The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Why?”

  “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Not many people like you around,” he said.

  “I have my moments.”

  “There’s an old road. Not used.”

  “I could easily imagine the unused part. Give me some directions.”

  He nodded slowly and told me how to find the road. Talk about round about. The entrance to the road from below was not where Starnes and I had parked our vehicles. It was two miles further on Walnut Creek, accessed only by entering some posted property that warned trespassers with a hand-written sign. Homer told me that he had made the sign and put it on the tree so it could be seen from the county road. That type of signage was not taken lightly in McAdams County, Starnes once told me. Folks like their privacy and don’t care for people walking on their land. Or driving.

  My dilemma was now that I knew of the road’s existence, I had to figure a way to get that information to Starnes. Sometimes there’s only one way to do something, and it happens to be the long, hard way.

  “I need to leave you. You need anything before I go?” I said.

  “Something to drink,” he said.

  He told me where the spring was. I brought him a large container of water in case he wanted more later.

  “I’ll be gone at least a couple of hours. Promise me something,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Stay here and don’t run away. That means do not leave this cabin.”

  “What if people come I don’t know?”

  “Starnes and I will be coming back to get you. I don’t know who else might be coming. I doubt if you will have many folks dropping in for a visit.”

  “I think the sheriff was following me.”

  “That was a long while ago. Several hours, as a matter of fact. I don’t think the sheriff would still be on your trail here. Just promise me you won’t go running off somewhere.”

  “No running.”

  “No walking either,” I clarified.

  “Okay, no walking, no running.”

  “Bed rest only.”

  “It hurts some,” he said.

  “I get that. It’s not the most enjoyable experience a body can have. You’ve been shot three times. You’re probably not used to being shot.”

  “You’re a funny lady,” he said with a straight face.

  I smiled at him and patted his cheek. He had a fever and that worried me some.

  “You promise to stay put?” I said as I stood to leave.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. His voice was growing weaker.

  I left him and began jogging down the mountain in search of a road entrance and my friend Starnes. Something told me that Homer would keep his word to me, unless something major occurred in my absence. At least I hoped I had convinced him that his health was at risk if he didn’t get some medical attention soon. I knew it to be a fact.

  Chapter 34

  Laurel Shelton couldn’t decide whether she was exhausted from her miles of walking through the mountains, or if her lack of energy stemmed from the fact she had not eaten nutritious food in days. Her brain was too weary to reach the obvious conclusion that it was most likely a combination of the two facts.

  It was growing dark on the trail. She could hear a dog barking in the distance. The sound seemed to be coming from behind her. She collapsed by a tree even though she wanted to keep moving. Getting caught was not an option, but her body was demanding sleep and something to eat.

  In the quickly fading light, she searched for a safer place. Then an idea came. She removed her backpack. It was lighter than when she had set out on this adventure. She searched frantically in the near darkness for an energy bar. She was willing to sacrifice her singular food source to distract the search party dogs that seemed to be moving closer and closer. Laurel concluded that hunger was better than being found by the searchers.

  The pack was empty of energy bars. In fact, it was empty of any food source. Many fourteen-year old’s might become frantic at such a moment. That was not one of her characteristics.

  She pulled out her rain-soaked t-shirt. Poor planning, she thought. But how could she have known that this event would have taken her to where she had gone. She had escaped one anxious experience only to be found in the throes of another. From that to one more. It seemed that this was to be her lot until … she didn’t like the direction of her thinking, so she stopped considering that negative possibility.

  Removing the damp t-shirt, she moved downhill about forty to fifty yards, and then back-tracked toward the sound of the barking dogs, approximately the same distance. She buried the t-shirt under some leaves at the edge of a tree-fall. Perhaps this would confuse the dogs and stall the trackers for a brief time.

  The darkness was heavy on her surroundings as she retrieved her backpack and returned to the trail, hoping it would lead her to Homer’s place. Finding some energy from some unknown source, she moved out with renewed purpose. Finding Homer was the main goal. Not getting caught by the search party was tantamount to that goal.

  The thick woods made seeing harder even though there was still some light on the tree-lined horizon. The headlights of the ambulance from Mission Hospital in Asheville bounced off trees and small boulders as the vehicle carefully traveled up the seldom used mountain road. To call the single lane path a road was a stretch. In some places, the weeds of the forest were as high as the headlights. The way seemed more like just another open spot in the forest. Now and then, the official vehicle would come to a clearly evident roadbed and continue as if confident that this was the exact direction that would lead to their desired destination. The call had come in from dispatch some twenty minutes earlier.

  The rough terrain and the darkness naturally made the trip more difficult. Close to thirty minutes from the bottom of the mountain was what it took. The vehicle arrived at the clearing. The headlights hit the darkened cabin and slowly eased its way to a stop near a doorway. There were no lights on inside the dwelling. The driver of the emergency unit found a flashlight under the seat.

