Tin City Tinder (A Boone Childress Mystery)

by David Macinnis Gill

  “Tsss!” Yeah, it stung. More than a little. “What brings you out here?”

  “Best watch for infection,” Stumpy gave the bandage a good slap. “Possums carry diseases, you know. This one feller I know got the gangrene from it and had to get his thumb amputated.”

  Stump was well known in Galax, a good ol’ boy who could fix anything he wanted. If you could get him to want to. He dropped out of school to work the family farm, but then his daddy died and the government bought out the tobacco allotments. Folks said he gambled away most of the money and then drank up what was left.

  “I was staying in that old Airstream trailer on the back of the property. I was the one who called in the fire.”

  I caught his eye in the mirror. “You don’t say?”

  “Don’t you go looking at me like that. Ain’t me who started it, I promise you that. I was sound asleep when the boom went off. Practically knocked me off the couch. Well, it did knock me off, if the truth be known, but I already greased the skids with a few cold ones.”

  “Boom? You heard an explosion? Did you tell Lamar and the sheriff?”

  Stump scoffed. “Like Hoyt’s going to listen to me.”

  “But—“

  “He’d say it was the Jagr bombs going off in my head. Jackass. He knows I quit hard liquor ages ago.”

  “When was that?”

  “Last month. Harder than it sounds.” Stumpy hocked a loogie and spat. “Listen here, I found a finger. “

  “A human finger?”

  “On my front porch. Right after I fell off the couch last night. Put it the freezer. Want to see it?”

  “Absolutely! Show it to me.”

  Stumpy half bowed, looking relieved. “Finally somebody believes me. Let’s go up to the trailer.”

  Human remains! I’d been waiting forever for a human identification case. I followed two yards behind Stumpy, carrying my helmet in one hand. I pulling off my gloves when Lamar called me back.

  “Boone! Where are you going? You’re still on duty, and there’s work to be done.”

  “Jesus Christ. What now?” I stopped. My boots kicked up cinders in the soil. “This close. I was this close to seeing human remains.”

  I waved to Lamar, who was directing Otto to wind the hose in a donut roll. The finger would have to wait. Cleaning up was an essential part of the job.

  “You’re leaving?” Stumpy jogged past me. He began walking backwards. “Thought you believed me about the finger.”

  “Definitely,” I said. “But you heard the captain. There’s work to be done. You going to be around later? I can come back after my afternoon class.”

  Stumpy’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, sure, right.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “You’re a Scout?”

  “I have a Swiss Army knife.”

  “Close enough. Shake on it.”

  Stumpy stuck out a grimy hand, black with soot. His skin was so thin, the veins underneath looked like blood worms. When I shook to seal the deal, my own paw engulfed Stumpy’s. It felt as if a gentle squeeze would crush his bones.

  “Boone!” Lamar bellowed.

  “Got to go. Later!”

  I tossed my gear inside the pickup and jogged back to the tanker. My first fire call. Flames! Explosions! And the icing on the cake, a human finger!

  The presence of the finger could only mean one thing: An explosion had caused the house fire, and the blast had thrown debris all the way to Stumpy’s house.

  This fire was intentional, and by god, I was going to prove it.

  A car horn sounded. An ice blue BMW parked behind the fire trucks. A man of average height, dressed in a pinstriped gray suit, climbed out of the driver’s seat. He was tanned and fit, with a pile of dark hair swept back in a pompadour.

  “Sheriff!” He removed a pair of sunglasses and flashed a bleached smile. “Good to see you. How are the kids? Saw that boy of yours did well in the swim meet this past week.”

  “Kind of you to notice, Mr. Landis.” Hoyt’s face brightened, and he extended a beefy hand. “What brings you to the middle of nowhere?”

  “Oh, Just in the area and saw the commotion. Mind if we take a walk? There’s a couple things I’d like to discuss.”

