Puzzlement pulled her eyebrows together and made the woman’s face crinkle. “We’ve met?”
Tony gave a little shrug. “Well, we weren’t exactly introduced and to be fair, you were unconscious at the time. I’m Sheriff Abernathy and this is my deputy, Wade Claybough. How are you feeling?”
“Much better.” A faint smile accompanied her response. “Can I leave now?”
Tony shifted on the chair, placed where she would not have to strain to see his face. He waved his notepad and pen. “Would you at least tell us your name? The term ‘unknown female’ is imprecise. I prefer my report have somewhat better details than that.”
“Maybelle Ruth.” The hint of a smile removed ten years from her estimated age. “No relation to the “The Babe.”
Tony smiled at the woman. “And where do you live, Mrs. Ruth?”
“Maybelle,” she insisted and gave him a local address. “It’s my son’s place.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your visit.” Half expecting her to contradict his assumption, he waved at the medical equipment. “Except for being stabbed in the back, and now, of course, chatting with me.”
Her head did not move. She did not blink as she stared into his eyes. “I want to leave now.”
“I think you need to wait for the doctor to give the word.” Tony pulled the chair closer to the bed and leaned slightly forward, getting closer to her eye level. “Will you please tell us what happened?”
“Nothing happened.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m fine. I want to go home.”
“Assault with a deadly weapon is not something I can ignore.” Tony was surprised she wouldn’t talk, unless . . . His stomach soured. Sometimes family violence victims would pretend nothing had happened. This phenomenon was not confined to marital disagreements. All ages and all genders were potential victims.
Maybelle’s spine straightened and her eyes opened, only to glare at him. “There was no assault. I did it to myself.”
“Okay, how’d you stab yourself? Show me.” Tony wanted her to get mad and quit being someone’s doormat. “Here, you can show me with this.” He handed her a small flashlight from his belt.
Maybelle made a couple of feeble attempts to demonstrate but failed. She didn’t change her story, but it gave Tony some fingerprints to compare to the ones on the knife. The weapon removed from her back was already locked up in the law enforcement center. Doc Nash had a fair amount of experience with the chain of custody and handling of evidence. Between Theo having seen the knife embedded in Maybelle’s back and the doctor who removed it, Tony didn’t think he’d need the victim’s cooperation to hand the case over to Archie Campbell, their prosecutor.
“It was an accident. A silly accident.” Maybelle flapped her hand in obvious surrender. “I stepped back to get out of the way; the kitchen is so tiny, there just wasn’t room for all of us, and I backed into the knife my son was holding.”
“Seriously?” Wade’s eyebrows rose and his pen lifted from his notebook. “That’s the story you’re going with?”
“You don’t have to say a word.” Tony frowned again, thinking it was the dumbest story he’d heard in ages. “I think in this case, the fingerprints will be enough for a conviction.” He was good and sick and tired of people being bullied, beaten, and keeping silent. “No one has the right to do this.”
“Oh, no, you can’t.” Even though the woman lay on her side, packed like fine china to keep pressure off of her wound, she attempted to sit up but ended up sprawled across the bed, her eyes pleading and filled with tears. “You must believe me, it’s not what you think. I want to leave. Now.” Her words were barely audible over the sound of labored breathing. They turned into gasps for air.
As the poor woman thrashed about on the narrow bed, Tony rang for the nurse. To him, it looked like she was trying to remove the tube delivering oxygen into her nose and the IV line into her arm at the same time. Total panic. The monitor tracking her heart rate and blood pressure flashed what he assumed were emergency readings. It was not the time to ask more questions.
Nurse Foxx came into the cubicle in seconds and he and Wade left, sent away with little more information than they’d arrived with. Now they knew she was protecting someone.
CHAPTER SIX
When Tony stepped out of his office, late in the afternoon, he found Ruth Ann behind her desk and her husband, Walter, sitting with their most avid confessor, Orvan Lundy. It was too late for Tony to step back into his office and pretend to be out. Plus, after the frantic morning and the wild beginning of the afternoon, he was swamped with paperwork. He thought maybe hearing one of Orvan’s tall tales might perk up the day.
