CHAPTER FORTY
KATE AND DEV HAD DONE as Farley requested. He was expected at any minute.
“I could call Eleanor, Dev, and ask if Steve is with her. They’ve been spending so much time together lately I cannot imagine where else he’d be. After all, Sherwood did give everyone the weekend off.”
“His habits have been fairly regular, Katie. He is usually in by early evening. I suppose he could have been going out again at night without our knowledge. That’s the advantage of having a private entrance to the guest room.”
“You’re right. I haven’t been taking dinner back to him, at his request, since he’s been seeing Eleanor. When I think about it, he’s been like a ghost guest for the past week.”
“Let’s not mention ghosts, darling. We don’t want to wake up the wee sleeping spirit in this house.”
Kate shuddered and then laughed, “I don’t know what made me say it.”
Dev replied, “It’s the uncertainty about our guest. I should have been more prudent about inviting him here. I’m sorry, Kate.”
“Oh, Dev, I’m not upset about your invitation to Steve. What about my invitation to Eleanor? I invited a murder suspect into our home and put those two together. Eleanor’s revelation about her audition came as a shock to me. If there is a link between the murders and the film company, Steve could be a suspect, too. And here I am playing matchmaker.”
Dev grabbed her by the waist and looked into her eyes. “Don’t question your tender heart, my sweet. You’ve given them something to live for. If they’ve committed a dastardly deed, or two, it will be theirs to come forth with, and theirs to atone for. As for me, I trust that heart of yours because it owns mine completely.”
Kate found Dev utterly irresistible. He’d been through so much in life and hadn’t been hardened by it. He was strong and yet sensitive to her needs. When he held her like this and looked into her eyes with his ever-present hint of Irish charm, she felt indescribable bliss and sublime happiness, and then it went from there to . . .
The doorbell rang.
Farley went over with them everything he’d learned about the audition and its possible connection to Willis Gaither’s murder. On Monday, he planned to question cast and crew members who’d been there and requested Dev accompany him to observe reactions and assess various personalities. He shared his belief that Eleanor Gaither was telling the truth, much to Kate’s relief. But he wanted to know more about Steven Frye and asked Dev for his impressions of the man.
It wasn’t necessary to breach ethical rules of confidentiality regarding Steven Frye’s recent treatment for alcoholism or his past scandals and professional decline as a result of his alcohol dependence because it was public knowledge. Dev understood what Farley needed and proceeded. “I was asked by a colleague to help him and I chose to, Jeff. Many people in recovery have a problematic past that remains to be resolved after they straighten out their lives. He seems to me to be a man who is trying to do this, but not in the conventional way. He doesn’t attend AA meetings, preferring instead to dedicate his time to writing in an effort to revive his career. He is certainly a loner, or was, before meeting Eleanor. Kate and I have provided some level of support. As you know, he’s engaged with us socially to a limited degree. We were initially concerned that he spent too much time alone, which I addressed with him. It was the one time he became almost frantic in his reaction as he tried to make me understand how important the film was to him. I was frankly surprised when he took time out to be with Eleanor.”
“Are you surprised to learn he witnessed her husband manhandling her the day of the audition? He was not only there, he kept this information secret. I would like to know what both of you think of this before I question him.”
Kate was the first to reply. “I know it doesn’t look good, Jeff, but I can’t see him reacting to the episode with that level of violence. He must have remembered Eleanor when I introduced her to him, but gave no indication of it. He may have done this intentionally in order to not embarrass her. It could also explain his attraction to her if it triggered a protective aspect of his personality. His passive tendencies have an element of extreme self-containment, which he deflects with humor. The aggressive opposite of his personality would have to far exceed those tendencies. Don’t you agree, Dev?”
“To a point, I do. But let’s remember the old adage ‘still waters run deep’ when we try to assess the nature of man. In my humble opinion, his aggression has been directed to himself more than others. I was informed by my colleague about newspaper accounts of his drunken binges. He was almost beaten to death in a Hollywood club and usually got the worst end of any barroom brawl. This doesn’t sound like our murderer. If Steven couldn’t muster that level of rage when drunk, I find it hard to believe he could when sober and I can attest to you that he has been sober since his arrival here.”
Farley replied, “That’s a good point, Dev. You’ve both given me something to think about. It will make a difference in how I question him. I’m actually glad he’s not here, because I had planned to question him today. I’m thinking it would be better to question him when I question the others, separate from his presence in your home. I’ve got everything set up for tomorrow morning at the Events Center, where I think this all began. Dev, can you be available early morning? We could have coffee at the Grill and then head over there.”
“Sure thing, Jeff.”
Dr. Drake had promised to send his report by late Sunday afternoon. He was not satisfied to send a PDF file, and instead called Farley to discuss his findings with him. Drake verified the time of death occurred eight to ten hours before the body was discovered and that the body had been moved from where the murder had been committed. The injuries were consistent with the previous victim, however there was one difference. The victim had been struck from behind by a blow to the head and rendered unconscious before his arms were pulled behind him and secured by a rope, after which he was severely beaten. The murderer had apparently needed this edge with Zack Tanner, who was much younger and stronger than the first victim, although both had been strong men.