  The sole occupant of the ambulance carefully opened his door and stepped out into the night. He closed the door to the vehicle with great care trying to limit the noise. The night critters were singing jubilantly as he moved cautiously to the door closest to him. It was a starless night; perhaps there was some high cloud cover. Whatever the reason, the blackness of the surroundings made seeing especially complicated. The flashlight was in his left hand. A heavy .357 magnum revolver was in his right hand.

  He knocked on the door gently. There was no sound inside the cabin. He put the flashlight under his right armpit and turned the doorknob with his left hand until it opened slightly. Taking the flashlight back into his left hand, he used the barrel of his revolver to push open the door enough for him to slide through out of the darkness of the night into the darkness of the cabin.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the cabin’s blackness. It was too slow in coming. He couldn’t wait forever. He began to move with great care inside this unknown space.

  He could hear heavy breathing. It was coming from his right. He holstered his weapon on his left hip and changed the flashlight into his right hand. Using his left hand as a kind of cover, he placed it over the lens of the flashlight to restrict the brightness of the light as he turned it on. It was aimed away from the direction of the heavy-breathing sound so as not to disturb whoever was there.

  The refracted light gave him a view of the interior. He quickly looked around with the aid of the diffused light source, but saw nothing that threatened him. He could now see that there was some cloth hanging close to him. It was the entrance way into another part of the cabin.

  He allowed his left hand to remain on the flashlight with its tight grip over the lens as his method for carrying it while he used his right hand to remove his .357 once more. The barrel of the gun moved the thin cloth that covered the doorway to one side as he entered the room.

  The breathing was ste
ady and restful and louder. The refracted light revealed a cane-back chair by the bed. He holstered his gun once more. He turned the chair to face the person sleeping and then sat down. He clicked off the light and gently placed the flashlight lens down on the floor beside the left front leg of the chair.

  He took out his weapon and placed it across his lap. He sat there with controlled breathing, listening to the person asleep in the bed. He was still. He was very still. He was as still as death.

  He was waiting.

  Chapter 35

  It was growing darker by the minute as I hurried down the trail towards the vehicles. I stopped to get my breath and rest. I took out my phone to see if I had service. Sam was at my side, aiding my lack of night vision.

  One bar was evident. I decided to take a chance since I had no idea how much further I had to go to reach my Jeep. I was hoping that Starnes would be below waiting at her truck for the emergency people to arrive.

  “Yes,” Starnes answered her cell.

  “There’s a road to the cabin.”

  “Up the mountain no doubt,” she said.

  “Homer swears by it.”

  “Then it must be so. Tell me,” she said.

  I told her how to find the road.

  “Good place to hide it. How’s our patient doing?”

  “When I left he was talking and doing remarkably well. Man is as strong as a bear.”

  “Good analogy. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes. I’ll wait and come with them. Where are you now?”

  “In the woods.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “I could if I had any idea where in the woods I was, but since this is your country, your terrain, I’m at the mercy of … I don’t even know who I’m at the mercy of,” I said.

  “Better head back to the cabin or come on down,” she said.

  “Since hiking as a rule is not my thing, hiking in the dark of night is absolutely on my never-to-do-again-in-my-life list. I’m coming down.”

  “If I’m not here, then I will be following the ambulance to the cabin,” she said.

  “I’ll find you.”

  It was after seven o’clock, and no sooner had I ended my conversation with Starnes, Rogers called.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered.

  “Got some facts on that Agent Redwine you asked about earlier.”

  “So, he does exist,” I said.

  “He does. Been with the Bureau for close to eight years. Seems to be a good agent, at least his quarterly marks are above average. Has been working a drug case for almost two years.”

  “So, for whatever reason, it is likely that someone did send him here.”

  “Didn’t dig that deep. Thought it best to keep a safe approach until you advise otherwise.”

  “Turning over a new leaf?” I asked, surprised at her comment.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Since when do you ever take a safe approach when data/information searching?”

  “I beg your pardon. I am always careful. Have I ever been caught in the act of espionage?”

  “Point for you.”

  “I should say so,” she sounded testy.

  “Don’t get your CPU all twisted,” I said. “Did you discover any other pertinent facts about the man?”

  “Yeah, there was one oddity about Redwine. His file disclosed that his specialty is with drugs and drug related issues and human trafficking. But, he has never worked a kidnapping case, at least not for the Bureau.”

  “Maybe there haven’t been any kidnappings in the last … what, almost two years, you said.”

  “Come on, dearie. You know that couldn’t be true. They seem always to be working a kidnapping somewhere in this country. But in this age of specialization, I simply think it odd that Agent Redwine is trained to do one thing and yet someone called him here to do something else. Is the FBI dealing with dwindling numbers of employees?”

  “Maybe just an oddity,” I said.

  “Maybe, but his technical training is with human trafficking.”

  “That’s a short leap from kidnapping, or maybe vice versa. At any rate, I can certainly see the relationship between the two.”

