Murder by Gravity

by Barbara Graham

Mike blinked, but his eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything. “I don’t know how you’ve survived four children. It’s harder than it looks.”

  “Well, for starters, they have never all four cried at the same time,” Tony said. “And, to be fair, Theo is the one left with the mob when I get called out. She’s tiny but tough. I’m not sure I would have survived if we reversed the roles.”

  “Well, sir, I’ve never associated you with the word ‘delicate,’ but I’ll agree with your assessment of your wife.” He took a mug of coffee offered to him. “She is tough. And calm in an emergency.”

  “Sheriff?” Rex said. “I’ve got a report that someone has found Boston’s dog.”

  “Without Boston?” Tony could tell his lunch break was over. Time to get back to the chaos of work.

  “Yessir. I thought you’d want to know.” Rex’s normally eerily calm voice sounded worried.

  “Thank you.” Most of what Tony knew about newcomer Boston Quist was that he was a veteran who settled in their county but remained a homeless man. All efforts to assist him with finding housing had failed. Not that there wasn’t any housing; Boston just said he couldn’t stand sleeping inside a building where he couldn’t see the sky and wouldn’t move into any place they’d found for him. Boston was apparently harmless, and his dog was vaccinated, licensed, and Boston’s constant companion. Tony had frequently encountered the pair in the park across the street from his own house. He’d seen them, each wearing a pack, down by the creek, and at various places around town, including dining on the back deck at Ruby’s Café. Only at Food City did Boston leave his dog outside and alone. Finding the dog without the man was cause for concern. “Where was the dog?”

  “Out on Mulberry Lane, near one of those new homes.” Rex paused. “The call was made by Mrs. Dixon, you know, the veterinarian’s wife. The house number is twelve fifteen.”

  “I’ll check into it. Have Wade meet me there.”

  Minutes later, Tony headed toward Mulberry Lane. It was a short road, just outside of town, and there were only six houses on it. His department checked the area regularly, as a matter of course with patrols, but the residents were quiet and he’d never needed to be in any of the houses. House number twelve fifteen was a large gray stone house on a several acre lot. Well-manicured grass and old trees and flowerbeds, now dormant, spoke of constant care. He parked on the driveway and climbed out. Inside a fenced yard directly behind the house, four dogs of varying sizes and breeds welcomed his arrival with a symphony of barking and tail wagging.

  Wade was already there, parked to the side and waiting for him. “What’s up?”

  “Mrs. Dixon called to report finding Boston’s dog.”

  Wade pressed his lips together and glanced away but not before Tony saw the flash of concern cross his face. “But not Boston?”

  Tony knew that Wade, even more than himself and his other deputies, checked on Boston, making sure he was eating and taking his medications. Tony had been in the Navy, Wade the Marines, and Boston was Army. The gist of it was they were all military veterans. Any or all of them could have ended up like Boston.

  Mrs. Dixon, a forty-something woman with prematurely gray hair, trotted around the corner of the house and waved for them to join her. The dog, not one of the pack in the yard but carefully tied to a tree near the side of a shed, was a Belgian Malinois. A full bowl of water was set next to the tree. The dog was apparently healthy, except for an old, healed injury to one paw, and clearly well-fed and cared for. His intelligent face bore an anxious expression, but he allowed the woman to pet him.

  Tony thought people who said dogs had no expressions or feelings were stupid. This dog was intelligent—and worried.

  Mrs. Dixon studied Tony and Wade. “Have you seen Boston?”

  “No, at least not today.” Tony held a hand out to the dog, who sniffed it and stepped back. They’d encountered each other many times but had never been formally introduced. “What’s his name?”

  “Mouse.”

  “Not an accurate name, is it?” Tony knew the dog was smart, protective, and very well-trained. Professionally. As if realizing they were there to help, Mouse now stood quietly watching them all with intelligent, large dark eyes.

  Mrs. Dixon smiled, but the worry didn’t leave her face. “Boston often sleeps back here.” She turned and led them all in the direction she had come from.

  “How did you meet him?” Wade moved to Tony’s far side.