The first victim had been assaulted by a frontal attack, although rendered unconscious almost immediately after the initial assault by a blow to the head. Both victims had been tied and bound and transported to the place of discovery. The scarecrow autopsy, more of Jacob’s humor, revealed the same modus operandi; the face had been altered and additional materials had been used for dramatic effect, but with almost exact results, demonstrating a calculated plan for recreating the horrifying visage. As in the first instance, no prints were found.
The time of death was the biggest surprise. If Dr. Drake was on the mark as usual, Zack had been killed sometime between noon and two o’clock in the afternoon. His body wasn’t transported to the community garden until after dark, but before ten o’clock. Where had it been in the meantime? The Ford Ranger had been towed to the crime lab garage to be checked for blood and prints, the report forthcoming. But why had it been left in the remote stunt vehicle parking lot? The stunt crew had left there around noon that day. Had Tanner stayed behind? Where had he gone in the middle of the day without being seen, how, and with whom?
The report Deputy Purdy submitted after questioning Margaret Bowling revealed little more. She blamed his involvement with the film for his latest infatuation. She was a suspect, but would have had to have had an accomplice. She had no link to Willis Gaither or knowledge of crime scene details, held back from the press, and yet replicated in Tanner’s murder. However, she had invested much in Tanner and felt betrayed. She was not a woman to underestimate.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SHERWOOD’S MOOD HAD FLUCTUATED THROUGHOUT the day on Sunday after learning about the Zack’s murder. It didn’t help that Miss Pen was busy at the winery preparing for the reception she planned to hold at the conclusion of filming. Renovations were almost complete, and she was attending to every detail. He had planned to spend the day going over the rushes and
creating a revised tightened schedule to ensure they’d be done two weeks from that day. His plans would have to be delayed until Tuesday morning, which was frustrating but necessary considering the situation.
Fortunately, the most important scenes had been shot, and he felt sure the final product would be the best he had done in years. The actors had been incredible and the story compelling. The cinematography had been enhanced by the most spectacular landscape a director could wish for, and his screenwriter had surpassed previous acclaimed work and stayed sober.
In addition to this miracle—a run of luck in his business could only be considered a miracle—he’d fallen in love, deeply and hopelessly, with a woman who had bewitched him and kept him in thrall. She was all caramel and cream and wise and wonderful and different from anyone he’d ever known. He longed to hear her voice, feel her presence, eat her food made especially for him, and watch her in wonder; this product of a slave and frontiersman, who had a witch for a sister. The old woman had already healed his chronic back pain. God only knew what else she was capable of. What was a little delay compared to this?
Farley had not updated him about Eleanor and her connection to the film company, so he assumed the murder had nothing to do with them. There was always an unknown risk when hiring extras. Tanner was probably mixed up with some local drug dealer or other illegal enterprise. While it was an inconvenience to assemble for questioning at the Serena Events Center, it would help clear things up quickly. In the meantime, he’d review the rushes to see if there was anything unusual about Tanner on film or determine how difficult it would be to cut him out of the film completely.
Under normal circumstances, a murder associated with a film wouldn’t have upset him because this kind of publicity could boost the profit margin. He’d been around long enough to know it could also backfire in terms of artistic achievement if the publicity distracted from the film and its success attributed to notoriety. Since he considered the film his finest work, the thought this type of diversion put his nerves on edge.
He needed to hear her calming voice and have her by his side while watching the rushes. He couldn’t concentrate on the schedule. He didn’t want to wait until morning to see her, when they would be surrounded by others while Farley conducted his investigation. He wanted to stand with her under the moonlight and talk about love instead of murder. But murder was all around them, part of the land, at the heart of his film, discovered in town, and now involving his company. All he wanted to do was win the heart of his beloved Miss Pen, with whom he was besotted.
Farley’s mind was also on a woman, and his need was great, too. It was not affection he was seeking, but advice. She had reminded him many times that she didn’t give advice, but rather helped him know what he already knew.
She would say, “Advice is only good for those who give it.”
When he’d asked her if she made that up, she’d said, “No, Confucius said that, and I adopted it as my philosophy.”
Mamma Phoebe was not only wise she understood the importance of self-determination. She had the gift to help people heal from within rather from without and to spark within them a tiny flame to ignite their spirit. Her root tonics and medicinal herbs were an added feature, although she claimed to be retired from the healing practice. She’d say, “Don’t make much sense for folks to give me all the credit for what they can do naturally. I jes’ know how to get them to do it, that’s all.”
It mattered not how she did it, Farley needed that spark before nightfall because he had some mental sorting out to do before morning. The puzzle in his brain was at a stuck point and he needed her advice or non-advice.
Farley could see the smoke rising from her stone hearth chimney as he approached the century-old cabin. It was nearing dusk and he hoped the hour was not too late for his impromptu visit. Off in the distance, bathed in the golden light of a red-gold setting sun, he could see the grand rustic winery, which seemed a natural part of the landscape. He felt comfort knowing that Mamma Phoebe had the watchful eye of her sister nearby.
