Sooner Dead

by David L Thornburg

  Frank hung up the phone. “How are you, son?”

  “Fine. Sorry I was almost late yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry. Everyone gets a little anxious when the Sanctuary is full. Do you want to grab some lunch?”

  Bronson appreciated the gesture, knowing that his father was booked for meetings at every meal.

  “No thanks. There’s something I wanted to run by you, though.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’d like to go down to Houston and observe our relief efforts there. Just see what’s going on.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Frank said, obviously glad Bronson was showing some initiative. “I’ll get a camera crew to go with you. It’ll make a great piece to show next week.” He reached for the phone.

  “Actually, Dad, I’d like to go quietly. I don’t want to turn it into a big PR thing yet. If it goes OK, I’ll send for the crew myself.”

  Frank dropped his hand. “Sure, son, anyway you want to play it. I trust you. Do you need help with any travel arrangements?”

  “No, I’ll handle it. Thanks, dad.”

  The phone rang, which was Bronson’s cue to leave. As he walked out of the office, he regretted lying to a man who had never lied to anyone.

  Chapter 16

  October 31, 1926. Tonight was the harvest festival. Not many years ago, this would have been a pagan celebration complete with imprecations to the Great Spirit and symbolic sacrifices to show gratitude for the abundant crops.

  Of course now it is an expression of thanksgiving to God for his provision. All the workers were given half the day off to attend.

  We started with the younger ones singing hymns I had taught them: “Bringing in the Sheaves,” “The Harvest is Heavy,” and “Amazing Grace.” Their high voices sounded so sweet in the cool night air, their angelic faces illumined by a large fire.

  Some of the shorter ones were standing on a log behind the others so they could be seen by their families. I was watching them when one of the girls fell off backwards, disappearing from view.

  I rushed around behind the others and saw she was sitting on the ground, holding her ankle, about to cry. I scooped her up into my arms. “There, there,” I said. “It will be fine. God won’t let you be hurt.”

  She nestled against my chest as I stood. “Let’s get you to Mama.”

  I brought her around to the front and passed her to her waiting mother. Then I turned and directed the singers until their program was finished. They rushed, giggling, into their parent’s embrace.

  The older group was next, under Johnny Crumpo’s direction. Their singing was far more rhythmic, and what few young men he had were doing tribal dances. The pounding of the drums was loud and disturbing, yet the spectacle was also thrilling to me. Their expression of love to God was genuine.

  My own brother, Lewis, was among them. 17, he attends the school in the town of Oak Valley, but often participates in the Indian School activities.

  I saw Mr. Crumpo visiting with the working men, especially those with older sons. He had expressed his hope to me that with the onset of winter, when there would be little to do with the crops, these families would release their sons for schooling.

  The wind whipped up as the celebration ended, and the dust soiled my dress and came to rest on every inch of exposed skin I had. The families retreated to their homes, but I needed to gather the songbooks. Mr. Crumpo extinguished the fire, throwing shovelfuls of dirt on the embers.

  Watching him out of the corner of my eye, one of the books slipped off the stack and fell to the ground. Mr. Crumpo picked it up and stood in front of me, holding it.

  “Much obliged,” I said. “Did you have any success with the older boys’ families?”

  “I believe I did. We’ll see when the first snow falls.”

  “Well, I’m sure you know that the oil field work never stops, even in winter.”

  His brow furrowed. “I might have known that the daughter of the great Stone would have her family’s interests at heart. And to think, I wanted to tell you how much your care for those little ones moved me tonight. I thought it was genuine, but I guess I was foolish.”

  “You know nothing about my interests. I am not my father, but even if I were he has done nothing but good for these people. Your people.”

  “I notice that none of ‘my people’ have clothes as fine as yours.”

  I was so angry tears came unbidden to my eyes, and I wiped my hand across my cheeks. He had the poor manners to laugh.

  “You’ve smudged dirt across your face,” he said. “It looks like warpaint!”

  I couldn’t stay in his insufferable presence any longer. “I’ll thank you to put the book back on this stack, and I will bid you good evening.”

  He replaced the book, gently as it turned out, and said, “I’m sorry, Miss Stone. I really did intend to compliment you on the work you do with the little ones. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  With that, he walked off into the night.

  December 24, 1926. As I write this, the children’s excitement about the Christmas holiday has turned to fretfulness with the heavy snowfall.

  It caught us unaware, and now the blizzard makes it unsafe to send any of the students home. We have no recourse but to wait for the men to come and get their children.

  Mr. Crumpo was in fact very successful in persuading the older boys’ fathers to allow them to attend school, and today he had led them on a hunting expedition. He presented it to me as a biology lesson, but I knew better. I hoped they were safe, but I was more concerned with my charges, especially after it got dark.

  The boys had left the stack of firewood well-stocked, but no one knew it would have to last into the night. I rationed the remaining logs, but the room grew colder and darker after the sun went down.

  My father was away on business at the state capital in Oklahoma City, and it would not occur to my mother to send any help to us. The school and its charges seldom entered her thoughts.

