The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

“Her hand to hand combat skills… I was concerned, so I kept my distance.”

  “Her?”

  “Our rifleman is a woman,” I said. “You didn’t see her?”

  “Saw the target. Fired twice, hit the target twice, saw the target fall. Gender is not even secondarily an issue. Came to you instead of …the target.”

  “True S.E.A.L. Reckon she’s dead?” I asked.

  “Let’s go see.”

  “Cautiously. She seems to be a careful planner. I don’t want to stumble into another mine field, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” he said.

  We climbed the short hill and moved slowly around the circumference of the shallow pit that was created by the land mine explosion moments ago.

  “Where did she fall?”

  “Over there,” he pointed to a spot some ten feet from the tree against which she was leaning earlier.

  We walked in that direction, making sure that we circumvented the radius of her land mine circle. If anything, she was neat and exact, so it was easy enough to follow the logic of her thinking.

  There was no body. We searched in vain for some sign, some evidence that she was down and out of the picture.

  “There’s blood over here,” Rosey said after a few minutes. “At least I hit the target.”

  “You had doubts?”

  “No, just wanted some evidence. But I can’t believe she’s still alive.”

  “Know the location of the hit?”

  “After I yelled for you to get out of the way, my target began moving to her left. I put one in her left side as she dove to the ground. The second shot likely hit her in the left thigh because of her quick movement. She’s hit all right. I don’t miss very often at such a distance.”

  “Just checking, no offense meant at your shooting skill. Can we follow the blood trail?”

  “Sho’ nuff,” Rosey said and started off down the embankment towards Shelby’s auto shop.

  “Look for her rifle, too. It should be in this area,” I pointed to the spot where I recall her tossing the weapon.

  We found no rifle. We did find blood, more of it, in the place where I had remembered the rifle falling. We continued down the hill and blood trail was evident all along the way.

  “I think she’s bleeding badly.”

  “Injured animal. Very dangerous.”

  The blood trail led us across the highway and back towards the spot where Shelby kept his used cars in front of the fenced in lot where the Studebaker was housed. There was a gap between two cars and more blood.

  “Think she stole one of Shelby’s?”

  “Or was smart enough to park her own vehicle in that space,” Rosey said.

  “Either way ….”

  “Either way.”

  We headed back to my mother’s and I nursed my minor injuries. I had managed to receive some cuts and bruises which hurt, but nothing serious. My face was dirty from wallowing around in the thicket, plus the blood was starting to dry on my cheek and forehead.

  “Think she’ll go after Sarah?” Rosey asked.

  “No. She’s after us.”

  “You know that … how?”

  “She told me.”

  “Oh. And you trust her because….”

  “No reason not to. Two contracts, one for you and one on me.”

  “Different prices, though.”

  “Sorry. Same price.”

  “I am offended. I should think a good looking African American male, highly intelligent, skilled in all manner of martial arts and warfare, graduate of UVA and Harvard—“

  “Okay, okay. I get the idea. I’d be offended, too. But she probably doesn’t know all of that, or didn’t when she took the contract. Next time, she’ll ask for more.”

  “Next time? Won’t be no next time, Sister.”

  “I see. Sure of yourself, are we?”

  “Hide and watch.”

  “Plan to do that, at least.”

  “So, we have an assassin after us and someone entirely different after Sarah.”

  “That’s the fact, Jack. At least we now know what she looks like, and that she’s a she, and good at her profession,” I said.

  “Uh, not so good, but wounded. She’s a wounded animal,” Rosey said.

  “Makes her dangerous. I still wouldn’t discount her abilities.”

  “She’s come close, but missed us so far.”

  “Luck.”

  “Maybe for you, but not for me,” he said.

  “Let’s add angry to that dangerous assessment,” I said.

  “If she’s a true professional, she won’t have an emotion like anger. It’s not personal. She’s hired. Accepts the contract, takes the money, and goes about her business.”

  “And now she’s wounded.”

  “She’ll crawl into a hole and wait for some healing. I nailed her twice. She’ll require a day or two, maybe more. Then she’ll come after us again.”

  “You think she requires medical attention?”

  “Yeah, I do. But she won’t sit in the waiting room bleeding all over the furniture. Someone might notice, even in Clancyville.”

  “Unscheduled nocturnal visit, then.”

  “Be my guess.”

  51

  It was dark when Rosey and I walked into the living room of my mother’s home and found Sheriff Robby Robertson and his faithful deputy, Ben Pickeral, talking with Mother. Sam was pretending to be asleep at her feet. Sarah was not in the room. More than likely she was resting in one of the bedrooms upstairs, listening to the conversation.

  I was still wearing some of the debris from the explosion on Business Highway 29. Truth is, I looked a bit frightful. At least Rosey said as much in the ride home.

  “Have you been looking for buried treasure, Clancy?” Sheriff Robby said.

  “I was involved in an explosion.”

  “Should I investigate?”

  “Might turn up something. One never knows. What do we owe the honor of your presence?” I said.

  “Just asking Rachel Jo some questions about her car, the one we found that had run down poor old Skeeter.”