  Hoyt followed Landis down the driveway. I tried to eavesdrop. Their voices were drowned out by the noise of the crews storing hose, releasing pressure valves, and making plans for where they would share their after-fire beer. It was a tradition for firefighters to toast one another’s hard work and good fortune after a call. It was also tradition for the rookie to buy.

  That meant me.

  Julia handed me a hooligan tool. “Don’t let Lamar see you left this behind. He’s real particular about tools. Especially when he made them himself.”

  “Thanks. Who’s that?” I pointed to Landis. “The guy in the suit talking to Hoyt?”

  Julia blew her nose into a handkerchief. The phlegm was coal black. “That would be Trey Landis. His family owns half the county and all the judges. You grew up here, and you never heard of him?”

  “It’s been four years. You forget stuff,” I said. “Wonder why he’s here?”

  “Trey’s a big siren chaser. They say he’s got a scanner stuck to his dashboard. His family’s real big contributors to the Fraternal Order of Police and the Fireman’s Beneficiary. They gave a thousand dollars last year.”

  “That’s generous.”

  “They’re millionaires. A thousand bucks’s chump change to them.”

  “That’s what I took home every month.” I folded my turnouts and put them in the floorboard. “It’s all about scale.”

  “Not the way I see it,” she said. "One time, Otto and me were passing the boot for a voile who died working a car fire. This one guy put a twenty in, and I know for a fact that it was the last twenty dollars he had on this earth. He said the widow needed it more than him. I knew the guy didn’t have a bite to eat in his house, and his truck was out of gas. For a solid week, he ate nothing but saltine crackers and walked everywhere he went. So when a man’s as rich as Landis, I ain’t so impressed by a thousand dollars.”

  “I’d like the meet the man who did that.”

  “You already have.” Julia winked. “It was Lamar.”

  6

  Barefoot Bonnie’s Pub was a stone’s throw from Red Fox Lake. It had a view of the waterway where sailboats inched through glass-calm waters. It was the perfect spot for rowdy volunteer firefighters to celebrate my first fire.

  “A round of cold ones for my friends.” I stepped up to the bar. “And the rest of these losers, too.”

  “You’re a firefighter?” The bartender and owner, Bonnie, was in her mid-forties. She wore a swim top and a lime green skirt. She was also barefoot. “How old are you, handsome?”

  I flashed my military ID. “Old enough to pay for this bunch.”

  “You have my sympathies.” Bonnie smiled with her eyes, which I noted were light blue. She drew a round from the keg. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Just put out my first fire.”

  “He sure did.” Julia threw an arm over my shoulder. “We busted his cherry real good.”

  Bonnie cocked an eyebrow in that a catty, oh really, bitch way. She set the beers on the bar. “Why’s he buying?”

  “Tradition.” Julia grabbed four mugs. “It’s a firefighter thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  She walked away toward the vollie’s table.

  “Watch out for that one,” Bonnie said. “She’s trouble.”

  I gathered the remaining mugs. “How so?”

  “You haven’t even slept with her, and she’s already marking her territory. Her cards are on the table for everybody to see.”

  “Thanks.” I dropped a five in the jar. “I appreciate the tip.”

  “If you ever need advice, there’s more where that came from.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

  “It’s Bonnie to you.”

  I saluted with
a mug. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Julia and I delivered the beers. The crew stood and raised their glasses.

  “To my stepson,” Lamar began, “who worked as a team member this morning. For probably the first time in his life. Welcome to the club.”

  “Cheers!” they all shouted and clinked their glasses together.

  “Speech!” Julia yelled.

  “Short speech!” Otto said.

  “Very short speech!”

  I stood and raised my own glass. “Um. Thanks? I’m not much for this kind of thing, so I’ll just say, appreciate y’all putting up with me and sorry you’ll have to put up with me on a permanent basis now.”

  “Cheers!”

  They drained their mugs and sat down.

  “Bonnie!” Otto yelled. “Another round!”

  “Aw,” Julia said, “that speech was awful. Sweet, but awful.”

