Final Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series)

by Mark de Castrique

  “Me too.” Tommy Lee wiped his hand across his grizzled chin. “But the dynamics don’t seem right. Someone must have been running Lincoln. Daleview Manor was set as a meeting place.”

  I didn’t understand where Tommy Lee was headed. “Are we talking about the same suspect?”

  “Chip. Your Asheville junkie. Unless you’ve been holding back information.”

  “No. He’s the guy I pegged. He knew I was looking for Lincoln and so he shut him up before I could get to him.” I leaned forward. “And I let Chip get away.”

  “You were looking for Crystal. And your gut told you Chip was only a street doper.” Tommy Lee held up a finger. “That’s point number one that bugs me. You’ve got good instincts and I can’t see Lincoln, a guy who can schmooze seniors like a Florida politician, let himself be controlled by Chip.”

  “You said Lincoln has to have a supplier. Those aren’t the most savory characters.”

  “If we were talking about meth, you’d be right. But we agreed a connection to legal drugs means a more sophisticated source, someone that Lincoln is likely to cultivate directly.”

  Tommy Lee’s objections to Chip as the murderer made sense. “So, why’s he your lead?”

  “Point number two. The speed with which Lincoln was eliminated. You saw Chip yesterday afternoon, he makes a break for it, and then tells someone else of our interest. That someone doesn’t want Lincoln interrogated.”

  “Except we sent Fletcher’s composite of Lincoln throughout the area.”

  Tommy Lee laughed. “Yes. There’s that little detail that undercuts Chip for both of us.” He held up a third finger. “Point number three. Tracking the whereabouts of every person who saw Lincoln’s composite is beyond our capabilities. So, we’re back to Chip, not because I think he’s the murderer but because he’s the easiest to find, and to hell with points one and two.”

  I wasn’t ready to lose Chip as a suspect. “Sid Mulray said a young man phoned to book the room.”

  Tommy Lee looked out the window at the night sky. He seemed to be pulling his thoughts from some faraway star. “Did Mulray say anything more than it sounded like a young man?”

  “You mean like he spoke with an accent?”

  “Accent. Gruff. Soft. Whether the caller was trying to disguise his voice?”

  “No. I didn’t have time to ask him. He mentioned it before we found Lincoln’s body. After that I focused on the crime scene.”

  Tommy Lee turned back to me and his eye narrowed. “How much do you know about Fletcher Shaw?”

  “Our intern?” The accusatory tone of Tommy Lee’s question jarred me. “Fletcher’s been terrific. He’s pitched in way beyond expectations. And he’s the one who discovered Chip.” I paused as if Fletcher’s innocence should be self-evident.

  Tommy Lee nodded in agreement. “Yeah. He did that real fast. What else has he done?”

  “He made the composite of Lincoln.”

  “Damn good one given the circumstances under which he saw Lincoln.”

  Tommy Lee was thinking like a police officer and I’d been thinking like a proud mentor. My mind shifted gears. “He was in the room when Crystal died. And he found Lincoln’s car.”

  “Did you have the car impounded?”

  “No. I forgot. I also forgot to tell Reece to have the crime lab go over it.”

  Tommy Lee waved his hand, dismissing the oversight. “You were doing everything by the book up until you got the news about your father. Reece should have taken care of the car.”

  “Did he mention getting the car processed when he was here?”

  “No. And I forgot to ask.” Tommy Lee shrugged. “None of us is perfect.”

  I stood up and walked to the computer. The screen saver glowed in the dim room. The animated logo of the Laurel County hospital reminded me of another point. “I didn’t know Fletcher had his computer drawing skills. He volunteered. Why do that when he could have left us floundering? Why find Chip? Why call me about Lincoln’s car?”

  “All good questions,” Tommy Lee said. “On the other hand, if he helps with the investigation, he’s able to monitor how it’s going. If he killed Lincoln, then he knows the body’s going to be discovered, so he phones in his discovery of Lincoln’s car.”

  “That doesn’t answer the Chip question.”

  Tommy Lee fiddled with the bed control, easing himself back to a more comfortable position. “Look. I’m not accusing Fletcher of anything. It’s the pattern I don’t like.”

  “You don’t accept coincidences.”

  “I don’t like coincidences. But I accept they happen. I just refuse to chalk up an event as a coincidence until every other possibility has been exhausted.”