  “He wants to know my whereabouts yesterday when Skeeter Shelton was killed,” Rachel Jo, my mother, said.

  “You suspect my mother?” I asked.

  “No, not really. But I have to ask. You know that.”

  “Sure. Did you tell him?”

  “I did. I also told him that if I wanted Skeeter out of the way, I wouldn’t use the Studebaker to do it.”

  “Well put, Mother. And you found other prints in the car besides Rachel’s?” I said.

  “No. Just hers. And yours.”

  “So any other evidence?”

  “Well,” Robby sighed as he scratched his balding head with the hand that wasn’t holding his official Yankee cap, “we found some stuff at the crime scene, but nothing where the car was ditched. By the way, the keys were still in it.”

  “I always leave the keys in the car,” Rachel said.

  “Always?” Robby said.

  “Most of the time. This is Clancyville. Who’s going to steal my car, the only Studebaker in town? Everyone knows that’s my car.”

  “Well, apparently, whoever wanted to kill Skeeter Skelton stole your car,” Robby answered.

  “I suppose I need to ask you now if you believe me about someone killing off the folks at Peace Haven.” I asked.

  “It looks suspicious,” he said.

  I saw Rosey roll his eyes. Sam sighed heavily for some reason. The ever vigilant local authorities were on the hunt. The crime would certainly be solved forthwith.

  “Two people were not at Peace Haven,” Ben Pickeral offered to the conversation. Ben usually said nothing, just sat quietly listening and thinking about whatever it was that Ben thought about during official investigations. He had the same technique during unofficial investigations as well.

  “Good point,” I said. “I think whoever is behind all this is hurrying up the procedure. Impatient or worrie
d, one or the other.”

  “Because we might be on to them?” Ben asked.

  I almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle it. No sense insulting the local cops when not absolutely necessary.

  “No doubt,” I said. “Hot on the case.”

  “Well, when you get some real evidence that I can use, Clancy, you come see me,” Robby said as he stood. “In the meantime, you mind telling me where that explosion took place and if you think it is related to all of this?”

  “I’ll tell you, but I don’t think it is directly related to all of this. Tangential.”

  “Beg your pardon,” Robby said.

  “Hazards of my profession, Sheriff. Meant to throw you off the scent.”

  “Oh. But since it was an unauthorized explosion, I have to check it out. Where’d this happen?”

  “Highway Business 29 North. Across from Shelby’s place. Up the embankment, and look for a tree that’s been there for a while. You’ll see the hole nearby that was left.”

  “Any ideas on what caused this explosion?”

  “Land mines,” Rosey said.

  “Land mines,” Robby said, repeating Rosey’s pitch. “Anything damaged?”

  “You mean besides my bruises, scratches, and clothing?”

  “Besides that.”

  “Some ground and a portion of the train track,” I said.

  Robby rubbed his chin as if pondering my words. He stood and Ben followed suit. Robby moved slowly and methodically. He might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he wasn’t stupid by any means. He noticed Rosey’s arm was heavily bandaged but the dark, red stain had penetrated the several layers of wrappings which Rosey had secured around the wound with my able assistance.

  “That from the explosion as well?” Robby asked.

  “No. Another injury.”

  “Should I know about that?”

  “Not unless you want to fill out lots and lots of forms for the rest of the evening,” Rosey said.

  “I’ll get back to you on that. In the meantime, Rachel Jo, when the car comes home, keep the keys in the house somewhere.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff. With this growing crime spree, I’ll probably have to start locking the doors to my house as well.”

  The sheriff and his faithful deputy turned in unison to leave.

  “You gonna ask me, Robby?” I said.

  “Ask you what?”

  “Where I was when Skeeter Shelton was run over.”

  “Why would I ask you that?” Robby said.

  “Because my prints were also found in the car.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Must’ve slipped my mind. Where were you?”

  “Seriously?”

  “You brought it up,” he said.

  “I was busy at the Peace Haven home.”

  “Busy doin’ what?”

  “Figuring a way to smuggle my friend Sarah Jones out of that place,” I confessed.

  “You devised a plan, I’m sure.”

  “I did.”

  “Successful?” he said.

  “She’s upstairs. Safe and sound. Now you’re satisfied of my innocence?”

  “Regarding Skeeter’s death, I was before I asked you. But I’m not so sure of you being innocent of much at all.”

  I smiled as the sheriff and his deputy walked out the back door. Only in rural America. I couldn’t imagine a conversation like that with the police in Norfolk.

  When the room ambience changed after the departure of Andy and Barney, Rosey and I told Mother the whole truth about our adventure at Shelby’s. By this point I figured she needed to know what was happening.

  “Sounds like whoever is behind all of these murders is serious about finishing it off.”

  “That means Sarah is at risk, no matter where she is.”

  “You sayin’ I’m at risk, too,” Mother said.

  “Yes, ma’am. We have to think that way. If you are standing between the killer and his intended victim, you will be removed. Permanently.”

  “I don’t want Sarah going anywhere,” Mother said.

  “Me either,” I agreed. “I believe she is safer here than anywhere else.”

