by J. L. Salter
Kelly thought quietly for a moment. “Are you sure Pop doesn’t know anything else at all about this murder? Or the victim?”
Mitch sipped his beer and flipped through the notes again. “I might’ve left this part out because Pop seemed not to vouch for it. I mean, he acted like the source was questionable.”
“Who or what was the source?”
“He didn’t clarify. But anyway, Pop indicated some folks used to say the victim was a young man… probably mid-to-late-twenties, but looked older. Some say he was courting a local girl.”
“If that was true, then he wouldn’t be such a total stranger, would he? If the victim was not a stranger after all, it puts a completely different light on the murder.”
Mitch shrugged.
“Wonder why Pop discounts those parts? If they’re accurate, it could help in your article. Every additional detail should help, at least a little.”
“I kind of got the feeling those details became woven into the story at a later time. Maybe Pop is a purist of sorts about these family legends. If it didn’t come down from the generation who was there at the time, or soon after, then it’s probably suspect.”
“Possibly is. But suppose somebody later found something those earlier folks didn’t know about.” Kelly took her empty bottle to the kitchen then went down the short hall toward the bathroom.
Perra jumped up on the seat next to Mitch as Kelly left the room.
She wasn’t gone very long. “You got any theories yet?” As she reentered the living area, Kelly was still drying her hands; she put the small damp towel on the table as she passed.
“Maybe we’ve been studying it from the wrong perspective. Could be something quite innocent, like maybe the stranger had received a kindness from somebody in that church at some time in the past. So he wanted to stop by and thank them.”
“What type of kindness?” Kelly drew a blank.
“Could’ve been a meal when he was hungry, or letting him split some wood and sleep in their barn on a cold night. Or something similar.”
“So he rides back into town to thank them, and gets shot dead for his gratitude? Nah, too bizarre.”
“Okay, what’s your theory?” Mitch acted wounded.
“Let’s see. Stranger goes to specific place at a specific time. So he obviously wants to contact somebody he expects to be there.”
“Who? Why?”
“Don’t rush me. A relative, or a boyhood chum, or maybe an old army buddy. This was after the Civil War you said.”
“Yeah, about two years after. Army buddy — I like that angle.” Mitch furrowed his brow. “But there’s a problem. How would it get him shot off his horse?”
“Maybe the old army friend wasn’t such a buddy after all. Or, in those other scenarios, the boyhood chum actually hated his guts, or the relative owed him some money.”
Mitch laughed. “Or the stranger rode away on somebody else’s horse! I guess I need to let it simmer a while longer.” He placed his papers back into the folder, put it all aside, and finished his beer.
Kelly broke a short silence. “Okay if I shift gears?” When he nodded, she continued. “Let me tell you what I researched about caves around these parts.”
Mitch absently-mindedly scratched Perra’s chest as the dog lay, legs up, beside him on the love seat.
“According to this website, the World Caves Database lists 2,424 formally documented and measured caves in the entire world. The entire United States contains 429 of those mapped caves. And Kentucky possesses sixty-three, nearly fifteen per cent, of the total mapped caves in the U.S.”
Mitch kept scratching the dog.
Kelly put the pages in her lap for a moment. “Pop says the formally mapped caves are just a fraction of what Kentucky actually has. He thinks there’s several hundred caves in the Commonwealth and believes most of them aren’t even known about, except by locals.”
“So I gather Tater Cave is not listed.”
“No, but some of Kentucky’s other caves have interesting names, too — Whigpistle, Slide-In, Pruett Saltpetre, and Skinframe Sinks.”
“I think I’ll stay out of Saltpetre Cave.”
She ignored his comment. “In areas underlain by limestone — which is much of Kentucky — there’s a cause and effect relationship between sinkholes and caves, according to Pop anyway. He showed me a geological drawing of what’s known as Karst Topography. It illustrates how, over eons, soft limestone layers collapse in places — sometimes because of water and sometimes just from weight or pressure.” Kelly eyed Mitch, who appeared bored. “Well, I think it’s interesting stuff.”
He just shrugged. “Are you serious about crawling around in Tater Cave on Saturday?”