  “What can I say?” I said. “I gave fair warning.”

  “That’s okay.” Julia grabbed my knee. “You just need some extra training.”

  “I’m already house broken.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Yeah, I thought, I know exactly what you meant. “Lamar.” I turned to my stepfather. “I was thinking of asking Abner to look over the fire site. There’s something hinky about it.”

  “No,” Lamar said. “Your granddaddy’s retired. Leave him to his fishing hole, where he can’t cause trouble.”

  “What’s wrong with causing a little trouble?”

  “With Abner, it’s never a little trouble.” Lamar emptied his beer. “That’s it for me, boys—and girl. Got to get back to work. Boone, don’t you have class?”

  The toughest thing about coming home was dealing with Lamar and Mom. They insisted on parenting me, even though I was twenty-three and had a uniform full of chest candy. At first, I let it slide, but it was really starting to grind my nerves.

  With a chorus of boos, the crew downed their beers and rose from the table. I dropped another tip for the busboy and took the last sip of beer.

  “That was a nice tip,” Julia took my arm and steered me outside. “Are you always that generous?”

  “Servers worked hard. You give a little, you get a lot back.”

  She opened her car door. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just in case.”

  “Um. Yeah.” My cell rang. Cedar’s name popped up. “Got to take this. Catch you later.”

  “Later.” She gunned her engine. “‘Mater.”

  “Hey, Cedar.” I stuffed a finger in my ear to block the noise. “What’s up?”

  “Good news,” she said. “I’ve got Luigi’s notes from the lab, and Dr. K is letting you make up the missed time.”

  “Really? That’s awesome.” I jumped away from Julia’s Mustang. She did a donut and roared out of the lot. “I really owe you.”

  “Make up for it by buying me lunch,” she said, “and I’ll give you the details. Food court in an hour?”

  “Got it.” I ended the call and scrolled through my contacts for the name Abner Zickafoose. The phone rang five times before going to message. “Hey, Doc, it’s Boone. Call me back. I’ve got some human remains that might interest you.”

  7

  It took more than an hour to change into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, drive to campus, find a parking place, and dash to the cafeteria. It took fifteen minutes longer to be exact, the number of minutes Cedar had been sitting alone at a table, pushing around her salad like Sisyphus rolling his stone.

  Her yellow sundress was pretty easy to pick out of the crowd. When she stood, the pouring sunlight gave her an aura. I could see her legs right through the fabric.

  Don’t be such a perv, I thought and looked at the ceiling.

  Cedar greeted me with a friendly hug. “You smell like smoke and beer.”

  “Smoke’s an occupational hazard. The beer’s a vollie tradition.” I took a seat in the sun. “They have a cold one to celebrate the newest rookie busting his cherry.”

  “How was the fire?”

  “Amazing! I rescued a possum.”

  “From a burning building?”

  “It was an accidental rescue.”

  “They bought you a beer for that?”

  “I had to treat.”

  “Wish I could buy beer. My twenty-first birthday isn’t till next month.”

  “Having a party?”

  “Want to come?” Her whole face blushed red. “I mean, to my party.”

  “Sure.” I maintained decorum, though I was dying to tease her. “Sounds like fun. Is this a graduation party, too?”

  “Not so much,” she said. “Not to be dismissive, but I came to Coastal to save money. I’m transferring to Carolina, so I probably won’t even go to graduation.” She covered her mouth. “That made me sound like a real bitch, didn’t it? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “No worries. I don’t have a problem with the truth.” So Cedar was going to Carolina. Why did that bother me? I was choosing between schools myself.

  My phone rang. Without looking, I rejected the call and set the ringer to buzz.

  “Most guys would’ve taken the call.”

  “I’d rather talk to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s the way you move your salad around. It’s fascinating.”

  “Smart ass.” She pushed a stack of photocopies to me. “The notes from class. Luigi and I finished the dissection. Dr. K gave you both an A since you started the process. She admires your castration technique.”