  “Ditto here, but, like I said, that was the only thing that showed on his record. I thought you ought to know. And, I am sending you a copy of his record via a text, so you can see for yourself.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said.

  “There’s a photo of the man attached. Thought you ought to have a look at him.”

  “I met him, remember?”

  “Goes to verification,” she said.

  “Good call. Send it on. I’m in the middle of something here, so I may not get a chance to view it right away.”

  “Anything else?” Rogers said.

  “Agent Redwine have a first name?” I said.

  “And a middle one as well.”

  “Wow. Would you mind telling me his full name?”

  “Not at all. Horace Cleveland Redwine.”

  “You didn’t make that up, did you?” I said.

  “I could have, clever brain that I have. But, in this case, no. That’s the name of record and on every official and unofficial document I perused in the FBI database.”

  “You’re much too good at what you do.”

  “I am, aren’t I? But it definitely makes you look good.”

  “And makes me guilty of breaking several federal laws simultaneously.”

  “You helped to make me what I am,” she said.

  “Good of you to remember that from time to time. Do me a favor and keep digging as you can to see if you can find the person who sent Horace Redwine to the mountains.”

  “I could call them and use my official-sounding voice and pretend to be someone in the upper echelons of authority.”

  “Not this time. I simply want to know why he came and who might have sent him. Curiosity, nothing more.”

  “Soon,” she said and was gone.

  I hurried on down the mountain in the darkness with Sam helping me to stay on the trail. I decided that running might be hazardous to my health, so I stumbled and tripped along less than merrily. Sam was good at maintaining the barely visible trail, but he failed to alert me when we came upon the larger than necessary tree roots which cut across the path we were following. I found most of them on my own without his help or warning.

  I was closer to the bottom than I had imagined when I spoke with Starnes a little earlier. It seemed that I arrived at my Jeep in no time. Starnes’ truck was gone. She must have directed the emergency vehicle to the road.

  “Let’s go find Starnes and Dog,” I said to him.

  We headed towards the old road entrance, figuring that Starnes and the ambulance were just ahead of us. It was now completely dark, and my lack of familiarity with the mountains caused me to poke along in my Jeep, searching for the old farmhouse and the well-hidden way to the entrance of the seldom used roadway.

  Starnes’ truck was parked on the left side of the road. She must have gotten a ride with the ambulance people and traveled up to the cabin with them.

  I turned off the road into the weed-infested driveway of the unoccupied house. Without knowing why, I used my flashlight to look inside Starnes’ truck. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just looking to see what I could see. Naturally curious.

  Starnes was in a prone position in the backseat. Dog was behind the steering wheel whining when I opened the door to the cab. The cab light came on.

  “What happened here, girl?” I said to Dog.

  She whined some more but informed me of nothing pertinent. She jumped into the backseat and licked her master. I crawled inside the cab to see what was wrong with Starnes. I could see that she had a nasty bruise on the left side of her head.

  I felt her pulse. She was alive. I tried to awaken her with no success. This whole scene was disturbing to me on many levels. As the questions flipped rapidly through my mind, Starnes groaned and moved her head s
lightly.

  “Can you talk to me?” I said to her.

  “Head hurts,” she said and stopped moving.

  “What happened?”

  “He hit me,” she answered.

  “Who?”

  “Ambulance … driver,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  “Was it your looks or your mouth that provoked him?”

  “Funny … ha ha. You should … be … suffering this damn headache. Need to go quickly.”

  “Where?”

  “Cabin,” she moaned and pointed up the mountain.

  She appeared to have something more to say but nothing came out. It was totally unlike Starnes. She had to be in great pain.

  “I can’t leave you,” I said.

  “Bad … for Homer,” she muttered.

  I called 911 and told dispatch that I needed an ambulance. I gave them the location as best I could.

  “We already have an ambulance dispatched to that area,” she said.

  “Send another one,” I said.

  “Why?”

  I was getting distraught with the dispatcher.

  “I have another body.”

  Starnes opened one eye and looked at me with great suspicion.

  “I’m not dead yet,” she mumbled.

  “What’s happening there?” the dispatcher raised her voice with me.

  “Not sure, but I need another vehicle.”

  “I’m gonna call the sheriff’s department,” the dispatcher said.

  “Lady, I don’t care who you call as long as you send an ambulance to Walnut Creek Road.”

  I told her to send the second one to the same location. The lady on the other hung up on me before I could say goodbye. Starnes had her eyes open, looking at me.

  “Can you see me?” I said.

  “Of course, I can see you.”

  “You have a nasty bruise.”

  “Like the … pain … doesn’t remind … me.”

  “Why did the ambulance driver hit you?”

  “I don’t think it was the ambulance driver,” she said.

  Her voice was clearing some. The cobwebs were starting to fall away.

  “But you said it was the ambulance driver,” I reminded her.