“Making a confession?” Tony expected this situation to follow their normal pattern. The old man would confess to some crime, even if it was nonexistent, and Tony would learn more about what was really happening under the quiet surface of the county. “Did you do something I should know about?”
“No sir, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You know I’m a good man. My doing wrong would be like sanding against my grain.” Orvan’s faded blue eyes filled with tears. “How can you think I ever did wrong?”
“Let’s just say I have an overactive imagination.” Tony wasn’t about to launch into a description of every crime he believed the old sinner had committed. Maybe not recently, but Tony was reasonably sure Orvan had killed more than one person. Being reasonably sure would not hold up in court, even if Tony could supply the names of the victims. He settled the discussion by ignoring the melodrama. “What can I do for you?”
Ignoring Tony, Orvan focused his rheumy eyes on Ruth Ann and smiled. “My angel.”
As if seeing Orvan for the first time in years, instead of having his skinny frame parked near her desk, Ruth Ann batted her eyes and waggled her fingers in a greeting. “Mr. Lundy.”
Walter nudged Orvan, pushing him slightly closer to Tony. “Quit staring at my wife and tell the sheriff what you heard.”
“A haint.” Orvan slipped his trembling hands under the buckles holding his overalls on, almost as if he was protecting his fingers from something. Something trying to steal his hands. “It were terrible, terrible, I thought they was a-comin’ to collect me.”
“Did you see the haint?” Ruth Ann left her desk and all teasing behind, and she came to stand next to her husband. Her question, though, was aimed at Orvan.
“No, my angel. I jest heer’d it. The cries of the dead.” Orvan started shivering and shaking so hard that Tony and Walter carefully pressed him onto a nearby chair before he collapsed on the floor.
Tony looked to Walter. “Did you hear it, whatever it was?”
Walter didn’t answer right away. He rolled his shoulders and closed his eyes. “Maybe. I wasn’t with Orvan at the time. I was taking my morning walk, but I heard something strange this morning too. It was a high wailing cry, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or if it was a bird or was human. If I hadn’t heard it myself”—Walter stared into Tony’s face—“I’d have said Orvan was crazy or drunk. Possibly both.”
Tony pulled out his notepad. Recently much recovered from near death, Walter was married to Tony’s secretary/assistant/lawyer and expert office organizer. Tony occasionally had nightmares about Ruth Ann leaving. Ruth Ann had recently begun a new county assistance program matching volunteers with people in need, and she had teamed her husband up with the most cantankerous man in the county. Orvan Lundy was old and tough as leather but he was spry and frequently misinterpreted real events. He was also rapturous in his adoration of Ruth Ann.
Orvan sat next to the much larger man, seemingly content for the moment to let someone else do the talking.
“Tell me, Walter, what exactly did you hear?” Tony was curious, not concerned. He hadn’t heard anything peculiar himself and knew sounds heard up in the mountains were often hard to locate.
“At first, it sounded like an airplane, you know, a small one. Private.” Walter paused and glanced down at the floor and up ag
ain. He shook his head like he didn’t believe what he’d heard. “Then, like I said, there was this one drawn-out endless scream that covered the sound of the airplane.”
“Banshees,” Orvan mumbled, almost inaudibly. “They was banshees. Nothin’ else makes such a sound.”
Tony studied Orvan’s face. Eating regularly made him much stronger now. It looked like he was almost back to his normal irritating self. “Banshees? Okay. But what kind of sound do they make?”
“It was kind of a high shriek,” Walter broke in. “Maybe a long wail would describe it better.”
“What time was this?” Tony made a few notes to himself.
Walter thought for a moment. “I walked after breakfast. When I arrived this morning, it was maybe nine, nine thirty. Orvan was fussing about the new time coming.”
“New time?”
Brilliant white teeth flashed. The grin on Walter’s chocolate face grew wider. “Orvan’s not pleased about our going off daylight savings time.”
