“Well, Mr. Moto missed a big fat clue that would have yanked the filthy rug out from under our calm night’s sleep story.”
“What’s that?” I felt drained and groggy.
“When he came into the living room this morning, the sofa was a mess, where the three of us had tried to sleep on it, and the bed in our room was neat as a pin, where I had made it… yesterday morning.”
“So it was. I just had my mind on getting the gun out of his way.”
“Yes. You know, this whole plot of Johnson’s would have me thinking I was living in a sequel to Weekend at Bernie’s, if it weren’t so serious. Changing clothes, running up and down the trail dragging and carrying a body that’s not a body, going back for the rock. It’s Keystone Kops all the way.”
I wasn’t so sure. There was a dull ache in the back of my head where certain little ideas were trying to take shape. If I were absolutely sure we would not be arrested I might have simply crossed them all off. A bad, dangerous man was dead, frankly that bothered me not at all. But if I did nothing there was bound to be publicity of a type that would tie Cindy to Ken and certainly damage his political ambitions and, to a lesser extent, not do Sonny any good either. Cindy and I, of course, would have our fifteen minutes in the spotlight—and not in a flattering manner.
In all probability, we would eventually be released for lack of evidence. Of course, that was not proof of innocence. It was just that nothing criminal could be proven. Or, if it went to trial, a good defense lawyer, whom I knew Ken would provide, could probably make a fool out of the local prosecutor. On the other hand, however, juries were fickle. A good solid Baptist jury might not be too anxious to believe two interfering furriners—and lesbians to boot.
I had some serious thoughts about one piece of evidence, but had trouble letting my mind even drift in that direction. It was painful and seemed somehow unfair.
Cindy was staring at me. “You were a million miles away.”
“Yeah, I guess I was.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No, I think I’m just overtired.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” She gave me her gamin grin. “All that running up and down the mountain lugging a body along…I never knew you had it in you. But if you are okay, I’m going to go call Ken. I don’t want him to hear this in some public way.”
“Good idea. I think when you’re finished, I’d better call Sonny. I don’t think he can do anything, but he should know what’s happening and why we are not going to get home on time.”
Returning to the living room, Cindy looked white and worn out. But she was smiling. “Ken is livid that we have even been on Jeffie’s short list. He says don’t let him back in the house, that there’s a shotgun if you need it. I didn’t tell him the shape it’s in. And he’s going to call my parents—I told him I didn’t have the nerve. And he says he’ll be here by noon tomorrow.”
“Maybe I’ll clean it for him later. It’s the least I can do for all the grief we’ve given him. Well, let me go call big bro. I don’t look forward to this.”
Actually Sonny proved understanding and comforting, until he said, “You know I’ll have to tell Mom.” That brought the first tears I had shed over this mess, and brought fast replies and fast goodbyes from my brother who couldn’t stand weeping women. “I won’t alarm her, don’t worry, everything will be fine, I will see you sometime tomorrow. Don’t panic. So long.” Click.
Sonny certainly had no legal authority in Tennessee, but God, I was glad he was coming down. Cassie would probably fly him. If she couldn’t, he had sounded like he might turn to the Air National Guard. He could frequently be a know-it-all big brother—but from the time since I had been old enough to yell for help, he had never, ever let me down.
With our numbers about to grow, we made up the bed for Ken in the master bedroom, one for Sonny in the guest room and the two twins in little Frances Jr.’s frilly pink room for us. I would feel like an oversized Cinderella, but hopefully we wouldn’t occupy it for long. Next we put out towels and assorted toiletries. We were glad of something to do.
When we finished, we realized the sun was low, and the deck too chilly to be comfortable. I made a fire in the fireplace while Cindy took the last filets mignon out of the freezer and cut up a salad for later. I set the dining table. We were being determinedly normal.
