens, it happens. Just as likely I’ll fall going out to the mailbox, and I’m not going to sit on the couch all day. Can’t live that way.”

  “Of course not.” He turned to look back, then surveyed the trees on each side of them before studying the woman more closely. Her multiple layers of clothing probably weighed as much as she did. “How far do you usually walk?”

  “Depends on how I feel that day. I’ve probably got another fifteen minutes in me before I’ll turn around and head back.” Quick, tiny clouds of condensed breath punctuated the air around her mouth.

  His heartbeat accelerated, and he gestured toward the scarf around her neck. “You make that?”

  “I can’t do any knitting because of my arthritis. A friend made it for me. Red and white for the Razorbacks, and it’s very soft. Not itchy like a lot of them.” She stopped walking, turned to fa
ce him, and held out one end of the scarf. “Here, feel for yourself.”

  His chest muscles tensed as he glanced at her hands. Knobby knuckles and bent fingers. It’ll be a challenge piecing them back together. He caressed the edge of the scarf. “Soft and warm.” He reached for the other end of the cloth. “This side looks a bit frayed, though.”

  “Really?” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. I’ll get my friend to—”

  He gripped the scarf and pulled his arms apart, tightening the noose around her neck. A weak gasp escaped her mouth, and he wrapped the cloth around his fists for a tighter grip. Her pale face rapidly turned red, and he bent closer to peer into her blue-gray eyes before tugging harder. Her glare pierced him, and he glanced away, then told himself to be a man and returned her gaze.

  He’d thought that even at her age she’d put up more of a fight. Her frail hand grasped for her neck, but the effort was weak. Her mouth moved as though she wanted to say something, or maybe it was simply a fish-out- of-water reaction. There was no challenge, really. It was like wrestling with the boys and not holding anything back. A quick victory was assured. As if on cue, she raised her walking stick and swung it at his legs, but she had neither the leverage nor the strength to cause any damage.

  After a moment, the redness in her face transitioned to a bluish-white, and he raised his arms higher to support her weight. Her clear eyes rolled back in her head, and her arms hung limply at her side. He’d heard stories of people regaining consciousness several minutes after being thought dead, and that wasn’t going to happen with Gloria. He let her body slump to the ground, then pulled the scarf as tight as he could and tied it into a knot.

  When it was over, the expected peace returned to him. Surprisingly, there seemed to be no difference whether he killed from a distance or up close. There was no sense of it being more personal or fulfilling than any of his other hunts. Maybe because this one had been too easy? He’d have to try again with someone stronger.

  .......

  His cellphone rang and yanked him away from his reverie and back to his tractor. He glanced at the caller ID. Unknown number which meant a bill collector or telemarketer. Either way, they’d get no answer. He tossed the phone on the dash. Sounded like it might be time to plan another outing and find a new friend for Gloria.

  He turned the tractor and began dropping four more rows of cottonseed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Jeremy scanned the notes again before slapping his pen on the desk. Three days in the hospital hadn’t given him any fresh insights into the case. Director Bailey’s “welcome back to work, hope you’re feeling better” phone call had been a not-so-subtle reminder that the clock was still ticking on his career, though he’d at least reset the timer. This week and next, then sail off into retirement. Oh, and expect a call from Colonel Cronfeld. Maybe even a visit.

  Jeremy suspected that’s why his boss had been generous with the extra time. Cronfeld wanted him on the government payroll a bit longer. Sweeten the deal. Talk him out of quitting. Promise whatever as long as the agreement got signed.

  He glanced at the clock and realized an hour had passed. Time for a bit of exercise. Doctor’s orders and, more importantly, Maggie’s. He stood, grabbed his coffee mug, and headed for the break room. People smiled and nodded as he passed them. A few asked how he was feeling. The true answer was that although the blood clot was gone and the leg pain far less common, he was tired and cranky, though the actual response was somewhat less specific.

  “Fine.”

  He was relieved to find the break room empty. He hated making small talk, especially when he was the subject. Funny. He could sit with Maggie for hours, only speaking now and then, and be perfectly happy. Anyone else though, and the awkward gaps in the conversation ate at him.

  He dumped his cold coffee in the sink, rinsed his mug, and held the cup higher to get a better look. Could be his imagination, but it looked like the brown tinges inside the mug had darkened. Small victories.

  Back in his office, he browsed the get-well cards lining the windowsill. Most were generically signed by “the 2nd floor gang” or similar. How long was he supposed to leave them out before throwing them away? Greeting card etiquette wasn’t his strong suit.

  He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sank into his chair, and scanned his laptop’s inbox for anything important. All the messages appeared routine except one near the top. Troy Obion. Maybe he had news.