Tony could imagine the fun conversation the subject of such an event could stir up with the grouchy old man. Orvan was about the most contrary, argumentative citizen in the county and would dispute the color of the sky just to keep from agreeing with anyone.
Orvan broke in, his gnarled, callused hands waving, “It give me chills.”
“The time change?” Tony decided to be purposely dense to see how close to his normal behavior the old man achieved.
“I cain’t see how you keep this job.” Orvan’s face became one giant frown line. “You ain’t smart enough to grow dirt.”
Walter’s grin confirmed Tony’s assessment. The old guy was back to normal.
Surprised by the depth of his relief, Tony smiled back. “Okay, Orvan, so why do you think it was a banshee? We haven’t had many of those lately.”
Orvan squinted at Tony, a hint of suspicion on his face. “I heerd one years ago. Just before my old granny passed away. Like to made every hair on my head stand on end.” He paused, staring at Tony’s bald scalp.
Tony waited for Orvan to ask a rude question, but he didn’t. “So, Walter, you heard an airplane and a scream?”
“Yes. First the plane, then the scream, and then silence.” Walter spoke softly. “I might not have paid any attention to the plane if something didn’t scream, long and drawn-out.”
“That makes no sense.”
“On that we agree.”
“Could you tell what direction it came from?”
“Somewhere maybe east or southeast. Until the scream, it was just another small plane motor passing overhead. Nothing to attract any attention at all. And to be honest, I didn’t even hear the scream very well.”
“Why did you wait so long to come in?”
“Sounded stupid.” Walter gave a half shrug. “Still does. I’m not convinced it wasn’t some critter caught by a predator, but Orvan and I talked it over and thought we’d check with you. You know, in case you knew what it was or had other reports.”
Tony thought the rather mild expression on Walter’s face was a lie. The man had heard something. And whatever that something had been, Walter had found it very disturbing. And still did.
“Just a minute, I’ll ask what similar calls there might have been.” Tony headed for the dispatch desk. Rex did not seem surprised to see him and already had a list prepared. Tony stared at the list. “Why?”
“While they were waiting, Walter told me part of the story and I thought you’d be curious.”
“What did other people hear?” Tony got the question out but before Rex could answer it, he had to respond to a 911 call. Someone needed an ambulance, a call easily dealt with.
Rex returned his attention to Tony. “I got several calls, none from people in town, asking if there was any need for them to be concerned. Quite a few asked if someone was trapping wild hogs. They’d all heard a scream of some kind but didn’t know the source.”
Tony wouldn’t be surprised if someone had tired of the wild hogs trampling through their property. They were mean, dangerous, and no permit was needed to shoot one.
“You’ll enjoy this one though,” Rex played a recording made that morning. In it, Rex’s voice remained calm, and spoke clearly and briskly. The caller, a woman, was not calm or clear. She spoke in a high-pitched tone, her words running together. “I heard a terrible scream.”
Rex finally broke in, having listened long enough to get the gist of her story. “Where are you?”
“At my house.”
“What’s your address?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business. I don’t give out my address. Really! How dumb do you think I am?”
A glance at Rex’s expression sent Tony back to his office. Neither of them would benefit from anger or amusement.
Tony suggested the wild pig story to Walter and Orvan. The old man shook his head.
“Those pigs can produce a mighty scream when they’re agitated.” Walter nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I guess it could have been a hog in a trap.”
Maybe half an hour later, Rex called Tony. “About the scream, it’s been totally quiet out here for a little while and it’s given me time to think. A few people called right away to ask about the sounds, but others have waited and given it some thought and then called, just to make sure we knew about it. But right now, I’ve got a different kind of caller on the line with news about the event. I think you should talk to this guy.”
“Put him through.” Tony felt like this could be the longest day in his life.
“I just did.” The ringing phone interrupted them.
“Uh, Sheriff, like I told the guy who answered the phone, I had a bit of an accident over on your side of the mountains.”