  I gathered the young ones close to me, thinking our body heat would need to be shared, and some of them actually went to sleep. But I was wide awake, listening to the howling wind.

  When the fire finally gave up the ghost, I was grateful for the ones who were sleeping. I have read that freezing to death can be a peaceful way to die.

  I heard several thumps outside the door. I was trying to rouse myself when the door burst open and Mr. Crumpo hurried in, followed by several young men.

  “Charlie,” he shouted, “you and Samuel bring in more wood. As much as you can carry!”

  I saw him kneel in front of me. He called over his shoulder, “All you others take your coats off and give them to the little ones.”

  He and the boys pulled the children away from me and wrapped them in the coats and blankets they brought. The fire was soon roaring, and I felt my blood begin to circulate again.

  Mr. Crumpo called to my brother, who had been on the hunt with him. “Lewis, stay with your sister while I get the others started on their way home.”

  I heard him assigning the oldest boys to go different directions and dividing up my students among them.

  I drowsed, secure in the knowledge that he was taking care of the children, until I felt him shake me.

  “Ms. Stone, everyone is on their way home. In fact, I heard some of the men calling and their dogs barking while I was outside. They are all safe. We need to get you to the big house now.”

  I attempted to stand, but my limbs were numb from the residual cold. I felt him scoop me up into his arms. “Lewis, do you have that fire out yet? Good. Lead the way.”

  We stepped into the bitter cold, but it was not too much to bear. Mr. Crumpo carried me all the way to the house.

  The sound of breaking glass interrupted Sherry’s reading. She put the journal underneath the couch cushions and stepped out onto the porch and saw the front windshield of her car was smashed. She looked up and down the street but saw no one.

  She approached the car
and saw a brick on her front seat with a note tied to it. Her keys were in the house but she opened the unlocked door and grabbed it. The note simply said, “Back off!” How would she ever explain this to the OU Motor Pool?

  The front door closed, and she heard the lock set. She ran to it but could not open it. She ran around back and found the rear door open. She slowed down, realizing she was unprepared to meet anyone who might be armed.

  She stepped inside slowly. The house was small, so she could see she was alone. Whoever closed the front door was gone.

  With a feeling of dread, she passed through the kitchen into the living room. The couch cushions were on the floor.

  The journal was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Lianne nodded at Eileen as she entered the Police Department, and Eileen nodded back. The funeral had been horrible, so now they were battle buddies.

  The widow, Francis, so in control on Daniel’s doorstep, broke down completely at the service, her crying so loud that Reverend Stratton paused. His wife comforted her and the wails subsided to heaving sighs and sniffles. Stratton continued on with some mildly humorous stories from when he first arrived in town and ran afoul of Harris. Lianne thought there was more to the stories than he was letting on, but it was a serviceable, even moving, eulogy.

  As they were getting into cars afterward, Lianne told Eileen, “I’m sure it would be fine if you took the rest of the day off.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll see you back at the office.”

  So they were both there, Lianne shuffling papers and Eileen doing whatever it was she did, both avoiding looking at Harris’ empty desk.

  Curiosity got the better of Lianne after a bit, and she said, “Do you think Daniel will come in?”

  “Lord only knows. That boy lost more than any of us, except Francis.”

  “He and Sheriff Harris seemed close.”

  Eileen turned in her chair to face Lianne. “When Daniel got hurt at college, he came back to Oak Valley with his tail between his legs, after leaving as a hero. The Sheriff was the only one who didn’t feel sorry for him, and gave him a place to start again.”

  “He played football or something like that, didn’t he?”

  Eileen chuckled. “Saying he played football is like saying Liberace played the piano. Doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  Lianne made a mental note to look up Liberace and said, “What about his family?”

  “He’s got family all over these parts, but most aren’t worth spit in a bucket. His father was a good man, but you’ve seen how disabled he is. His mother is a saint, though.”

  The phone rang, and Eileen answered. “No, he’s not in at the moment. Oh, wait, he just walked in.”

  Daniel walked through the door, and took the receiver from her.

  He listened for a moment, then, “Thanks for your condolences. But did you spot the hearse? Great, thanks for the update.” He handed the phone back. “I’m going to the funeral home.”

  “Whatever for?” Eileen asked.

  “I’d like to talk to old man Jones about some things, and his staff is taking the body up to a cemetery in Tulsa. Family only for that. Anyway, Mr. Jones should be alone.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Lianne said, standing.

  Daniel looked at her for the first time since he came in. “I don’t need you.”

  Lianne sat back down, feeling like she’d been slapped.

  Eileen said, “It’s none of my business, officer, but you know that two on a call is always better than one. Sometimes it prevents bad things from happening.”

  Lianne thought she heard him snort. “All right, come on.”

  Oak Valley resumed business as usual after the funeral. Lianne sat in the passenger’s seat with no choice but to listen to the silence from Daniel.

  They parked in front of Jones and Sons Funeral Home, one of the newest structures in town, situated a couple of blocks off Main Street.