“Do I ever kid you about stuff like this?”
Mitch shook his head and sighed. “Think they’ll have stairs and seats, and a concession stand?”
Chapter Twenty
Saturday, May 19
The caving expedition was mounted for two days later, early afternoon.
Mitch and Kelly waited at her cabin. Gato was sleeping, or nearly so, up on the porch rail, and Perra was tossing and catching a dead bird.
Shortly, a dark green SUV turned off Macon Circle onto the cemetery road. The driver hesitated at the fork and then turned left onto Kelly’s driveway.
After the vehicle came to a stop near the porch, a young girl sprang from one of the back doors and headed straight for Perra, who had ceased her bird-play and begun investigating the strange automobile’s tires. Perra and the girl made friends immediately. A man with short silver hair emerged from the driver’s side and said something to the girl as Pop gingerly made his way out of the front passenger side.
Kelly descended the cabin steps and extended her hand to the driver. “I’m Kelly Randall.”
“Roger Jenkins.” He pointed. “My granddaughter Annie.” Urgent whines emitted from the back of the vehicle as the driver moved away. Perra’s attention, and the fur on her shoulders, was suddenly intent on the fourth passenger. “Oh, that’s Buddy,” explained Roger. “You can meet him later.”
Mitch stood and peered around the railing post. Since the glass was tinted, he couldn’t see inside the back of the SUV. “Kelly, I don’t know who Buddy is, but I think you’d better lock up your dog.”
“Good idea. We can’t let her follow us anyway.” Kelly moved toward the back of the vehicle where Perra whimpered intently. “Come on inside, Annie. I’ll show you where Perra sleeps, when she’s finally tired enough.”
The girl eagerly accompanied Kelly, who struggled with Perra’s squirming, toward the cabin. “I’m seven. My grandma wanted to go in the cave, too.” Annie climbed the steps. “But she had a committing.”
“Meeting.” Roger clarified from near his vehicle. “Committee meeting.”
Mitch made his way slowly down the cabin steps, said hello to Pop, and shook hands with Roger. “Bill Mitchell.” Mitch was waiting for the explanation of what Roger and Annie, plus whatever was whining in the SUV, were doing there. Then he remembered Kentuckians don’t volunteer information. They either assume it’s already known, or it’s actually none of anyone’s business. But, he also recalled, most of them will answer extremely specific questions.
“Have you known Pop Walter very long?”
“All my life, I guess.”
Confound it. In Oklahoma or Texas, one question would have gotten to the bottom of things. But in Kentucky, it would take a minimum of three or four questions to obtain the same info. “What I meant was, how do you know Pop?”
“How do I know you, Uncle Chet?” Roger deflected the question as he grinned slyly.
“Reckon you’re the first born of my second eldest sister,” he said with deadpan voice and expression.
Mitch could see they enjoyed having this little advantage over a displaced Texan, so he dropped his queries. He still wondered why Pop’s nephew and the man’s granddaughter were present, but figured it would be too tiring to ask enough quest
ions to get to the heart of it. Just go with the flow and you’ll either find out, or you won’t. But Kentuckians will never volunteer the information.
Kelly emerged with a small backpack and locked the door; Annie trotted down the steps and displayed her holdings. “Grandpa, Miss Kelly let me carry this big flashlight, and the cookies.”
“Y’all ready to go?” Kelly headed for her Jeep.
Roger pointed to his vehicle. “We’ve got room in mine.”
“I’d rather have my own wheels. Thanks anyway. We’ll follow.”
Roger shrugged and everybody loaded up. In the loud stage whisper kids sometimes use Annie spoke to her grandfather.
“Is it okay if she rides with you in the Jeep?” he asked.
Kelly smiled. “C’mon Annie. Let me lift up the seat back, and I’ll find the belt for you.” The top was down for the warm, sunny mid-May afternoon. Kelly tossed her pack in the very back of the Wrangler and shifted around other things which usually stayed in her vehicle. “I don’t use this back seat very much. You might be my very first passenger.”
Annie beamed. Riding in the Jeep was clearly a treat in itself, but suddenly she positioned herself like royalty.
