Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  The temperatures were falling as we were climbing. I could tell because Reddy chose not to run the heat in the truck and the three of us kept warm by moving closer together. What that meant was that Jane and I were touching but she kept some distance from Reddy.

  I enjoyed the warmth if not the fraternization of relative strangers. I hadn’t ridden this close to anyone in a truck since the days of my youth when I would accompany my daddy on a few of his investigations in Pitt County, Virginia. I would snuggle close to his side and he would pat me on my left knee and say, “Clancy, you ready for an adventure?” I would always say emphatically that I was. Sometimes at night when I awaken from my deep, dream sleep in those early predawn hours before I actually get up, I can still feel his strong right hand on my knee. Ever comforting.

  I loved to sit close to him in his old, white Chevy truck whenever his official business would take him on the back roads of the county. I recall that whenever we would leave from our house in town, my mother would always come out to the truck, stand on the running board, and tell my daddy to keep me safe. He would smile, kiss her gently on the lips, and say, “You know I will.”

  And he always did.

  Now that I’m more or less a grown woman, doing some of the dangerous work my father did, Sam is the sole being responsible for keeping me safe and sometimes warm. I must say it was rather good to have some strangers who seemed to care about my wellbeing on this adventure.

  “Clancy, do you know why Starnes Carver told you to look me up after you arrived in Yancey County?” Reddy said as we approached a gated driveway on our right. He slowed the truck as we pulled into the small space just in front of the gate.

  “Her line was cryptic. Seems you can open stuff that is closed, fix broken things, and network with people on a level unknown to most humans, especially politicians.”

  Reddy began laughing. He laughed so hard that tears came. Jane was laughing as well.

  He stopped the truck and turned off the motor. The three of us sat there staring at the metal gate across the driveway presently secured with a chain that attached it to a wood post driven into the ground. There was a lock on the chain. A sign in the middle of the metal gate told anyone who could read that strangers would be shot. Underneath that warning was another line that someone had added with a black marker. It read: “Beware of the large dog.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with that sign?” I said.

  “Beg your pardon, Clancy?” Reddy said.

  “Why Starnes told me to look you up once I arrived in Yancey County.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “but there’s probably a tad more. If I had told you to go away and leave me alone when we had first met, would you have come up here on your own looking for Bernstein?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the first reason Starnes sent you to me.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “One more.”

  “Does it have to do with my tenacity?”

  “Remember what I told you about words,” Reddy reminded.

  “Hard-headedness,” I clarified.

  He laughed again but this time without tears. “No, goes to your safety.”

  “Thus, the sign,” I said.

  “Well, partially. Make no mistake, there are days when the old doctor would shoot at anyone who had the audacity to walk onto his property without giving him a head’s up.”

  Jane turned quickly to Reddy, shook her finger at him and said, “Watch your mouth, boy.” Then she laughed.

  I was definitely missing the inside joke that these two obviously had.

  “I could have said balls or gall, Jane,” Reddy admitted.

  “I’d use the word stupidity. Most folks know better who live around here. Only some hunter who ignores signs would dare to violate the old doc’s sanctuary,” Jane said.

  “Clancy,” Reddy said, “Doctor Bernstein has what a lot of us are gonna have if we live long enough. His brain isn’t working on all cylinders. He tends to forget. Many things. And he trusts no one. Some days the lights are on but nobody’s home, if you get my drift.”

  “Only some days,” I said.

  “That’s right. Some days the man is the smartest fellow a body could ever run into and have a wonderful discussion with. Other days, he’s a raving lunatic. Crazy would be mild for what he acts like. You never know what you’re gonna get when you encounter Sam Bernstein.”

  “Watch the name calling,” Jane advised Reddy, again.

  “Starnes knew all this?” I said.

  “Naw, she didn’t know any of that. But she knew I’d know, that’s another reason why she told you to find me.”

  “Starnes called it networking, that you could open lots of doors.”