I heard steps on the deck and squared my shoulders to turn the sheriff away. But instead of a beer-belly man in a sloppy uniform, I saw a rather handsome young man in a light gray suit, a black vest and a backward collar. Probably a matter of car trouble and he needed a phone. Cells worked intermittently here, and land lines were still much in demand.
I opened the door. “Hello, Father, can we be of assistance?”
“Hello. I’m Vicar Alan Reed Hampton of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Elizabethton…but please call me Alan, and you must be Alex.”
“Ah—yes, yes, I’m Alex Peres. But how did you know?”
“From your Aunt Mae. She is concerned that you and Cindy have been beaten and thrown into some old Confederate dungeon, eating moldy corn pone and drinking water with tadpoles in it.” He was trying to look serious, but his dark brown eyes danced, and his lips twitched.
I laughed aloud. “That’s Aunt Mae, all right. But I only spoke with my brother about an hour ago. How did she get hold of you so soon?”
“Through the Bishop of East Tennessee. She apparently doesn’t start at the bottom.”
“Oh, good grief!” I stood aside. “Do come in, Alan. I hope you haven’t been put to a lot of trouble. And here’s Cindy Hart—Cindy meet Vicar Alan Reed Hampton. Alan has been sent from Aunt Mae, via the bishop of this area, to check on our welfare—or lack thereof.”
Cindy shook her head. “That woman could penetrate the Kremlin if she set her mind to it. Bless her heart, she really is a love. We were just about to have a glass of wine. Will you join us? White or red?”
“White if it’s handy, red if it isn’t. But, seriously, are you two all right? Why on earth is Johnson thinking of you two as suspects?”
We told him, and when we finished he was leaned back in his chair wiping his eyes and laughing aloud. Finally he sobered.
“I hate to laugh at a man’s death. Even such a one as this McCurry. But this sounds more like a marathon than a murder! Your dragging a body up a mountainside and then having it come to life and walk partway down. Then you casually carry the corpse again down the mountain and go up one more time to get a rock! I run five miles a day and I tell you, I could not do all that if I had to. I cannot believe this tale will ever come to court!”
“That’s what Ken says,” Cindy added.
“That’s also what my brother says, he’s a cop back home. He and Ken will both be here tomorrow, by the way. Look, Alan, we are about to have a dividend of wine and a little dinner. Won’t you join us? You’ve been so kind to come out here, and we really do appreciate it.”
“It has been my pleasure, but I must get back for Evensong. I know you have both been going through a terrible time. This is when faith grows faint, but try not to lose it. God hasn’t gone away, he’s just a little dim behind the cloud of human ignorance and meanness. He is with you. Be of good cheer. I’ll report to Aunt Mae later tonight.” He shook hands with both of us and started out. “Let me know if I can be of help…of any variety.“
“I’ll walk you to your car,” I offered.
“Why, thank you.”
As soon as we were out of earshot from Cindy, I cleared my throat. “Ah, Alan, I need to talk to you in, uh, your professional position. Can you promise this will go no further?”
“We’ll consider it a confessional, so my lips are sealed. What’s troubling you? What have you gone and done?”
“It’s more what I haven’t done than what I have,” I answered. “I know some things and am pretty sure I know some others that would wreak havoc on Jeffie’s theory of how this killing went down. And to reveal part of it seems criminal in itself;
remember the book To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“Yes, very well. Do you want to tell me what mockingbird you feel you would be killing?”
I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He looked around guiltily and then took it.
“Okay,” I said. “It’s like this.” And I told him. When I finished, his face looked grave and pained.
“Lord, Alex, what a burden you’ve been carrying! I don’t know much about criminal law, so remember that my advice to you will be based on some laws I do know about. Since you have not shared these facts and possibilities with Cindy, if you keep quiet about all this, she has no vote in what you do—although she is equally suspect in Johnson’s mind. You place her in jeopardy, when she might not wish to be there, especially since she is suspected of delivering the fatal blow to McCurry’s head. You and she would be tried, technically by your peers, but actually by people who are very different from you.”