  “At first, we met at the park. We talked about dogs because he had Mouse and I had a couple of my dogs with me. Later, I found him sleeping here one morning.” Mrs. Dixon stopped near a small shed. “It was raining, and he was under the overhang.” She smiled at the memory. “In spite of his name, Mouse has a very impressive growl.”

  Tony tried to place when he’d first become aware of the pair. “How long ago was this?”

  “Maybe four, five months.” Mrs. Dixon shrugged. “We offered him the guesthouse in exchange for yard chores.” She pointed to a small structure. “I think he stores some of his things in there, but I don’t think he has ever slept inside. He does use it for a mailing address.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Tony led Wade away and left Mouse with Mrs. Dixon.

  “Why would he leave his dog?” Keeping his voice low, Wade glanced back at the duo.

  “He wouldn’t. At least not without a very good reason.” Tony felt positive of that. Mouse was Boston’s friend, family, and responsibility. He didn’t have any facts, but he was pretty sure Mouse was a war veteran too. “Use your radio. Have everyone looking for Boston.”

  Wade complied. “There’s a place I’ve often seen Boston, but he always had Mouse with him.”

  “What if we just turn Mouse loose? Don’t you think the dog would find him for us?” Tony watched the dog pacing on his tether. He looked like a parent waiting for an overdue teenager.

  Wade considered the question. “I think he’d take off like a shot. He might find Boston, but I doubt we could keep up with him, and he’s sure not going to listen to any command either of us might give him.”

  “We don’t need to lose both of them.” Tony talked to dispatch. “Just let me know if someone spots Boston. Call it a wellness check.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tony noticed Deputy Sheila Teffeteller yawning as she filled out her endless paperwork. Reports, citations, and descriptions had to be detailed and accurate or the lawyer for the defense would tear the case apart. His only female deputy wrote the most lucid, organized reports he’d ever read. Once he had suggested she give the male deputies a workshop on the subject, which she had respectfully and adamantly refused to do. He couldn’t blame her. It would be hard work and unlikely to produce the desired result.

  “Sleep seems to be in short supply in our department this week.” Tony frowned, seeing nearly as much fatigue on her face as he’d seen on Mike’s. “What’s keeping you up?”

  “Nothing particular.” Sheila blinked. “It’s the season. Now that fall has arrived, I feel like Baby, wanting to eat continuously so I can pack on the extra pounds and hibernate.”

  Now that she mentioned it, Baby, the black bear, had looked a little heavier the most recent time Tony had encountered her with her human companions—not owners, for she was too wild—Roscoe and Veronica. The romance between Roscoe Morris, an odd job man, and Veronica, a college professor, seemed to be continuing happily, despite their educational differences. Baby had quickly adjusted to her new home, the woods behind the “log cabin” the couple had purchased. The cabin was in fact a two-story structure, quite large, and was built on fifty acres of land bordering the national park.

  Roscoe and the professor’s small wedding ceremony had taken place on the back deck, overlooking the woods. Baby was dressed formally for the event, which meant a white satin bow had been tied around her neck. At the end of the ceremony, Veronica and Roscoe had launched a paper bag filled with rice, confetti, and birdseed with their medieval-style trebuchet. When t
he paper bag struck the intended target, a packing crate painted white for the occasion, the bag burst, sending the contents flying.

  A cheer from the observers celebrated the hit. The groom kissed the bride and received an even louder cheer.

  A few of the other members of the couple’s vegetable warfare group had traveled long distances with cannons and medieval devices designed to fling edibles and gave the happy couple a twenty-one vegetable salute. Squash, pumpkins, and a few apples spattered the packing crate. Applause, whistles, and shouts accompanied each strike.

  Cheering loudest had been a flock of birds, lined up on a split-rail fence, waiting for their chance to nibble on the tasty bits of food.

  Tony thought it was the most unique and entertaining wedding he’d ever attended, and reminded him it had been awhile since he’d seen any of the Morris family. It also reminded him that Boston had attended the Morris wedding. He’d been one of several veterans driven out to the house by Arthur Jones.