  “Nice building,” she offered.

  “They usually are.”

  She followed him through the front door. A soft tone announced their presence. The carpeted room was filled with flowers which almost masked the chemical scent from the back.

  Mr. Jones himself appeared to greet his visitors. He was dressed in a crisp, dark suit with a subdued navy-blue tie.

  “Daniel, I didn’t expect to see you here. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Please call me Officer Minco. You remember Officer Ortega.”

  “Yes, we were introduced at the City Council meeting last week.”

  “We…I have some questions for you. Can we go to your office?”

  Lianne saw Jones was rattled. “Of course. Follow me.”

  Jones sat behind his desk. To Lianne he looked like he was trying to hide behind it. Daniel stood, so she did too.

  “Now, how can I help Oak Valley’s finest?”

  Daniel’s voice was abrupt. “Did you notice any unusual wounds on Sheriff Harris’ body?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a hypodermic needle puncture mark?”

  “No, but I’ll remind you that I am not a medical examiner.”

  “I realize that. You embalm and bury bodies. So perhaps you can answer this.” Daniel leaned over, placing his palms on the desk. “Why did you embalm Harris so fast? Was it your decision? Did you have something to hide?”

  “Me? No…it was…” He got up and walked over and closed the door. He leaned against it, as if to keep the world out. “It was Agent Devose, from the OSBI. He said it would be wrong to prolong Francis Harris’ agony, that an autopsy would take a week or more, and it would just show he died of a heart attack anyway.”

  “So you did it for Francis?”

  Jones’s eyes shifted. “He was rather persuasive. He allowed that whoever bombed the motel was still at large, and he could protect me from them. This business is all I have. It’s my life.”

  “And your sons’ lives, too, I presume,” Lianne added.

  Daniel looked at her sharply. “He doesn’t have any sons. He just named the company that because people trust family businesses.” He turned back to Jones. “What can you tell us about Charlie Dibble?”

  Jones’ voice dropped even lower. “That was strange, too. He was pronounced dead at the scene, so the ambulance brought him directly here. I no sooner unzipped the body bag than Devose was in the room. How did they get here so fast? It must have been only an hour since Officer Ortega called it in.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted the body. He showed me his badge and everything. Before he took Charlie, though, I noticed his broken neck. Things like that don’t happen by accident.”

  Daniel looked at Lianne. “You have anything?”

  She shook her head. She thought he had done pretty well, actually.

  “Mr. Jones, if you have any more contact with Agent Devose, grow a spine and call me.”

  Jones stepped away from the door to let them pass. “What does this all mean, Daniel? I mean, officer?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out.”

  Chapter 18

  Sherry Threefeathers looked at her cell phone in disgust, then put it back to her ear. “They did what?”

  Jeff Caruthers, University of Oklahoma’s Director of Archeological Studies and her boss, said, “Stone Energy got our cease and desist overturned. They knew a bigger judge than we did. It’s over.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means they resume surveying for the highway at will, probably tomorrow. They’ve had their crews on standby until this was resolved, and every day has cost them money.”

  “Jeff, I don’t know for sure what’s out at Stone City, but I know it’s huge. I found a skull there, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes, and that’s interesting. If only we possessed some corroborating evidence, like contemporary newspapers. Or a journal.”

  “That’s not fair. The journal was stolen from me! Doesn’t that tell you somethi
ng?”

  Jeff’s voice became monotone, which was a good sign he was putting his boss hat on. “Sherry, there may be historical discoveries to be uncovered at Stone City. But the highway is good for the state, and OU wants what is good for the state as well. Not everything is a conspiracy. Please come back to Norman. I’ll expect you Monday.”

  He hung up. “You don’t always get what you expect, Jeff,” she said to empty air.

  Daniel knew Lianne was anxious in the passenger seat after leaving the funeral home. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but the less connection she felt to Oak Valley, the better. She was a fellow officer, after all. For now, at least.

  “All right, Danny boy, give it up. What are you thinking?” She couldn’t contain herself any longer.

  “Devose is the key. The whole thing centers around the road somehow. Harris always said follow the money.”

  “Actually, that was Woodward and Bernstein.”

  He looked at her quizzically.

  “Never mind,” she said. “In this case, the money is easy to follow. It leads right to the Stone family.”

  “There wouldn’t be an Oak Valley if it weren’t for that family. There might not even be an oil industry in this part of the state.”

  “So maybe they were good citizens early on, but this current generation doesn’t owe this town anything. They don’t strike me as a sentimental group.”

  “There’s not much oil money to be made here anymore.”

  “No, but the Stone Mansion B and B will make some bank. Not to mention all the PR gold from the cash they promised to the town.”

  They rode in silence. Daniel passed the station and kept driving.

  “You’re frowning, Danny boy. Why?”

  “Stop calling me that. I was just thinking I hope it isn’t anyone connected with Stone Energy.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because they’re in Dallas behind corporate walls. We’ll never get to them.”

  “If only we could get them to come to us.”