I fieldstripped my cigarette and tucked the filter in my pocket.
“I thought of that. I just figured it was so ludicrous we’d never be convicted.”
“But you would be tried. Think what that would put you both through…not only your presumed actions against McCurry, but your personal lives as well. Any trial makes the tried look bad. Would your clients continue to trust you with their personal problems? Would Cindy’s clients trust her not simply to put them in the investments that gave her the largest commission?”
We reached his car and he jabbed the cigarette in the ashtray. He sat in the driver’s seat with the door open. I leaned against the door.
“Your families are already suffering,” he pointed out, “But let’s cast a wider net. The people you are protecting may know or guess you covered for them. This would make them feel indebted to you…for life! Although they could never thank you. And they would always wonder if someday you might tell the truth. And they would grow to hate you, because they were desperately afraid of you.”
“Oh, hell, Alan!” I hit my fist on the top of the car. “I certainly don’t want to risk Cindy. I love her very much. But Mickey was such a bastard, it just seemed unfair to rat on someone who was trying to keep Mickey from killing somebody even if he was an angel with kind of dirty wings...oh, you know what I mean. And the other person, I strongly believe, was honestly trying to help Mickey survive.”
“You can make those feelings quite plain to the police and to the defense lawyers, Alex. This is a bit more serious than catching me at age twelve having a cigarette behind the gym and not telling the teacher. And when you take the oath on the Bible, to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…you won’t have to cross your fingers.” He smiled.
He reached out and took my hand. “Don’t answer me, Alex. You may need to think about this, but ask yourself: Am I doing this because it is right…or because it seems noble, and I will feel good about myself? Now, I really don’t mean to rush, but I am running very late. God bless you.”
“Yeah. Good night.”
I walked slowly back up to the cabin, boiling. Smarmy jerk throws a curve and then drives away. I wasn’t being noble. I just felt probably one of them had saved my life and Cindy’s, and the other had been a good Samaritan with muddled results. I’d had some childish idea we’d all laugh about it someday, but, of course, that would never happen. Alan hit that one square and hard.
In a year’s time I’d bet one or the other of them would tell someone and that would open the floodgates. And if I had beat the murder charge, I’d be re-arrested for perjury. And Cindy would hate me…but I would have acted nobly.
How could I ever explain why I ratted? Then a thought hit me: I’d send them both to Alan for priestly wisdom. I was grinning as I crossed the deck.
Cindy was touching up the fire as I entered. “Well, welcome home, my dear. I was beginning to think you might have decided to make your annual appearance at church.”
“I needed some advice, and I got it—in spades. I felt like a fool. Except I still feel bad, no longer being the fool. I feel guilty as hell, but I’m relieved at knowing what I should do and why I didn’t. And I feel better about you.”
Leaning against the mantel, she nodded sagely. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Alex, you express your deepest feelings so clearly.”
“I’m glad you’re so calm about it all. I thought you might be pissed.”
She lifted the wine bottle from the ice bucket and filled our glasses. Handing me mine, she pointed toward the sofa and said, “Sit!”
Fargo and I both moved to the couch and sat. “Now,” Cindy ordered, “tell me what the hell you are talking about. I’ve heard people speaking Chinese that made as much sense.”
I told her.
When I finished, she shook her head in wonderment. “I told you when we first met: the thing that would always cause me the biggest problem with you was your damn masochistic sense of honor! You are a good person, Alex. There is no need intermittently to nail yourself to a cross to prove it!”
“I never thought it would go to trial,” I countered.
“You never thought. About me. About how things like that never stay a secret. About our families. About how much fun we’d have scrubbing floors, as that would be about the only job we could get! And where was your honor going to be when you lied in court?”
“That’s about what Alan said. But I wouldn’t have lied, I would just have stayed quiet.”
Cindy laughed. “You couldn’t stay quiet if you were gagged. Thank God for those three-name baritone Episcopal ministers!”
“For what kind of ministers?”