  I’d heard Tommy Lee lecture the point many times before. He was right. My fondness for Fletcher couldn’t blind me to the unusual circumstances surrounding him. “I’ll start an inquiry in the morning. Fletcher’s school records—”

  “You’ll do what you need to do for your family,” Tommy Lee interrupted.

  An involuntary shudder ran up my spine as Tommy Lee snapped me back to the reality of my father’s condition.

  Tommy Lee’s voice softened. “Fletcher’s not going anywhere. Give me some contact information and let me handle him. That’ll also keep you out of the awkward position of spying on your employee.”

  I took a hard look at Tommy Lee propped in the hospital bed with an IV stuck in his arm. Simply walking to the bathroom would be a challenge. “Do you feel up to it?”

  “Up to what? Talking on the phone? Using the computer? The damn doctors want me to walk up and down the hall three times a day now, flashing my ugly butt at whoever happens to have the misfortune to catch sight of the back of this ridiculous gown. If they’re going to put me through that, they can spare me a little time at the computer.”

  I had to laugh. “Your butt in a chair is a definite improvement over your butt in the air.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I sat down at the terminal and logged on. “I’m going to pull up the website for Fletcher’s college and write down the contact information. There’s a department that handles placing summer interns.”

  Tommy Lee shifted on his side and fluffed the pillows. “Might as well get me the number for the Asheville Parole Board. That’s where I’ll start my search for Chip.”

  I spent about ten minutes at the keyboard, compiling the information for Tommy Lee, and even searching the web for any reference to Fletcher Shaw. His name drew 4,350,000 possibilities. I refined the search to include Detroit. The number dropped to only 287,000—still too many for any practical application. I organized what contact numbers would be helpful to Tommy Lee by hand printing them on a notepad where he wouldn’t have to find them stored on the computer. I turned around to explain what I’d done.

  Tommy Lee was sound asleep.

  In my dream, I kept clicking links to Fletcher Shaw, but each time the composite of Artie Lincoln kept appearing on the computer screen. Then the image called my name.

  “Barry. The doctors will be in shortly.”

  For a few groggy seconds, I was disoriented as to how Artie Lincoln had turned into Reverend Lester Pace. The family waiting room came into focus and I remembered I’d gone there to rest a few minutes. Uncle Wayne and Mom had been sleeping at Dad’s bedside and I hadn’t wanted to disturb them.

  “What time is it?”

  Pace glanced at his old stem-wind wristwatch. “A little after six-thirty.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Around four. Emma Lou Carter went into labor last night and when she had birthing problems, the midwife called me.” Pace straightened up and I heard a bone or two creak in his back. The old preacher usually carried a gnarled cane made from a rhododendron branch, but I didn’t see it with him. He claimed a crooked cane made him look straighter.

  “So, you’ve taken on delivering babies?”

  Pace didn’t return my smile. “Emma Lou wanted me there for a bapti
sm, in case the little one didn’t make it.”

  “What happened?”

  “What I hoped.” He took a deep breath. “I told her I’d baptize the baby if she had it in a hospital. She and her husband are scared of hospitals, and I suspect there’s a worry about the money.” Now a smile broke across his weathered face. “Don’t know how theologically sound it is to hold an infant’s spiritual life hostage, but it did the trick.”

  “Everyone okay?”

  “Emma Lou and her little boy are fine, though I suspect he’ll have a tough row to hoe.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They named him Lester.” Pace couldn’t mask his pride. “Imagine a little tyke saddled with that old-timey name in this day and age.”

  I stood up from the sofa that had been my bed for a few hours instead of just a few minutes. “Thanks to you I suspect this county has more Lesters per capita than any other in the state.”

  He laughed. “Somehow I can’t see Mayor Whitlock printing that in a brochure.”

  We walked down the hall to my father’s room. I let Pace enter first. Mom and Uncle Wayne were still sleeping. My father was fidgeting in his bed, his eyes fluttering in semiconsciousness.

  Pace hurried to the bedside and grabbed my dad’s hand. A bit of wisdom I’d learned from him flashed through my mind. Pace had once shared with me the most important lesson that he’d learned from his predecessor, who’d served the mountaineers since the early 1900s and had long ago gone to his heavenly reward. “Barry, the cruelest thing you can ever do is not take the hand of someone who’s dying. No matter how great our faith or how sure we may be of our salvation, we all want to cling to this world. And though we make that transition alone, the warmth of a human hand will comfort us into the eternal warmth of God’s loving hands.” Pace’s words echoed in my head as I saw him calm my father with his touch.