He’d forgotten about the hefty rooster, Jeremiah, until he heard an unmistakable strained croak coming from the side yard of the cabin. As if on cue, a prolonged squeak of hinges followed as the wide planked door opened, and Mamma Phoebe came out onto the porch. The rotund feathered creature almost fell over his feet trying to rush to the porch steps. He was a comical sight but Farley dared not laugh.
“It’s Chief Farley, Jeremiah. No need to get all rustled up. You go on back to your perch now. It’s almost your bedtime.”
He looked at her with perfect understanding, made an about face, and did what he was told.
Mamma Phoebe laughed in that way she did, with all of her body. “He’s gettin’ old like me, Chief. But he tries to do his job. He doesn’t let man or beast get near the cabin without letting me know. Not that I need protecting. Pen can see my cabin from her office window and she’s got some newfangled security system set up that sees everything coming and going on that new entrance road she’s put in. The old days are gone, Chief, when folks used to sneak back here to see me for their healing. Did I tell you Pen’s got the idea of packaging my medicines and selling them at the winery gift shop like they sell moonshine at all those interstate liquor stores? Why old Purvis McCabe must be turning over in his grave.”
Farley laughed and replied, “I don’t think you’re ready to package what I need, Mamma Phoebe. I’m not sure it can be done, but I sure need it.”
Mamma pointed to the big rocker and told him to sit down. “I just made some of my special berry tea. I’ll put some sourwood honey in it and we’ll talk after you’ve had a few sips.”
Farley also did what he was told and before long, felt one with the rocking chair and more relaxed than he had in days.
He told her everything that had happened and all the thoughts he’d been having. When he finished, she looked at him in that knowing way and sighed.
“Chief, you are mountain bred and you know what that means. You came into this world with instincts most folks don’t have, but they wouldn’t be near as sharp if not for the fine mind and good sense you got from your parents. You were the only one, you see. You didn’t have any brothers or sisters to distract your thinking. Every step you took alongside your Daddy as he worked the forest is inside you. Every sweet notion you have, like those toward me, you learned from your Momma. Every word you learned to speak was heard, and every mistake corrected with their loving guidance. They raised a good man, but more than that. They raised a man who sees and knows and takes everything in like a mountain cougar takes in his surroundings.
“You know what you saw at that first murder site and everything is there. Listen to your instincts. That murderer is talking to you, screaming at you, railing at you. What leads an animal to madness, or a person? It’s when they can’t take any more, when whatever they’ve been given to endure is beyond their ability to endure it. Some folks think that when a bad thing is over it is over. But there’s many a soul crippled when the bad thing stays with them, day after day, night after night. They might be acting like everyone else, walkin’ and talkin’ and even laughin’ to cover up the pain, but the madness grows from a festering wound that doesn’t heal. Then when some reminder of that bad thing is put right smack dab in their face, sometimes there is no holding back. Then it is not enough to act, there is a need to tell the world that this should not happen, this thing that started it all. What started it all, Chief? That’s the question you must answer. But then you know that, don’t you?”
Farley drifted deep into his thoughts so he could visualize the murder being done. It wasn’t enough to kill Willis Gaither. Willis Gaither represented the bad thing that prompted the crime. He had abused his wife, humiliated her in front of others, and from the time of the initial rape, made her feel as though everything was her fault. He’d reduced her to nothing, and if she had died in that state, no one would have missed her. She had no friends or family who cared about her.
/> Going to the audition was not only a punishable offense she had broken a cardinal rule. Her spirit would have to be broken in such a way that it never happened again. The killer knew that, knew what would happen, had witnessed such a thing, had seen the result and could do nothing about it, was haunted by it. An image of the small woman who had been buried beneath the scarecrow blotted out everything else in Farley’s mind.
He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Mamma Phoebe dozing. She looked so peaceful.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
FARLEY MADE IT TO THE Sutton Farm as darkness fell. Jim Sutton was waiting and anxious to talk to him.
“I’m glad you called, Chief. I’d planned to call you in the morning to tell you what I’ve found out. Didn’t have much of anything until yesterday when I paid a visit to old Aggie Smith. Hadn’t thought about her until I started goin’ over them maps you gave me. Come on in and I’ll explain.”
Farley followed Sutton into the farmhouse, which was as neat and tidy inside as outside. Sutton was a practical man with plain tastes and a penchant for organization. On a large polished mahogany table in the no-longer-used dining room, he had regional and topographical maps spread out in systematic order.
“It’s like looking through layers of time, Chief. There’s been lots of change over the last few decades, yet some things stay the same. I guess that’s true anywhere, but around here folks don’t just come and go without being missed, unless they’re not known to begin with. Since nobody seems to know who the little lady is who was buried in my Daddy’s garden, I got to thinkin’ she might be kin to someone who wasn’t known too well, or at all. That put me thinkin’ about who was here and left without much notice. That reduced my list from the one I made listing everyone I knew in the area.
The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Page 21
