Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  I smiled and sipped my tea.

  “I need to find you a statue of Saint Jude,” Rosey mumbled as he headed out of the apartment.

  “Is nothing sacred between us?” I said to Rogers once he shut the door.

  “I told him nothing of our conversation the other day. He brought it up on his own. Great minds mingling no doubt,” she said.

  “Yeah, great minds.”

  “Well, it certainly fits your life. I say that without any serious doubt. Saint Jude is reputed to be the one you call upon when all other ways are closed or non-existent. Think hopeless here.”

  “I am a long way from being hopeless. Before Jasper cornered me in that street, I was making plans for another trip back to Yancey County in light of the garnet stone angle we discussed earlier. Now I have a better reason for returning there.”

  “Maybe. What you have is another reason, nothing more. You really think he would go home?” Rogers said.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I hate to aid and abet, but, yes, I do think that it is logical for an injured human being to seek out help from those closest to him. I shall keep searching for a connection in that county.”

  After a few moments of pondering my latest escape from death, missing Sam more than I wanted to admit, and the seemingly hopelessness of finding Jasper Stone Connelly, I eased my way to the kitchen to fix some more of that herbal tea that Rosey had prepared. Rogers gave me the recipe.

  My weakened condition necessitated that I utilize the walls and tall furniture of my apartment to slowly move to the kitchen. Once or twice I tried to stand on my own with little success. I was exhausted and limp as a dish rag, as my mother used to say.

  I managed the tea prep and slowly returned to the couch with some difficulty. Despite my normal aggressive female tendencies, I was hardly a macho girl of any magnitude at present. Mouth, maybe. Body, less so. As I drank the tea, I thought of four things I really wanted – food, sleep, Sam, and Jasper Connelly in jail. I finished my tea and closed my eyes while I waited on Rosey to return with my nourishment.

  I negotiated with myself concerning those four items. I narrowed it to two – sleep and Sam. Then I settled for one. If all was hopeless, I’d want Sam back.

  I fell asleep.

  Chapter 57

  I stared at the plastic statue of St. Jude while I chewed my delicious steak that Rosey had prepared for us. Each time I started to say something about St. Jude sitting on the table between us, I put another piece of steak in my mouth and chewed. The food was more important than my opinion of that small, plastic statue in front of me.

  Rosey had also found an exquisite Merlot that fit perfectly with the thick steak he had cooked. He made me eat a baked potato as well. Referred to the carbs I might need. It was all way beyond delicious. I ate as if I had not eaten in several days.

  “You can only smell the Merlot,” he said. “Shouldn’t combine booze and pain meds.”

  I finally slowed and swallowed the last of my steak. I chewed it slowly to relish the last morsel of it. I chased it with a sip of the Merlot and then sighed. Wow. Let’s talk about good stuff.

  “Hey!” he raised his voice in my direction. “I told you not to drink any of the wine. Only smell it.”

  “I just sipped some. That won’t kill me. If bullets didn’t do me in, wine certainly won’t.”

  I sighed loudly as I leaned back on the sofa. “That meal was beyond good.”

  “Sounds like enjoyment,” Rosey said.

  “Satisfaction at its highest.”

  “Glad I could oblige. Now where?”

  “To bed. We leave early in the morning.”

  “We?”

  “You’re driving me.”

  “I am?” he said.

  “You are.”

  “Do I have to guess where?”

  “You know where.”

  “Can we take along Saint Jude?”

  “Why do we need a plastic statue of some ancient saint?” I said.

  “In case we need to wing a prayer in his direction.”

  “I don’t usually pray to saints.”

  “Didn’t know you prayed at all,” he said.

  “Lots you don’t know about me and what I do or don’t do when I’m alone. Or in desperate situations. Not given to PDAs or PDTs.”

  “You lost me, Clancy.”

  “Public Displays of Affection or Theology. What I believe, I believe.”

  “Sounds philosophical.”

