A Thorn Among the Lilies

by Michael Hiebert

  “There you go. A perfect use for your time.”

  We finished pushing our bikes up the hill of Hunter Road, something we did about half the time. The other half we actually rode up it, but our legs felt so painful afterward. I was completely out of breath and startin’ to wheeze when I breathed.

  “This can’t be good for you,” Dewey said.

  CHAPTER 29

  Leah called Detective Truitt up in Birmingham. “Manage to dig up anythin’ new with our evidence?”

  “No, we’ve drawn pretty much the same conclusions.”

  “Oh, by the way, Faith Abilene is not a street name. It’s the real McCoy. I tried to find family here in Alvin but came up short. Apparently she’s been living here awhile.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Made friends with a hooker.”

  “Nice.”

  “Did your medical examiner find any usable DNA on the body? There was none on ours because the lake water would’ve washed it away.”

  “None on ours either. This guy was careful. Not even a usable fiber.”

  “So what do we got to go on?” Leah asked.

  “Well, let’s see,” Truitt said while simultaneously sighing. “Basically our best leads come from the fingernail scrapings. And I suppose if we could somehow link the two messages.”

  “The ones written across the bodies, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout those, too. I think they’re there to taunt us. In the first—on your victim—he’s basically telling us that he’s the thorn among the lilies. He’s the one bad guy who won’t get caught at his game. In the second, he simply replaced ‘law’ with ‘Lord,’ making it a pretty obvious poke our way, I’d say.”

  “Could be. So it’s someone who has some reason to hate us. And this reason came up around three months ago. What happened in Alvin three months ago, Miss Leah?”

  She hated being called Miss Leah, but, for reasons she’ll never know, let it go this time. Besides, she figured if she told him she hated it, he’d just do it more often. “I don’t know. We’re not a very busy town crime-wise. I can’t think of anythin’ big or small that happened three months ago. Hang on, let me ask Chris.”

  Chris was just coming back from the restroom. “Ask me what?”

  “Can you think of anything that happened three months or so ago that might give someone a reason to have a chip on their shoulder against the police. In particular against the Alvin Police Department?”

  Chris thought about this. “I threw Willy Beaumont’s kid, Jerry, in the lockup for the night around then for bein’ drunk and disorderly on Main Street. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt first. It wasn’t until he pulled down his pants in front of two old ladies that I cuffed him and told him I had a nice, cold, stone bench for him to sleep it off.”

  “I don’t think Jerry Beaumont’s a serial killer,” Leah said.

  She lifted the telephone receiver back to her mouth. “Who’s Jerry Beaumont?” Truitt asked. “Don’t rule anyone out!”

  “No, no. He was just a kid picked up for the night so he could sober up after pulling down his pants in front of some old folk.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I think you’re safe taking him off the killer list. Even I’ve done that. What ’bout the crosses?”

  “Right. The crosses. I near on forgot ’bout them. Maybe religion does play a role in this after all. Maybe the cross is there as a form of recompense. Sort of like the killer’s givin’ the victim a ticket to heaven. Could be ritual killings.”

  There was a pause. “I think you’re reachin’.”

  “Well, hell, Dan, I dunno. This whole thing is a big bag of goose turd. Of course I’m reachin’.”

  Leah stared at the stuffed dog with the blue ribbon wrapped around its neck that sat on her desk beside her computer monitor. Abe bought it for her for Mother’s Day a few years back. She wished it could talk. Maybe it could tell her where to find the answers.

  “Let’s go back to the nails,” Truitt said. “What do we have?”

  “Dirt and clay, the type of which appears in the northern parts of Alvin and up in the wooded areas for about a hundred square miles. Most of that land is desolate. Then we have sawdust. Lots of sawdust. Sawdust don’t appear that frequently. It takes someone to make sawdust.”

  “Good point. So where do we find lots of sawdust?”

  “Sawmills. Ranches. Most farms, actually. Construction sites. Um, I’m runnin’ out of ideas.”