  “I saw two of them boys headed into the woods above the Nest. It looked like a fight was brewing,” Arthur Jones said, when Tony asked if he’d seen Boston recently. The man was the local, and unofficial, veterans’ program director. “I was surprised not to see Mouse with him.”

  Minutes later, Tony headed up into the hills, toward the now abandoned, small, poorly constructed housing development once called the Shady Nest. He hoped to end an argument before someone got hurt. Too much anger and not enough work could create some powerful arguments. Or worse.

  The sound of fists hitting flesh and bone was one Tony could recognize anywhere. The cause was obvious. Two men, down by the creek, were locked in hand-to-hand combat. This was no simple bar fight. These were well-trained veterans. Neither showed any signs of surrender. One of them was Boston. The other had a familiar face but was not a man Tony could immediately identify. After each blow, there was a grunt or moan or just the whooshing sound of air leaving lungs. Neither man was talking.

  Tony ran as fast as he could, but it was slow-going trying to run through the underbrush and snow. When he reached the space between two old-growth trees, he saw the two reasonably fit young men, both with hand-to-hand combat training, pummeling each other. The snow had been churned into mud.

  Tony recognized Boston’s opponent. He was one of Sheila’s ragtag cousins, definitely a Teffeteller, but Tony didn’t know his first name. Tony was not in the mood to fight and guessed if he stepped in, they’d both turn on him. Still, their combat was too vicious to ignore. If this kept up, someone would be killed or maimed. Tony pulled out his pistol and yelled, “Sheriff. Stop.” He might as well have whispered. He fired once, into the ground.

  Two angry faces turned toward him but neither released his opponent.

  “Let go.” Tony stood his ground but now aimed his pistol at the combatants. He talked into his radio, keeping Rex apprised.

  Luckily, the two men finally showed some sense and took a step away from each other. Their expressions made it clear the fight was not over. Panting from exertion, they stared at Tony, looking like they’d enjoy taking on another person. He did not lower his gun. Two against one. Weirder things had happened than two combatants becoming allies against a common foe.

  “What’s this about?” Tony didn’t take his eyes off the pair, but saw another vehicle pull up. Wade. Reinforcements.

  Both combatants watched Wade exit the car and climb toward them. Breathing heavily, the pair stared at him. After a moment, their eyes cleared a bit, and they seemed to realize where they were again. Tony said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Defiant, Boston shook his head, but after a few moments, his fisted hands gradually opened.

  Teffeteller kicked at the snow near his feet. “He took my cake.” The whisper carried through the frigid air.

  “Excuse me?” Tony didn’t see any sign of food. “What cake?”

  “Over at the free lunch.” Teffeteller sniffled. “It was the last piece of chocolate cake.”

  “Heaven help us,” Tony murmured and holstered his gun. “Where’s the cake now?”

  Boston said, “Isn’t one. The loser of this fight has to move away so the other one gets the next piece. We came up here so my dog didn’t get hurt.”

  Tony said, “Boston, you come with me. You”—he pointed to the Teffeteller man—“stay here with Wade.”

  Boston followed Tony’s instructions, but anger etched his face into even harsher lines than usual.

  “You abandoned your dog.” Tony assumed the dog was more important than life to this man, and he felt gravely concerned by Boston’s actions. They moved some distance from the others.

  Something like fear flashed across Boston’s face. “Is he okay?”

  “Yes. But he’s worried, and so is Mrs. Dixon. She says you never leave Mouse, not ever.”

  Boston nodded. He flexed his hands wide and balled them into fists. “I couldn’t risk him being hurt during the fight. He’d want to protect me.”

  “What’s this really about?”

  Boston shook his head.

  “You want to spend some time in my jail, without Mouse?” Tony didn’t like threatening the man, but he needed to make his point. “He’d be well-cared for. Mrs. Dixon likes him and he seems to like her.”

  “No.” Boston surrendered. “Not that. Mouse needs me like I need him.”

  It was what Tony was counting on. “What about the fight?”

  “It’s stupid.”