  “I’m going to bed. I owe you my life for the steak and the sip of wine.”

  “Don’t forget the potato and the pain meds I grabbed,” he said.

  “Potato was delectable. Meds have been essential in easing my distress.”

  “Boston University, huh?” he said, once again chiding me for my undergraduate work.

  “Yeah, and talkin’ to one who holds a degree in English lit along with multiple languages from Oxford. And, if that’s not enough to swallow, he’s my friend along with my go-to guy.”

  He bowed at the waist and took the dishes from our small table he had placed in front of my couch position off to the kitchen without further comment.

  “Considering everything you do for the government and for the military branches, you ever regret studying English literature at Oxford?” I said.

  “Why would I regret that?” he said from the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t fit your…shall I say, style of life.”

  “I wanted to be well rounded.”

  “Renaissance man, is that it?”

  “Might be more than I could chew, but something approaching that, I suppose.”

  “History and sociology from UVA, law degree from Harvard, doctorate in English Literature from Oxford plus those wonderfully difficult Asian languages you excel in. Add to that mix a commission as a lieutenant in the United States Navy, special ops for the Navy, a Navy SEAL, and then so many unmentionable black ops for whoever needs you…is there a term beyond renaissance man?”

  “Training and knowledge are important to me.”

  “I get that.”

  “I’m no longer a lieutenant in the Navy,” he said.

  “Resigned your commission.”

  “No. Promoted.”

  “Really? When did this happen and what did they give you?”

  “Last month, and they didn’t give me anything. Trust me, you earn whatever you can get through the Navy’s ranking system.”

  “So, bubba, what did you earn?”

  “Captain.”

  “Impressive. Captain Washington. Sounds historical.”

  “He was a general. So, what’s your point in all of this résumé-type-talk?”

  “Just proud of you. And a little impressed. Don’t want it to go to your head, but you are quite something.”

  “Something?”

  “My friend. Bottom line.”

  “Good answer. And you can add to that résumé, guardian angel for a Saint Jude devotee,” he said as I climbed into bed.

  I think I fell asleep as soon as he turned out the light in my bedroom.

  We were headed to North Carolina early the next morning in Rosey’s Jaguar. Sam was not in the backseat and I missed him severely. We had close to seven hours of driving time ahead of us. That’s without any stops. Despite the fact that we were in his luxury sports car, my discomfort was significant, and we had to make a few stops.

  Rosey helped me to the car and I was more or less comfortable with just sitting. The sleep greatly enhanced my health condition along with the food Rosey had fixed the night before. Before we drove out of Norfolk, he had prepared a hearty breakfast and forced me to consume most of that – three eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits, and two large glasses of orange juice. He still refused to allow me coffee. He permitted his tea concoction once again.

  I was forced to stare at that ridiculous statue of St. Jude all the way to Yancey County, North Carolina. Rosey had somehow managed to mount it on the dashboard of his Jag. Center stage. Under the r
earview mirror. As hard as I tried to avoid St. Jude, I couldn’t stop looking at the poor saint who was purported to be the one who went to bat for hopeless causes. I tried to reassure myself that at least I now knew who the murderer was. One of Pearl’s gems was a stone-cold killer. That knowledge wasn’t enough to satisfy me.

  If this trip to Yancey County proved to be an empty one, then I might consider throwing a prayer in St. Jude’s direction just to hedge my bets along with my hope of finding him.

  Rogers found one small tidbit of a clue in her thorough search for any kinfolk of Jasper Stone Connelly. I say tidbit of a clue since I endeavor to remain optimistic about detective work. The tidbit was that Jasper’s father, Garnet Stone Connelly, had an older brother who might still be alive in Yancey County. The scarcity of records on some families and individuals made it a definite long shot. I was given to such shots more often than not of late. Enter St. Jude.