  “That’s a good way of saying it,” Jane added. “Reddy Reese knows just about everybody in Yancey County as well as most of the other surrounding counties, too. People depend on him, trust him, and genuinely like him. He’s a good man.”

  “Jane, you keep your opinions to yourself. Don’t go and get all mushy on me. I got no time for such as that. Come on, Clancy, let’s go for a hike.”

  We climbed down from the truck, I called Sam and he jumped from the bed to the ground as gracefully as any plus-100-pound animal could, and we stopped at the gate. Reddy pulled out a key and unlocked the chain from around the post.

  Jane looked at me and said, “Like I said, trust.”

  Sam bounded ahead of our foursome and led the way. It was as if he knew he had to take point to provide the cautionary leadership required for meeting a potential crazy man. I was confident that he had heard our cab conversation about Bernstein.

  Our guide dog remained twenty yards in front of us as we climbed the driveway hill towards the house I had imagined.

  “How large is the large dog?” I said to Reddy.

  “Taller than Sam here, but don’t think he weighs as much. All white with a black patch over one eye. Dirty looking and right mean. His name’s Butch.”

  “I would have thought with that patch over one eye he would have been called Blackbeard.”

  “It’s a patch of hair, Clancy, not a real patch over his eye,” Reddy said.

  My humor was lost on Reddy.

  “Butch will be along directly. He’s deaf in one ear, so it takes him a bit to hear someone walking up the drive.”

  “The grass growing among the rocks helps our approach,” I said.

  “That, too,” Reddy admitted.

  Directly a large, dirty white dog with a black patch of hair over his right eye showed himself on a small hill overlooking our driveway path. Reddy stopped and the rest of us followed suit. Only Sam continued to move ahead. He saw the other dog and merely slowed his gait to a cautious walk. To his credit, Sam never flinched. Neither did Butch.

  “This’ll be interesting,” Reddy said as the three of us watched Sam’s approach to the ugly, mean dog.

  Butch was growling as Sam approached. It was one of those low, moaning growls, not expressive of pain; rather, it was a menacing guttural sound that I suspect was meant to scare his enemies into next week. I was duly fearful as I watched Sam walk resolutely toward Butch. Sam appeared to have no trepidation. I knew that he could take care of himself, but I also knew that some dogs are better fighters than other dogs. What I didn’t know was that some dogs know a little more psychology than the run-of-the-mill canine. Or the run-of-the-mill humans.

  Sam headed toward Butch as Butch’s threatening growl slowly subsided. When Sam got within four feet or so of Mr. Mean, he stopped and sat down. All four of his legs were on the ground as he rested his head on his front paws. I had never witnessed anything like that between two animals that had the potential to draw each other’s blood in a battle. Butch moved closer to Sam. Sam appeared to be frozen as Butch sniffed all around Sam’s imitation of a prone statue of a dog. Or was this Sam’s demonstration of respect.

  The three of us were duly amazed. What we surely witnessed was what we imagined to be an imminen
t dogfight change dramatically. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one who was educated that day about canine negotiations.

  Butch circled Sam at least three times, sniffing as he went. Now and then Butch would stop and stare at Sam. Sam remained fixed – resting with all fours on the ground and his head down on his front paws. When Butch finished his odiferous inspection, he lay down in front of Sam. He then licked Sam, and all was right with the world. Negotiations ended. Fast friends.

  It was a moment I have remembered fondly and filed away.

  “Never seen such in my life,” Reddy said. “Absolutely amazing. Now I guess we will never know which dog would have won a fight.”

  “Au contraire,” I said to him.

  “There you go again,” he answered.

  “Sometimes there are only certain expressions that fit, Reddy. It seems that we do in fact know who won that fight.”

  Jane smiled and slapped me on the shoulder with her opened palm. “I agree with Clancy. Sam’s the sure winner.”