  “You have any good leads?”

  “No, but we have lots of rabbits to chase and some working theories,” I said.

  “We do rabbits well,” Rosey said.

  “And theories,” I said.

  “We have one theory,” he said. “But it’s not well developed.”

  “But it has plausibility.”

  “It has that. But no evidence.”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Better than what I have,” Rosey said. “You want to share?”

  “Okay, Rachel, you now get the gun you wanted. Since we are convinced that we’re up against violent people who will do anything to kill, get one of Dad’s rifles and have it close. You might need it.”

  “I know just the rifle I’ll use,” she said.

  “Rosey, let’s stay on Saunders. She’s obviously involved, we just don’t know how much. My guess is that she’s a puppet to the preacher, but we have nothing to connect him, except what Saunders might yet do.”

  “Stalking is good.”

  “Sam and I will go courtesy calling.”

  “On whom, may I ask?” Rosey said.

  “Our first stop will be a visit to Mattie Rowland.”

  “I’d wait until after the funeral,” Rachel said.

  “That’s tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll hold off a day or so and go offer my sympathies.”

  “And ask questions,” she said.

  “I’ll be gentle. She’ll never know I’m investigating anything.”

  “Like me,” she said. “I’d never know you are investigating anything.”

  Sam raised his head as Rachel walked out of the room and went upstairs. His expression of bewilderment matched mine as we stared at one another for a moment. I shook my head in disbelief. Sam shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs of sleep as well as puzzlement.

  Rosey was smiling, highly amused with the interchange between mother and daughter.

  “She has your charm and wit,” he said. “Fallen apples from trees, there’s nothing like it.”

  52

  The next morning Sam was sitting in the back seat centered between Rosey and myself. His preferable position for peering. We were parked on Washington Street, just down from Saunders’s home on Leftwich Street. Rosey and Sam were busy watching her driveway and house, I was on the phone with Rogers. As far as Rosey was concerned, I was entering data via my cell phone, like a diary. Actually, I was permitting Rogers’ acerbic diatribes to go unanswered while I was forced to maintain a cool, unruffled composure.

  “The least you could do would be to call and let me know that you are okay,” Rogers said.

  “After our encounter with the assassin, we returned to my mother’s house. She was being interviewed by the local sheriff, Robby Robertson and his deputy, Ben Pickeral.”

  “Frank and Ernest are up to their necks in murdered bodies and they’re trying to pin this on your mother.”

  “I informed the sheriff about the explosion across from Shelby’s auto shop and they left to check on that.”

  “They still are skeptical of your sparse evidence, are they not?” Rogers said.

  “The evidence we have gathered is chiefly circumstantial,” I said.

  “Except for the attempts on your life, which seem to be more prevalent.”

  “Check on known female assassins operating out of the big cities like Chicago, New York, Dallas, Los Angeles, and Salt Lake City.”

  “You did connect the dots, didn’t you, Miss Super Detective?”

  “If you find anything of substance, call me,” I said.

  “That assassin is probably that old bag lady at the dumpster who knocked you senseless with the cinder block. Forget about that already?”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Sure is, Sweetie Pie. See,
I’m not just another pretty face around here. You should trust me more, ask me what I think, and call me with updates on your whereabouts and what’s going on with your charmed life,” Rogers said. She was on a roll.

  “Thanks for the connection,” I wanted to say more but thought better of the idea with Rosey half-listening to every word.

  “Sarah and Rachel okay?”

  “Update on Sarah Jones … staying with Mother instead of the Peace Haven facility since she is the last remaining juror from that trial of 1970. She is safe at present.”

  “Mother doing guard duty?”

  “Everything is under control at present.”

  “Yeah, right. Like you could control your mother. Give me a break,” she quipped.

  “Call me with any updates. End of notes for October first,” I said as a way of saying goodbye to Rogers.

  “Call me regularly,” she demanded just before I closed the phone.

  “So tell me what is interesting,” Rosey said. “Seems to me that everything we do nowadays is interesting.”

  “The computer suggested that our assassin is the same person as the bag lady by the dumpster who crowned me with the cinder block.”

  “Suggested?” he asked.

  “Okay, logically deduced from the data I had entered. Poor choice of words,” I said.

  “Interesting choice of word,” he replied. “Suggested…. hmmm.”

  He was pondering while he continued to watch the driveway about four hundred yards from our parked position on the side street. We were located on the north end of Washington Street. Despite our vigilance, nothing was happening at Saunders’ place.

  I had an idea, so I flipped open the phone and searched my data base for the number.

  “Whatever did we do before the invention of cell phones?” he asked.

  “Use more gasoline driving around looking for pay phones,” I said as I listened to the ringing in my ear.

  I have a long-time and experience tested theory of investigating. If nothing is working, do something different. It’s quite similar to another axiom of shrewd investigating which is if one day you find yourself in a hole with a shovel, stop digging. Climb out of that hole and go dig somewhere else. Basic stuff.

  “Good morning! Isn’t life beautiful? How may I help you?” the sweet, syrupy voice on the other end of my cell phone said.