  The upside of this road trip was that I would get to see my friend Starnes Carver and, hopefully, Reddy Reese again. Starnes had moved back to McAdams County a few years ago. Yancey was next door to McAdams. I had called Starnes to tell her what had transpired and that Rosey and I were on the way. Since we were searching for Sam, she agreed to offer any assistance I needed. Sam was the reason that Starnes eventually got a dog after she had returned to her home place. In her usually deliberate style, she named her dog, Dog. Succinct.

  “What’s wrong with his hair?” I said to Rosey as we approached Asheville. He had chosen to come via I-40 across North Carolina once we went south out of Dan River, Virginia and into Carolina around the city of Greensboro.

  “Whose hair?” he said.

  “Saint Jude’s. Look at it. It’s like he fell asleep in some hairdresser’s chair and they fluffed it up too much. He’s got that nineteen seventies’ look.”

  He laughed. “That’s not hair, silly. That’s representative of fire on top of his head.”

  “Fire.”

  “Yep. Baptism of fire that the disciples of Jesus received at Pentecost.”

  “Looks like hair to me.”

  “Not hair. Fire. Imagine fire.”

  “Why should I imagine anything? It’s a statue.”

  “Well, since you are so all-fired optimistic about your cases, and if we indeed find this Jasper character, then our work has only just begun. I’d say a baptism of fire might be the operative metaphorical expression for what awaits us…if Jasper is where you hope he is.”

  “My luck having an erudite black ops specialist as a friend and guardian angel. I used to tell my mother that Saint Thomas was my Patron Saint,” I said.

  “I didn’t think you took much stock in Catholic saints.”

  “I like Thomas. He was a disciple of Jesus before he became a Catholic saint.”

  “You forget I’m a black kid raised mostly by his religious uncle in a Southern town in Virginia. Don’t you think I know about Thomas?”

  “Well, Mister Know-It-All, do you recall that Thomas was one who needed answers to questions and substantial evidence? Think tangible evidence here. Most people refer to him as Doubting Thomas. I never liked that mantle for him. Maybe he should be the Patron Saint of detectives. The one who asks the hard questions. I used to tell my mother this before I entered the profession.”

  “I imagine Rachel Jo took exception to your early opinion,” he said.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Starnes’ small home is in a remote section of McAdams County. You would find that statement humorous if you knew McAdams County. A good ninety percent of the county is remote. Starnes lives in the western part of the Laurel Ridge section on Carver Creek Road. Her small, white frame house is remote enough that once you have entered McAdams County coming from Asheville on I-26, it takes you at least another forty minutes to find her house if it’s your first trip. If you become bewildered with the mountain terrain and roads, plan for a longer time to get to her place. Think secluded. Really.

  We made it in thirty-five minutes. Her home has become my home-away-from-home whenever I have need of a respite, a getaway, a retreat, a hideout. Starnes is someone I trust with my life.

  Our seven-hour road trip had turned into more than eight hours. It was growing dark when we entered the mountainous terrain of McAdams County heading towards Starnes’ abode.

  Dog met us at the car. Friendly, but restrained. Dog’s personality is similar to Starnes’. The only time I have ever seen Dog wag his tale is when I bring Sam along. Apparently the two canines are BFFs. No tail wagging this time. Dog did approach me as I exited the Jag and allowed me to rub his head. Privileged person that I am.

  The porch light was on behind a silhouetted figure.

  “Supper’s on the table. Wash up and let’s sit. Time for chow,” Starnes said. Just the sound of her voice brought comfort to me.

  “Good to see you, too,” I said in response.

  “Pleasantries inside, Clancy. I’m hungry. Been waiting an hour or so for you two. Welcome, Mister Washington,” she said.

  We followed her inside the small yet comfortable home. It was warm but not excessively so. She had the fireplace insert turned down, but it was cozy enough. Felt a lot like home to me. Starnes knew Rosey from past experiences with me. If you put some folks in harm’s way a time or two, then friendship generally emerges if they all come out alive. Something about saving each other’s skin. Could be more to it, but I’ll stick with that for the time being.