  Chapter 43

  The log cabin was sitting neatly on a knoll to allow its inhabitants a view of the valleys that approached it from two sides. Lovely would be a mild word for what one could see, especially during the various seasons of the beautiful Blue Ridge. Fall was hanging around with some lively colors despite the pressing winter season lurking around the corner.

  A picket fence moved out on both sides of the tastefully constructed archway that was lined up in a perpendicular way with the front porch steps. Once upon a time the picket fence was white; now, it was adorned with only some graying streaks reminiscent of its once-upon-a-time color. The picket fence didn’t extend around the yard. It ended about thirty feet out on each side of the archway. There was evidence that years ago some flowers had decorated both the archway and the front side of the picket fence. We stopped at the archway because Reddy stopped.

  “You two stay here and I’ll go knock,” Reddy said.

  “Not much to hide behind if the shooting starts,” I said.

  “He’ll shoot me first,” Reddy said and laughed softly.

  He followed the rock walkway as he moved towards the front steps and the front door. There was easiness about Reddy Reese. Whenever he was around, there seemed to be calm in the air. I wondered if I was the only one who felt it.

  “Interesting fellow,” Jane said.

  “Bernstein?”

  “No, Reddy. He’s one of those perfect blends of his two parents. Likeable, intelligent, cunning like a fox, and can fix anything that’s broken. That includes many people as well. Never knew the likes of it before he came back home.”

  “Home, from where?”

  “First college, then war.”

  I started to comment but our eyes were fixed on the man who had just come out through the front door of the cabin. He was holding a rifle and aiming it at Reddy who was standing not more than five feet away. I judged the barrel of the rifle to be less than a foot from the center of Reddy’s chest. That was frightening enough, but what made it worse for me was that Sam had left his new best friend Butch and had followed Reddy to the front door. Sam was sitting on his haunches next to Reddy. Both of them were looking intently at the old man with the rifle.

  The only thing moving was Butch who was now approaching the steps. He slowly climbed them, then sat down on his haunches next to Sam. I guess that’s what friends do. Whatever was going to happen, it would be a shared event.

  All of us, people and dogs, were staring at Samuel Bernstein holding the rifle aimed at Reddy’s chest. No one was breathing for a few seconds.

  “This gonna be one of those crazy days or sane days?” I whispered to Jane.

  “Jury’s out as always. Nothing like front row seats, huh? You got your fingers crossed?” Jane said.

  “No, but I have my handgun ready to do whatever I need to do,” I said as Jane turned and looked at my hands hanging by my side. I had already removed my 9mm from my back holster. It was in my right hand ready to be used, if only reluctantly.

  Then Jane surprised me. She stepped in front of me as she whispered, “Put that gun up immediately, but do it slowly. Do not call attention to what you are doing.”

  Using her as a front, I eased my 9mm into my back-side holster as cautiously as I could per Jane’s directive. I kept my eyes on both the man with the rifle and Reddy. I had to assume that the man with the rifle was in fact Samuel Bernstein. I was following the lead of Jane and Reddy on that one.

  “No need for your weapon, Miz Evans,” Jane said softly. “Reddy can handle old Samuel better than anyone around.”

  As we watched the two men on the porch, Bernstein lowered the rifle and Reddy hugged him as if they were family. Bernstein then turned and opened the door to the cabin. He stopped and looked back at the two dogs now lying side by side. Then his gaze extended on down the slight hill to Jane and me at the archway. It appeared that Bernstein shook his head and said something to Reddy. We weren’t close enough to hear.

  Reddy signaled for us to come on up to the house.

  The dogs remained outside doing whatever it is that dogs do when they network. It was my first indication that Sam had more communication skills than I had even guessed. There has to be something special about a dog who knows when it is time to fight and when it is time to negotiate another way. Self-control, in dogs or humans, is an admirable trait.