Before Tony could ask more or process Rex’s connecting the caller to his office telephone before he was asked to, the deep voice rumbled on.
“The guy fell out of my airplane—honest to God, he just climbed right out of his seat and fell out. There was nothing I could do to stop him. I couldn’t land up there with trees all around and rocks and the creek under me.”
“My side of the mountain? Seriously? Is this some kind of a joke?” As soon as Orvan and his entourage had vanished, Tony had started working on the budget figures, knowing he’d need to be exact with his facts and figures at the upcoming town meeting. If he couldn’t explain where every last dollar in his department budget went, the fickle citizens of Park County might decide to recall the August election and vote in his opponent. That would be bad for him and for the county. Tony doubted his opponent could operate a light switch, much less handle the myriad duties of the office. He’d be responsible for everything from courtroom security to the jail to policing the county.
His focus was divided until three words in the telephone statement finally caught his full attention. “Fell out” and “airplane.”
“Sheriff, you there?”
“Yes, yes, let’s start over. I missed a lot of your statement.” Tony pushed aside his files and opened his notebook to a fresh page. “What’s your name?”
“Gentry Frazier. That’s Frazier with a ‘zee.’ ”
“And where are you now?”
“Asheville, North Carolina.”
“When did this happen?” Tony glanced at his watch. It was three thirty. There would still be daylight for a while.
“Oh, maybe an hour, hour and a half ago. Might have been a little longer.”
“Where?” Tony thought the confused time frame was odd. Why didn’t the pilot know when the event occurred?
“We were just outside the national park and flying over your county. There’s a tiny bald surrounded by some old-growth trees, really dense stuff. I’m guessing only God can get in there—didn’t see a road anywhere close.”
Tony knew the spot. The bald in question, one of the mysteries of the Appalachian Mountains, was known as a grassy bald. The naturally treeless area covered with thick grasses and encircled by ancient oaks was on a ridge, near a cliff
and a stream. He thought Frazier’s assessment of accessibility was spot-on. “How did someone fall out of your plane?”
“Yessir. It was crazy. My client and me, we were looking for a special fishing spot he knew and all the sudden he’s climbing out of the plane, until he was almost completely stretched out on the wing and he’s shouting for me to land, but Sheriff, I swear there’s no place to land up there. Too many trees and too many rocks.”
The sounds coming through the phone now were quick breaths, as if Frazier was running. “I looked for a place to set down but never saw a good spot at all. My client was hanging onto his fishing gear more than the plane. Once he climbed out onto the wing, he jumped. I mean it. He got his feet under him and jumped off.”
“While he was opening the door, you couldn’t grab him by the belt?” Without seeing the airplane, Tony had no real hope of visualizing the situation.
Frazier wheezed. “There’s no door. I fly an antique biplane. You just climb in and sit down.”
With that information, Tony could picture the general layout of the plane. He had seen quite a few of those old planes. The pilot usually sat behind the passenger, a situation that made no sense to him, but he knew zilch about designing, or flying, an airplane.
“I took a picture of the area where he landed, with my phone, if it will help. Do y’all have Internet over there on your side of the mountains?”
“Yes.” Tony stared at the phone, semi-stunned by the question. “The stone tablet days ended for us at least two weeks ago.” If Tony wasn’t so concerned to hear of a missing man, he might have said more; instead he gave the pilot his email address and then asked his own question. “What’s the man’s name and address?”
Frazier said, “Name’s Franklin Cashdollar. Hold on while I get the address for you.”
There were sounds of papers being shifted around, but Tony was only vaguely aware of them. He recognized the name and he knew, albeit slightly, the man. Franklin was Silersville’s mayor’s brother. The phrase didn’t trip off his tongue, but it was the way the man was cataloged in Tony’s brain. It also meant that Franklin was Carl Lee Cashdollar’s father. Tony really did not like being the bearer of bad news, especially to a friend, and Carl Lee was a friend. Death notification was a part of his job Tony dreaded.
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