  “My mom will be proud.” I stuffed the notes in my backpack. “So this thing to make up the lab hours?”

  “It’s complicated.” She flashed a little smile that made her face light up.

  “Complication is my middle name.”

  “Thought it was Boone.”

  “You try being named after a man who killed him a bear when he was only three. There’s pressure.”

  She leaned forward so that the strap of her dress slipped over her shoulder. This time, my face lit up.

  “Dr. K agreed to let you help with my research for Olympiad,” she said. “My project’s on scent receptors, and it’s really cool. Well, I think it’s cool. It’s an artificial nose. I’m hoping to win the Olympiad with it.”

  “Your project is a fake nose? Like the toy with the glasses and mustache?”

  “Not that kind of artificial nose. A real artificial nose.”

  “Be glad to help,” I said, even though my own Olympiad project needed my full attention. “Sounds like fun.”

  Cedar’s watch alarm beeped. “Damn. I have to run. I’ll tell you more about the project later?”

  “Works for me.” I gave her a ten. “Is this enough? I’m still not used to civilian prices.”

  “What’s this for?”

  “Lunch. I’m buying, remember?”

  She handed the money back. “I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Second thoughts?” Had I offended her? Stared at her sun-lit legs too long? Allowed my eyes to wander to much? “About helping me?”

  “No, stupid, about the repayment meal.” She laughed nervously. “Dinner would be more in line with the level of favor, don’t you think?”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  “I can’t. Luigi needs to meet his benefactor today, and I’m his ride.”

  “His what?”

  “Benefactor. The people who funded his student exchange? He has to attend this social thing they do.” She curled a lock of hair around her finger. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Deal. I’ll pick you up at eight. Any dietary restrictions?”

  “You’re not letting me pick the restaurant?”

  “I could.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “But why spoil the surprise? You like surprises, right?”

  She winked. “Only the good kind.”

  “The good kind it is.”

  We both rose.

  She gave me a quick hug again. This time, I rested a hand on her
hip, and her fingers lingered on my arm. Something in my gut twisted. Her dress swished just so as she waved bye and wound through the crowded tables.

  What the hell is going on? I thought.

  But I knew the answer.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket. The missed call was from Abner. I hit redial to call back.

  Abner Zickafoose was a legend among North Carolina law enforcement. A short man with a big personality, he started his career as an anthropologist studying pre-Columbian Native American civilizations. His specialty was the excavation of burial mounds, mass graves that reached thirty or forty feet and included hundreds of bodies. Men, women, and children were all piled together in ceremonial burials. Excavating a single mound could take years and a small army of anthropologists and graduate students.

  It was a satisfying career, and Abner Zickafoose probably would have been happy to continue it, until one late July day, thirty-one years ago, when he and a graduate student dusted off a skull that was decidedly not Native American. It had protruding dentition called prognathism and no nasal sill, characteristics of an African-American individual. Based on the lack of weathering, it was also not thousands of years old, and two of the molars had gold fillings.

  What Abner had in his hands was a modern skull, an African-American female who he estimated to be eighteen to twenty years of age at the time of death.

  What the police had on their hands was a murder.

  After that, Abner became the go-to guy for most of the rural police departments in the Carolinas and southern Virginia. He traveled to beaches, forests, mountains, ponds, lakes, creeks, and swamps. His ability to identify the sex, race, and age of corpses earned him a solid reputation with law enforcement, and his research quickly turned from pre-Columbian mounds to modern burials.

  He lived in sprawling timber frame house on Red Fox Lake. His property had a boat house and a dock. That’s where my call found him.

  “Zickafoose speaking.”

  “Hey, Doc.” It was always Doc. Never grandpa, granddad, granddaddy, and certainly, never, ever paw-paw. “It’s Boone, your grandson.”

  “Of course, it’s Boone, my grandson. I only have one, and his name is Boone. Or is it pain in the ass?”