  “Alvin has a lot of ranches around it, don’t it?”

  “It certainly does. Twenty-seven major ones last time I counted. And pretty much every one of those ranchers owns a Ford or a Chevy pickup. Thing ’bout Alvin: Folk round here, we buy American.”

  Leah still clearly remembered one of her last big cases, the Mary Ann Dailey and Tiffany Michelle Yates case. She hadn’t managed to save Mary Ann, but she had found Tiffany Michelle before it was too late. Both girls had been hung from a hook in a barn and . . . well, the rest of it Leah had spent the last year trying to push out of her mind. Eventually, Leah shot the killer while he was fleeing through the cornfield. Because of that, the newspapers had dubbed him the Cornstalk Killer.

  Leah didn’t like the name.

  “Maybe you should do a bit of questioning around some of your ranches?”

  “Me and Chris could try that. Might piss a few people off. But I’m kind of used to that.”

  “I could come down and help if you want.”

  “Nah, why don’t you poke around up there. I mean, it’s only my theory that the killer’s from Alvin. He could just as easily come from Birmingham. I just think it makes sense that the more confident he gets, the closer to home he’ll drop the bodies. Why waste a tank of gas and all that time for no reason? Especially if he’s out to make fun of cops. But then, of course, there’s the Six-Gun Saloon connection.”

  That was Leah’s big clue right now. That both girls frequented the same tavern.

  “Between you and me, I actually agree with you, Leah,” Truitt said. “And don’t take that lightly. I rarely agree with anybody.”

  Leah laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll get back to you if anything pops up.” There was a hesitation, then, “Oh, and, Dan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Leah. I hope you and your family have a wonderful holiday.”

  She hung up the phone and Chris turned to her. “So,” he said, “what is it that ‘me and Chris’ are tryin’ that might piss a few people off? I didn’t rightly like the sound of that.”

  “We’re goin’ on a search for our unsub. Knockin’ on farmhouse doors. Checkin’ out ranches. Anywhere there’s lots of sawdust. Lookin’ for places you could keep a body stashed away for six or seven days.”

  “Unsub?”

  “Unknown subject.”

  Chris put his face in his hands. “I’m gonna get yelled at a lot, ain’t I?”

  “Yep, most likely.”

  “You know, some days I really hate my job.” He turned to Leah, a beseeching look on his face. “Can we at least wait until after Christmas to do it?”

  “Yeah.”

  CHAPTER 30

  It was two days before Christmas, which also meant it was the first day off for Christmas break. Me and Dewey spent the day spying on folk and then in the evening, we joined everyone to go out caroling. There was my mother, Caroline, and my Uncle Henry. I didn’t find caroling all that fun. It was a lot like church—something I did to keep my mother happy.

  My mother planned on caroling twice this year. Tonight and tomorrow night. She told me she thought it would expand Christmas Eve to go two nights. She really loved caroling. I didn’t. I always felt like we were bothering folk.

  This year we were collecting for the Empty Stocking Fund. Dewey said, “If their stocking ain’t getting filled by now, I doubt Santa’s gonna fill it no matter how much we bribe him.
He won’t have enough time.”

  Me and my mother just looked at him. I could tell she wanted to say something about his ridiculous belief in Santa Claus, but she held back. “This is for next year, Dewey,” she said instead.

  “Oh, I think I understand.”

  No, but by next year you should. Hopefully.

  We actually started out caroling from the church, where other groups came to gather. Reverend Matthew had been standing in the churchyard giving out books of Christmas carols, I guess in case people didn’t know the words. What I didn’t understand was if you didn’t know the words, there was no way you’d ever know the song, so what was the point? We had already decided to stick to the classics like “Jingle Bells,” “Frosty the Snowman,” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” so we didn’t really need the books. We all took one anyway. My mother made us. I think it was to be polite.

  At first I thought we were all going to go together in one big throng of thirty people, but we soon broke away from each other into smaller groups.

  I always try to harmonize with my mother. She has a nice voice and I always think I have a pretty good low voice, but every time I try to harmonize it seems to throw her and she gets mad at me after.