With the girl situated, Kelly hopped in and watched as Pop got into Roger’s SUV.
“You think your old landlord is up to this?” Mitch was doubtful.
Kelly paused. “I don’t know. Pop hates to let on, but even he’s finally started realizing he has limitations. Guess it depends on the layout of the cave.”
“What do you mean layout?”
Kelly frowned. “I don’t know what caves are like in your old Texas stomping ground, Mitch, but around here some caves are big and some small, some wide and some narrow… some high and some low.”
“Well, if Tater Cave is big, wide, and high, then I’m game. But I don’t do caves that are small, narrow, and low.”
“Is Mr. Bill afraid of caves?” Annie asked as if Mitch wasn’t there.
“No, Annie, Mr. Bill has a hurt hip, and it’s hard to move around in small places.”
“Oh, I thought he was scared.”
Mitch realized he and Annie had not yet spoken directly to each other and, right then, he couldn’t think of anything to say to a seven-year-old girl.
They followed the SUV for a mile or so, along Macon Circle, Craggy Road, another road with no signage, and then across the new stretch of Highway 27, not yet shouldered or striped. Then Roger pulled over and motioned for Kelly to come alongside.
“What’s up?” Their vehicles side-by-side, Kelly spoke across Mitch.
“Uncle Chet says everything’s changed with the highway construction, but he thinks Gordon’s Cave — which some folks call Seven Rooms Cave — is somewhere in that direction.” Roger pointed. “If so, it means the cave you want is back this way somewhere. By the way, Gordon’s Cave would have been better for storing veggies. I doubt they kept any produce in this so-called Tater Cave. Too difficult to get into.”
“Yeah, Pop had the same notion. So we’re heading for the cave which was better for hiding in.”
Mitch hated people talking across him, and he pressed into the seat back as if trying to keep their passing words from stinging him. “Maybe they had another reason for naming the cave this way. Maybe a man named Tater bought this acreage.”
Kelly ignored his suggestion. “Where you going to park, Roger?” Again, she spoke across Mitch.
“There’s a little spur down there.” Roger pointed to a new, short black-topped piece not more than sixty feet long. “I’ll back in.” He drove off slowly.
Mitch watched the other vehicle. “It doesn’t sound like Pop is too sure where these caves are.”
“Oh, he’ll find them.” Kelly nodded. “Once his feet hit the ground, he’ll figure it out.”
“My grandpa says Great-Great-Uncle Chet knows everything about anything.”
“I suspect he does, Annie.”
Mitch was skeptical, but realized if he asked Pop whether he remembered the exact cave locations, the old man wouldn’t give a straight answer. So Mitch figured just to go with the flow. Kelly backed into the slip facing out, in front of Roger’s SUV. Finally Mitch thought of something to ask Annie. “Is Buddy your dog?”
Annie looked at him like he was from Tennessee and sighed. “No, Buddy is Grandpa’s dog. He can find dead bodies.”
Why is a cadaver dog a member of this party?
Kelly had already unbuckled Annie, who was running toward Roger. Buddy, the large German Shepherd just released, touched base with Roger, and made a perimeter of the two vehicles. He stopped only briefly to check on the two new humans, Kelly and Mitch, and then resumed reconnoitering the immediate terrain. No telling what wonderful smells he picked up.
Mitch could tell Buddy was an older dog, definitely no longer in his prime.
Roger noticed everybody watching Buddy and, much to Mitch’s surprise, volunteered an explanation. “His hips are shot. It happens to a lot of Shepherds. He’s, uh, eleven now. We haven’t been on a search team for three or four years.”
A little like me, Mitch thought to himself. No longer in his prime, and bad hips to boot.
Kelly tossed her phone on the seat, grabbed her backpack, and picked up the large flashlight. Annie held the cookies as though they were destined for a palace. Roger pulled a walking stick from his SUV and turned as if to depart.
“Rope.” Pop motioned with his thumb.
“Oh yeah.” Roger got it from the rear hatch, locked the vehicle, and rejoined the others. Buddy sniffed cross trails and backtracked to check where whatever went, when whatever else went wherever.