  The smell of the food Starnes had prepared was downright intoxicating as we entered the kitchen. The wooden table was a rectangular four feet by six feet and took up a good bit of the space in that small room. Starnes’ parents, both dead now, had lived in this little dwelling for their entire married life. Starnes came back home from Norfolk a few years ago to take care of her ailing parents. She decided to stay around the home place after they both died.

  “Sit,” she said to Rosey as he entered the kitchen after his hand washing ritual. I was still standing at the kitchen sink washing. I had a brief look as I entered the room and noted that we were having one of my favorite Carver meals – beans and cornbread. Yowhee.

  “Mind if I bless it?” she said when I finally took my place at the table.

  I looked at Rosey and we shook our heads simultaneously.

  “Don’t go gettin’ any wild ideas. I’m not finding religion, or anything remotely connected. My mama did this at every meal and it just seems like the thing to continue as long as I live in her house,” Starnes said as she bowed her head.

  My peripheral vision informed me that Rosey bowed his head. Mine went down halfway, but I kept my eyes on Starnes. This was different for her. Something must have gone on since our last meal in this place.

  “Lord, you’ve been better to me than I deserve, and I say it plainly, thanks. Bless these two crazy people for coming this way and help them, ’cause, Lord, you and I both know they’ll need it where they’re going. Amen.”

  I glanced at Rosey who had lifted his head and opened his eyes sometime during her short, but targeted blessing. He was smiling at me. I read his mind. He was thinking St. Jude.

  “Now, tell me what on God’s earth are you two doing going over to Yancey County in search of a fugitive?”

  “One that got away,” I said just before I put a spoonful of beans and a bite of cornbread in my mouth to chew and savor. Good didn’t even approach what I was thinking about this food.

  “And you thinking you’ll find him over there?” she said.

  “With your help.”

  “Not likely.”

  “You won’t help us?” I said.

  “Oh, I’ll help you, but only because I feel sorry for you. Finding anyone over there is dubious at best.”

  “You and I have accomplished some significant investigations in these hills,” I said in deference to her skepticism.

  “True enough, but you told me that you were headed back to see Reddy Reese. You wanted his help as well.”

&
nbsp; “I did. Is that a problem?”

  “And you told me that the person you were looking for was named Jasper Stone Connelly.”

  “Still correct.”

  “Well, you know that if you trace lineages far enough, you’ll find some kind of kinship. All of those tree-branches end up touching each other a whole lot more than folks know or will admit.”

  “You know something I don’t know?” I said.

  “Clancy, despite your wisdom and intelligence, there are literally mountains of things I know that you don’t. But in this case, yes, I know something that might hurt your search.”

  “You know this Jasper Connelly?” Rosey said.

  “No,” she said and continued eating. I watched her finish her first piece of cornbread and half of her bowl of beans. She then took another triangle wedge of cornbread, cut it down the center top to bottom, buttered it, and placed it gently on her plate. She then took another helping of beans and added some chow-chow and salsa to the mix. She forced me to wait for the answer.

  Rosey and I both waited for her to complete her food prep and tell us more.

  She began eating.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Well what?” Starnes said.

  “What is going to make our search so difficult for this man?”

  “Aside from the fact that you don’t even know that he is back in Yancey, Reddy Reese may not be willing to help you find Jasper, if he’s still around.”

  “There a reason that Mister Reese might not want to help me?”

  She chewed a mouthful of beans. I took a bite of cornbread. Rosey finished his sweet tea.

  “Yes, there is. Reddy Reese got married a couple of years ago.”

  I was lost.

  “You think his wife might be jealous of him helping me?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that angle. But no, that’s not what I consider the real issue.”

  “Well, do tell. What is the real issue you think Reddy will have when I ask him to help me find Jasper Connelly?”

  “He married a cousin of Jasper Stone Connelly.”

  I was chewing some cornbread at the time she delivered her news. The cornbread did not taste quite as delectable as before.