  The cabin’s inside was comfortably arranged. Clean, well kept, like my mother’s house in Virginia. There was a fire warming the large cathedral room that stood center stage in Bernstein’s home. The sitting-furniture was wood with leather seats. Lamp tables, coffee table, and wooden encased shelves with glass doors created a rustic but restful environment. Everything matched. The hardwood floors had multiple throw rugs. There were a few built-in shelves lined with books and painted porcelain pieces, mostly of birds. Prints of some famous American artists – Paxton, Mount, and Grelle – were framed and tastefully placed on a few of the walls. I assumed that they were prints. I moved closer to examine one that was quite lovely but unknown to me. It was by Anna Brewster according to the signature. All in all, it was a homey and friendly atmosphere. The natural beauty of it had genuine appeal to me.

  Bernstein sat down by the fire. His chair was the closest one to the heat. Reddy gestured for me to take the old rocker across from Bernstein, still in front of the fireplace but not as close. He and Jane sat down on the love seat which sat directly in front of the fireplace but some twenty feet back allowing for Bernstein’s easy chair and my rocker. Cozy corners. The fire wasn’t blazing but the embers provided some welcome heat to the falling temperatures outside.

  Before I sat down, Reddy introduced me to Bernstein. He was already seated and remained that way without offering comment or handshake.

  “Doctor Bernstein, I’m investigating a series of murders in Norfolk. Some leads have led me to check on people who lived around here. Do you recall one of your patients – her name was Pearl Higgins Connelly?”

  “Who was she?”

  That wasn’t the comeback I wanted. This might be one of those wasted trips.

  “Well, all I can tell you is that my information says that she was married to Stone Connelly at one time.”

  “Now there was a character if ever there was,” he said before I could finish providing him with the remaining little I knew of Pearl.

  “You remember his wife?”

  “She wasn’t legally his wife,” he said. “Common law marriage. Garnet Stone Connelly was his legal name. That rascal didn’t trust the government and did his best to find ways around all of the laws that didn’t suit him. Most of the laws didn’t suit Garnet. He and his older brother were of the same disposition. Garnet was just more vocal as I recall. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Reese?”

  He looked at Reddy who nodded assent and smiled. “Gen-u-wine character,” Reddy acknowledged.

  “Yessir, he was something else,” Bernstein said.

  “And you called him Garnet?” I s
aid, seeking a clarification on the info I had been provided prior to my trip to Yancey County.

  “I generally remember the first given name of my patients. Just a habit, I suppose. Everyone around here knew that old character as Stone.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “What about her?” he said quickly and louder than I thought necessary.

  “Was she a patient of yours?”

  “Of course, she was. I saw nearly everybody in…this town here.”

  He seemed to be fumbling for the name of the town. Like most people who have some memory issues, he covered himself well enough.

  “What do you recall about Pearl?” I said.

  “Pearl?” he said.

  “Pearl Higgins.”

  “Pearl…Pearl…oh, yeah, she was a tough one. Had two babies, both hard, hard pregnancies. I delivered one, as I recall. I think I delivered one.”

  “You delivered Odem Higgins, Odem Stone Higgins. You remember him?”

  “Seems like I do, wasn’t he some kind of athlete hereabouts?”

  He looked over at Jane and Reddy.

  “Yeah, he was quite an athlete,” Jane said. “Star soccer player in a land of football. He played football as well, I seem to recall.”

  “He did,” Reddy added.

  “What about him?” Bernstein said.

  “Well, it seems that Odem was a close friend of one of the people who was murdered in Norfolk and I’m trying to find a connection with Odem and the other two victims, if one exists.”

  “Did I know those people?” Bernstein said.

  “Probably not, but I needed to check into something you wrote on a medical report for Pearl,” I said.

  “You been reading my medical reports?” he said. “I thought I took care of all those things before I quit my practice. How’d you get a medical report?”

  This was going to be tricky. I not only had a doctor with a bad memory in front of me, I had two other witnesses in the room with no clear evidence that they had bad memories whatsoever. Telling the absolute and total truth at this juncture was not one of my clear options.