Pop studied the general direction of where he apparently remembered Gordon’s Cave. He peered at the sun, presumably to figure rough compass headings. Then he lowered the brim of his U.K. cap and slowly scanned the terrain which fell away rather steeply from the newly-paved road bed.
Mitch was about to interject the obvious question, but Kelly touched his wrist. Her way of saying, “Let’s do this the Kentucky way, slowly.”
Mitch nearly had to bite his tongue. He figured the old man probably couldn’t find those caves even if the new Highway 27 hadn’t been built across what was formerly the vast farming fields of his childhood in the 1920s and 30s.
Annie squatted on her haunches, balanced with only her feet on the blacktopped spur; her arms were folded around bent knees.
Roger watched Buddy and then slapped his own thigh loudly. Buddy stopped abruptly, his ears straight up, then turned to stare directly at Roger. “Come.” Roger spoke distinctly in a voice which carried a long way, yet it somehow didn’t seem too loud to those nearby. Buddy sprinted to his side, showing only a hint of the pain in his hind legs.
Pop turned again to get a bearing toward the presumed location of Gordon’s Cave. Then he looked back up at the sun and down along the sloping field again. His thumb pointed toward a small stand of scrappy trees about 150 yards down the slope, slightly to the right of the direction everyone else was facing.
Roger raised his hand and indicated the direction for Annie.
Mitch just shrugged and sighed softly.
Kelly smiled and whispered, “Kentucky way.”
The cave opening wasn’t visible from the road or the long slope. The long additional blacktop plus the expansive new Highway 27 stretch had interfered with Pop’s bearings.
Finally near the bottom of the large sloping field, the hikers followed Pop’s thumb directions around the stand of scraggly trees until they came upon a rock outcrop. Mitch still couldn’t see anything resembling a cave.
The outcrop was maybe thirty-five yards across. Mitch squinted at a darker area low on the left side. Maybe that’s a cave opening. No, Pop’s thumb indicated another shift to the right, which appeared to be solid rock.
Getting closer, all could finally see a sliver of darkness low in the outcrop, but they were nearly touching the rock formation itself before the cave’s aperture was evident. It was
n’t much of an opening — more like a crooked jack-o-lantern smile from a huge, sinister, squatting rock pumpkin.
The limestone gave off an odd damp odor, both musty and moist at the same time. “We’re going to squeeze down through that?” Mitch’s exclamation wasn’t really a question. “I agree with Jenkins here — this is nowhere to store vegetables.”
Kelly just touched his wrist again.
Roger sat at the opening and tied the rope around a sharp-edged vertical rock which resembled a massive, crude arrowhead dropped into the ground by some Native American giant. “Two half-hitches ought to do it.” He scooted along the damp growth and rock to get into position. “Annie, you wait ‘til Miss Kelly gets down, then you come.” Then he told Kelly, “Hold on to Buddy ‘til I get situated. Don’t want him to knock me off the rope.”
Kelly grabbed the dog, which immediately began whining because he wanted to be with his master.
Shortly, the noise from below indicated Roger had reached the floor of the cave. “Whew, smells like a leaky cellar. Okay, let Buddy loose.” The old dog sniffed and whimpered a bit, then experimented with three routes before plunging down in a crude diagonal. He had a rough landing.
“Okay, Kelly next. You want me to hold the rope?”
“Nah, leave it loose.” Kelly scooted down the rope like she’d been climbing all her life. Then she scrambled part-way back up to wait for Annie. “Hang on to her while she gets started.” Mitch held on.
Annie didn’t hesitate either. She depended less on the rope, however, and more on the rocks themselves. Kelly intercepted her and passed the slender girl down to her granddad.
Mitch anticipated the question. “Leave the rope to me.” The three below backed away. Mitch paused in the crooked pumpkin limestone mouth and addressed Pop. “You coming down here?”
“Gonna sit this one out.” Pop was settling on a rock facing the slash mouth opening. “But ya got a good guide down there. That’s why I called my nephew today. Roger knows this cave.” A high-pitched whine emitted from one of his hearing aids, and Pop fiddled with it absent-mindedly. “Better watch your head down there, Tex.”