  “How come you can’t sing like a normal person?” she asked.

  “What do you mean? I was singing harmony.”

  “You was singing a completely different song.”

  Dewey, who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, laughed. “You try too hard, Abe. Just sing along. Don’t try to go along with anyone else.”

  This from the guy who once tried to invent a flying hat with a propeller on the top. If the hat actually had flown (and, of course, it never did), you would have to hang on to these little handles sticking out of the sides to fly with it.

  “So,” Uncle Henry asked between houses, “I assume everyone’s excited ’bout the big day?”

  “Sure am,” Dewey said.

  “What did you ask . . .” I had to pause so I didn’t laugh. “. . . Santa for?”

  “Plutonium.”

  “What?” Uncle Henry asked.

  “Plutonium. I have this great idea for an invention, but I need a piece of plutonium. Just a small one.”

  “Is that so?” Uncle Henry looked at me.

  I just shrugged.

  “What ’bout you, Abe?”

  “More Dungeons and Dragons stuff.”

  “I reckon you boys are turnin’ into recluses playin’ that game,” my mother said. “It’s all you ever do.”

  “No, Miss Teal,” Dewey said. “I still make inventions. Wait until you see this next one.”

  “The one you need the plutonium for?”

  “Just a small piece.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “That Dungeons and Dragons—is it really the work of the devil like those church groups have you believe?” Uncle Henry asked.

  “I’ve stood in the kitchen listenin’ while they play at the dinin’ room table,” my mother said. “It’s more like filin’ the devil’s taxes.” She laughed. “I actually think it’s pretty educational and, hey, it keeps ’em off the streets. Dealin’ with what I’ve been dealin’ with lately, that is a good thing.”

  We got to the next door and Dewey ran up in front of us. We all took a minute to look at each other. “What’s he gonna do when Santa doesn’t deliver his plutonium?” my mother asked.

  “Maybe stop believin’?” I offered.

  “That will be sad.”

  “I think it’s time, Leah,” Uncle Henry said. “A year, maybe two from now and the kid’ll probably be shavin’.”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “He’ll invent something to do it for him. Only it will require a Tesla coil to make it work.”

  CHAPTER 31

  I woke up to a very early pink and blue sunrise Christmas morning, despite the fact that I don’t think I actually got to sleep until after midnight the night before. I was too excited. It’s hard to go to sleep when you’re excited or when you’re scared. I find both emotions give me the same sort of feeling, sort of like a knot tied up in my stomach. It’s not a good feeling, even for something as great as Christmas.

  Our tree in the living room had had wrapped gifts beneath it for at least the last two weeks. Five were for me. I’d counted them and shaken them every day, so I knew. But there always seemed to be extra ones once Christmas actually came.

  I checked my watch—the one Uncle Henry bought me—and looked at the time. It said quarter to six. Now I had a problem. I had to decide if quarter to six was too early to wake up Uncle Henry. I didn’t really care if I woke up Carry or not, and my mother could sleep through a hurricane, but Uncle Henry was sleeping in the same room as the tree and all the presents. It would be impossible to go in there and not wake him up.

  I decided to do the right thing and lie here until seven o’clock. Seven o’clock was fair. Lots of people got up at seven. But that meant I had to find a way to entertain myself for an hour and fifteen minutes. I wasn’t very good at entertaining myself. Here was a perfect example of where Dewey would come in handy. Dewey could entertain himself in the desert where there’s nothing but sand. He’d find some way to make that entertaining while he slowly died of dehydration.

  I could just see him now, skipping across the Sahara, building sand castles as he meandered his way past the dunes.

  Suddenly a loud noise rang out from somewhere in the house, making me practically jump right out of my pajamas. It was a clang! that sounded like someone had dropped a big metal ball onto a big metal floor. I started wondering if maybe what I heard was a car accident outside, when I heard the sound again. This time, Uncle Henry’s voice followed the sound. “Christmas morning! Ho ho ho! Everybody out of bed and on your feet! You’ve overslept!” He made the clang again. I couldn’t figure out how he was doing it, but I was certainly happy he was up already.