  Tony felt positive the man was telling the truth. Boiled down, most of these scuffles were stupid, fighting over the winning or losing of a card game, the affections of some girl who didn’t like either of them, the results of a football game. “I don’t care. Tell me.”

  “It really was about cake.” Boston didn’t look up. “There was only one piece left and we both wanted it.”

  “And while you were arguing over it,” Tony guessed. “Someone else got it.”

  Boston’s head snapped up. “Yep. We thought we’d settle ownership of the next slice out here.” He stared into Tony’s eyes, breathing hard. “Fighting felt pretty good for a while. Cleansing, you know, but I’m done now.”

  “Okay.” Tony heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll take you back to the Dixon’s but there had better not be a next time.” Boston nodded.

  He would have Sheila talk to her relative.

  “Who would have guessed?” Tony stared at the neat row of containers. Under the watchful eye of Vince, from the TBI, Tony and Wade had excavated a lot of the root cellar at the old Buchanan house and found four skeletons in one small area. With the exception of a few small wrist bones obviously missing from the upper skeleton, they appeared to be complete. They filled jars with dirt under the skeletons.

  “Sheriff, I’ve made a few statements in the past about your crime statistics, but this is off the chart.” Vince from the TBI stared at the hole they’d dug. He was there because of simple curiosity. “Never would I have dreamed of this.”

  Tony wouldn’t have, either. Park County had seemed like the quietest, dullest place imaginable when he’d been a boy. Granted, his attention was on school and sports, so it would have taken something dramatic to attract him. Even his school boy crush on a girl named Leslie could not compete with a baseball.

  “I don’t suppose you want to take a guess at how long those bones have been down there,” Tony said.

  “You’re right about that.” Vince fiddled with his pen and shifted to slouch in another position. “I will tell you that it’s obvious that at one time, someone knew they existed.”

  “Why?” Tony believed it too, but was curious about Vince’s theory.

  “Well, mostly because I don’t believe those four dead people built the false wall. And because they weren’t buried deep and any number of critters would probably have gotten involved if the hatch or whatever you want to call the upper-level door wasn’t latched. Do you catch my meaning?”

  Tony did. The bones would have been scattered and gnawed b
y wild animals, and many, if not most, destroyed. “They wouldn’t have been neatly stacked either.”

  “You want to know what I think?” Vince stared at the small space.

  Tony most certainly did. “Tell me.” Tony held his breath, hoping it wouldn’t mean more work.

  “If these turn out to be old, old bones, like they initially appear to be, they could date from the Civil War era. How many fugitives or slaves passed through this part of the state?”

  “Only God would know the answer to that question. Hundreds, at the minimum.” Tony hesitated. “This was a crossroad back then. Slaves, free men, deserters from both sides, escaped prisoners of war. Some men were heading north while some traveled south. Families migrated west.”

  Vince nodded. “Tennessee was a split state. This end sided more with the North, and the western end with the South. Family loyalties were divided. About the only thing everyone in the state agreed on was there was too much bloodshed and it looked like the war would never end.”

  “Sheriff?” Doc Nash wasted no time getting right to the point. “Your grocery store stabbing victim is ready to talk.”

  Tony wasted no time getting Wade and heading to the clinic.

  “Doc Nash is dealing with an emergency. Come this way,” Nurse Foxx whispered as she led them down the hall. “Physically she’ll be fine. It’s a miracle. The knife missed every vital organ and blood vessel. Emotionally, I don’t know. Something she said made it sound like her daughter-in-law was the one who stabbed her.”

  Family disputes were Tony’s least favorite things to become involved in. There was not enough time or privacy to ask “Foxxy,” as she was called, anything else. She held the curtain back, and led the two men into the cubicle. The clinic had several beds, but there were only curtains separating them. It was not a hospital, but occasionally a patient spent the night here.

  Tony sat on a chair placed near the head of the bed and smiled at the woman stretched out on her left side on the narrow bed. An IV dripped fluids into her right arm and a monitor kept track of her blood pressure and heartbeat. “You certainly look like you’re feeling better than you did the last time we met.”