“Three-name. Haven’t you ever noticed? Episcopal ministers all have three names. Alan Reed Hampton. Ours at home was Robert Malcolm Seale. The one in Ptown is James Winston Hockney. And they always have these lovely well-modulated baritone voices.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Nothing, I just thought of it. Now, may I assume that since you have solved the McCurry Mystery, you will share it with our two relatives tomorrow, so they may tell Jeffie to buzz off?” She threw her wineglass into the fireplace with a crash.
“Cindy!”
“We’ll buy them a new set—now that we won’t have to do it by mail order through the Warden’s office.”
“Oh, okay.” I stood, took aim and added my shards to hers. Then I pulled her onto the sofa beside me.
With Fargo still obediently sitting at one end, it was a bit crowded for what I had in mind. “Get down, Fargo.”
He gave me a dirty look that clearly said, “Nag, nag, nag!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Let’s have breakfast at Gertrude’s,” Cindy suggested. “We have to get the papers anyway. And we can’t just hide. God knows how long we’ll be stuck here.”
“Hopefully about an hour after the troops arrive. Yeah, let’s go.”
The rain was long gone and the sun was a bright yellow towel, rapidly drying the freshly bathed trees and meadows. It seemed impossible to have troubles on a day like this.
We picked up the papers at the Grandma and Grandpa store and waited while they went out to the car to greet Fargo. He was the spittin’ image, we had been told several times, of a dog they had owned years ago. And a champion he had been!
At Gertrude’s the local regulars we had come to know by sight, mostly greeted us as usual. To a few, we had become invisible. Gertrude was full of cheer. As she escorted us to a table, she advised us in a stentorian whisper, “Don’t worry about nothing! They’ll never find a jury in this county that would convict you!”
I gave her what felt like a sickly smile, and Cindy muttered something I didn’t catch. We didn’t have much left to say—to each other or anyone else. We mainly hid behind the Sunday Times—a day late but welcome. Fargo later received a generous doggie bag.
Shortly before one o’clock I was not surprised to see a car pull in with Ken sitting in the front passenger seat and two men—one in full State Patrol regalia—climbing out of the back. I was
, however, surprised and delighted to see my brother unfolding himself from the driver’s seat. How had they connected?
There were hugs and kisses all around from Ken and Sonny. We were introduced to a Dr. Thalman, a forensic specialist, who said to call him Ray. And to the State Patrol’s Captain Vonley, of the criminal investigation unit, who didn’t say what to call him—obviously “Captain” would suffice.
We learned that Cassie had indeed brought Sonny down, but could not stay due to a charter early Tuesday morning. She sent her love. Ken and his companions had flown in also, and the group had met at the car rental office in Elizabethton. They had stopped for an early lunch at a place Ken knew that had great ribs—which took me a moment to understand—so we needn’t worry about feeding them—which was fortunate.
Ken and Sonny asked for a beer. The Captain nobly requested coffee. I took a beer. Cindy poured two coffees. We retired to the living room, where Ken looked with dismay at his carpet.
“Damn fool Jeffie! Did he really think you’d be dumb enough to burn a bunch of clothes in the house you were living in?”
“People under great stress are not always logical,” Vonley pontificated. “But personally,” he said with a grin. “I’d send him the cleaning bill.” I liked him a little better.
“Well.” Vonley set his cup on the coffee table. “Cindy, Alex, I got a tale from Ken that sounded absolutely lunatic. Please tell me what actually happened.”
“Well, first, I think you should know the story you will get from the sheriff,” Cindy began. “He thinks we returned from the Bromfield Inn around midnight and discovered McCurry lurking in a bush. He and Alex grappled, he hit her in the face and she went down. He was off-balance for a moment, with his back to me. I grabbed one of the river rocks we were going to take home for bookends and hit him in the back of the head to stun him. But he didn’t move and I couldn’t feel a pulse. So we figured I had killed him.”
Murder Takes to the Hills Page 18