  I quickly got out of my bed and put on my slippers. Then I put on my housecoat and wrapped it around my pajamas and tied it tightly. It was a cold morning.

  I opened my door and almost raced straight into Uncle Henry, who was standing right outside it with a pot lid in each hand.

  “There’s one little trooper. Now we’re just two short.”

  He clanged the pot lids together again. They were even louder out here. He was standing right in front of Carry’s door when he did it. “Come on, sugar plum, it’s time to rise and see the dawn.”

  “And open presents!” I added.

  “And open presents,” Uncle Henry repeated.

  “Can’t you go away and come back in two hours?” Carry complained from behind her bedroom door.

  “Nope, Christmas has started. Now there’s no stopping it.”

  He made another clang. This time in front of my mother’s door. “Come on, Leah, get up and get festive!”

  “You better have coffee brewin’ or I’ll show you what you can do with your festive,” she said from behind her door.

  “What’s with women and sleep?” Uncle Henry asked me.

  I shrugged back. “I reckon they’re ugly if they don’t get enough.”

  “I heard that,” my mother called out.

  “Are you two comin’ or what? If you aren’t out in the next five minutes, Abe and I are gonna start openin’ presents without you.”

  I heard my mother yawn. “I’m comin’. Geez, you’re like the friggin’ Gestapo.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t have pot lids.” He clanged them together again in front of Carry’s door.

  “All right! I’m getting up! Go away and I’ll be faster.”

  “Shall we go start on the coffee?” Uncle Henry asked me.

  I only got to have coffee on special days and I could think of no day more special than Christmas. “Sure!” I said. I couldn’t believe Carry didn’t want to get up. I would’ve just got up an hour after going to bed if I’d have been allowed. Women were weird. Uncle Henry was right.

  While me and Uncle Henry sat at the kitc
hen table drinking our coffee, the rest of the family slowly slunk out to join us. Christmas was one of those special times I was allowed to drink coffee. When I first started a couple years ago, my mother gave me maybe two cups a year. I didn’t really like the taste, anyway. But now, the special times she lets me drink it happen more and more often and I must say, the taste is growing on me.

  This morning, though, I didn’t taste the coffee at all. I just waited, full of anticipation and a stomach full of tinsel waiting for my mother and Carry to finally come out of their bedrooms.

  First came my mother, who looked like she hadn’t slept at all. She had just thrown a robe on over her pajamas like me. Then came Carry, whose blond hair was all tangled and matted. She looked like a homeless person in an extremely oversized Alabama Crimson Tide football jersey and her slippers.

  “Too bad, you guys,” Uncle Henry said.

  “What?” Carry said, her eyes only half open as she zombie-walked to a seat at the table. “Please get me a cup of coffee too, Mother. I hope to God it’s strong.”

  “What do you mean what?” Uncle Henry asked. “You missed Christmas. Abe and I already opened all the presents. Even yours.”

  “Was that supposed to be funny? It’s too early for funny,” Carry said.

  We all sat and finished our coffees; then we headed to the living room. Uncle Henry had already turned on the tree lights, casting the room in an array of red, green, blue, and gold. It looked so magical. It felt magical. But then, Christmas was magical, to me anyway.

  “Who wants to play Santa?” my mother asked.

  “Not me,” Carry said with a frown.

  “I hate playin’ Santa,” I said. “You don’t get a chance to look at anythin’ you got.”

  “Fine,” Uncle Henry said. “I’m Santa. I just hope none of you made the naughty list.”

  Nobody laughed.

  “Okay,” he said, reaching for the first box and reading the tag. “This one’s for Caroline.” He handed her the gift. It was wrapped in paper covered in reindeer.

  “And this one’s for Abe.” He handed me a square flat one, wrapped in paper with pictures of Christmas presents on it, which for some reason seemed weird to me.