  “Hope you’re feeling better. Nothing new. Blackston’s ex-husband calls me at least once a week. I don’t know what to tell him so I say we’re still investigating it. I thought maybe it would help if we got together and brainstormed.”

  Jeremy propped his elbow on the desk, rested his head on his hand, and reread the email. Couldn’t hurt to bounce a few ideas off each other.

  He typed a return email. “Hi, Troy. Sounds good. Give me a call when you get a chance and we’ll set something up.”

  Less than a minute after sending the email, Jeremy’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and smiled. That was fast.

  “Hey, Troy. What’s up?”

  “Not much. Thanks for getting back to me so quick.”

  “No problem. Good to hear from you.”

  “Uh-huh. I figured it might do us both some good to get together and talk through the Blackston case. You know, face to face. Seems like nothing else is working at this point.”

  “Sounds like a plan. The more I try to find some sort of connection between these disappearances and murders, the further away I seem to get. Got anywhere in mind? I’ll come to you.”

  “There’s a little diner not too far from here. How about breakfast on Saturday? You pick the time.”

  “Early. Oh, and I’m going to send you a name to dig into. Duane Forsberg. Accidental death in Chickasaw National Wildlife Refuge. You know where that is?”

  “Up in the northwest corner of Tennessee. Who’s Duane Forsberg?”

  “In December six years ago, he was hiking and was killed with a single shot from a .30-06. The authorities wrote it off as a hunting accident even though he was in a section of the park posted as off-limits for hunters. They never found the shooter. Probably wouldn’t have charged him even if they had.”

  “Hunting accidents happen all the time. What makes you think this one’s connected?”

  “Pulled some quick data on Tennessee parks, you know, because of the license plate that might have been seen at the Thornquist site. Wondering if our guy killed anyone down that way. Forsberg’s death is the only unsolved one in a Tennessee park for the last decade, so I’m hoping there’s a link. Kind of thin, I know.”

  “I’ll make some phone calls and get a look at the file and autopsy report. See if they were able to get anything off the bullet and if they’ve run the details through the database lately.”

  “I appreciate it. And if you could keep this between us ...”

  “Hey, I’m glad to do it. Maybe we’ll actually have something to talk about at breakfast. Oh, and come hungry.”

  .......

  The plate was huge and entirely too small. Bacon strips hung over the edges, a biscuit held on for dear life, and some of the fried potatoes had already succumbed to gravity and fallen to the table. Jeremy sprinkled the scrambled eggs with pepper and watched as Troy squirted ketchup on his eggs and potatoes.

  “You gonna put that on the biscuit too?”

  The officer placed his bacon and biscuit on a napkin and mixed his plate’s remaining contents with the speed and precision of a hibachi restaurant chef. “Well, that would just be wrong, wouldn’t it? Honey or jelly for the biscuit. Sometimes both.”

  “Whatever gets you through the day, I guess.”

  Troy leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The waitress has a thing for me. You want extra biscuits, just let me know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m sure this’ll be more than enough. I’ll probably need a nap if I eat even half of it.”
<
br />   “I’ve heard that happens to old guys. Naps and whatnot.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to get that a lot.”

  Troy set down his fork and shifted in his seat. “Oh, hey, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just messin’ with you.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “I know. Don’t worry about it. That stuff doesn’t bother me. It’s like Ronald Reagan once said. ‘Don’t hold my age against me, and I won’t hold your youth and inexperience against you.’”

  “Reagan? I think I read about him back in high school. Wasn’t he—”

  The waitress stopped by the table and topped off their coffee. “Y’all doing okay? Can I get you anything, Troy?”

  The officer’s tanned round face took on a reddish tint, and he glanced up at the young woman. “Hey, Peggy. I’m good, thanks.”

  The blonde smiled and placed her hand on the back of the booth’s seat. “How about another biscuit?”

  “That would be great.”

  She winked at Jeremy and motioned toward Troy. “Careful. This one will talk your ear off.”

  “I’m learning that,” Jeremy said. “He was just telling me how much he enjoys coming here. Good food and better service. Says you always take such good care of him.”

  Troy used his fork to remix the eggs and potatoes, moving them from one side of his plate to the other, then focused intently on re-buttering his biscuit.

  “Is that right?” Peggy said. She patted the officer on the back. “Well, we do our best. Now, I’ve got to go take care of my other customers, but I’ll be back with that biscuit soon enough. You need anything else, you holler. Okay, Troy?”

  His eyes remained fixated on his plate. “Sure thing.”

  “What did I tell you? Talk your ear off.” She laughed and moved off to the next patrons.

  Jeremy pushed his plate away and rested his forearms on the table. “Why don’t you get it over with and ask her out? You know you want to. And even better, you know she wants you to.”

  Troy pulled his ball cap lower and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Did you come all this way to talk about my love life? Or lack of it?”