  “Barry?” Mom stirred in the hospital recliner. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”

  “Reverend Pace woke me so I could be here when the doctors make rounds.”

  Uncle Wayne wiped his eyes. “Any change, Preacher?”

  Pace laid his hand on Dad’s forehead. “Feels a little cooler. But if the fever had broken, I’d expect he wouldn’t be so restless.”

  A knock came from the open door and we turned to see an older man in a Madras sport coat. A stethoscope dangled from his neck. “Good morning.”

  Susan stepped from behind him. “This is Dr. Madison. He’s a pulmonary specialist from Asheville and was kind enough to drive over before his office hours.”

  Mom and Uncle Wayne started to get up.

  Madison waved them down. “Keep your seats. I’ll just give a listen to Mr. Clayton’s chest and then we can talk a few minutes.”

  Reverend Pace retreated to a corner of the room. Madison rubbed the round chestpiece of the stethoscope against his palm to warm it, and then slipped it under Dad’s hospital gown. The silence was broken only by the steady whoosh of the air-conditioning vents.

  After a few minutes, Madison tucked the stethoscope in the side pocket of his coat. “Well, there’s some good news. Although the fluid’s not gone, there’s less of it. I’ve read his chart and suggested a different antibiotic targeted to his specific bacterial infection.”

  Uncle Wayne edged forward in his chair. “Then he’ll get better?”

  “At this point, getting better is best understood as not getting worse.” Madison studied the monitor beside Dad’s bed. “His fever’s down, but his pulse is weak and irregular. He’s not out of the woods, but I’m cautiously optimistic that he’ll recover.” Madison turned to Susan. “Then he’ll have to undergo the hip surgery.”

  “I hope we can do that within the next few days,” Susan said. “I don’t like keeping him overly sedated.”

  I knew Susan worried about the effects the narcotics were having on Dad’s afflicted mental capacity. We were in a dilemma, risking what was left of his mind in a desperate attempt to treat his body.

  Dr. Madison eased toward the door. “I’ll continue to stay in touch with Susan and the hospital staff. Today’s Wednesday. I hope by Friday he’ll have turned the corner and we can move to the next phase of his care.”

  Susan left with Madison. She promised to come back after submitting the antibiotic changes to the hospital pharmacy.

  Wayne stood and ran his fingers through his thick white hair. “I’d best go on to the funeral home. Y’all stay here as long as you need to.”

  “I’m going to wait for Susan,” I said. “Then I’ll be in. Fletcher will probably be early as well.” I thought about Fletcher going under Tommy Lee’s investigative microscope, but I certainly didn’t mention that to my uncle.

  “Both of you need to get some rest,” Mom said. “We’ve got the Cosgroves’ visitation tonight.”

  I patted Wayne’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of it, Mom. Everyone will understand you should be here.”

  “Barry’s right,” Wayne said. “I’ll come relieve you later so you can get a shower and a change of clothes.”

  Pace cleared his throat. “I’ll be glad to stay with Jack so all of you can run home for a few hours.”

  I jumped at his offer. “Mom, now might be the best time. We’ve gotten the latest update. Why don’t you and Wayne leave now? I’ll bring you back at lunch.”

  Wayne walked over and offered Mom his hand. “Come on, Connie. Reverend Pace will call us if anything changes.”

  Mom acquiesced. “All right. Barry, are you coming?”

  “As soon as I talk to Susan.”

  When Mom and Wayne left, I motioned for Reverend Pace to have a seat. “Thank you. Mom wouldn’t have left Dad with just anybody.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted her to. Your father’s very special to me.”

  “He thought a lot of you too.”

  Pace stared at my dad and his eyes glistened. “I like to think he still does.”

  His words cut me. I hadn’t meant to speak of my father in the past tense, but I did. Whatever hope the reverend’s faith held out for him, I’d watched my father’s mind fade beyond the point where I believed he’d ever come back to me. That realization weighed like a stone on my heart.

  Softly Pace said, “He’s not lost to God and so he’s not lost to me.”

  A knock at the door spared me from facing my doubts.

  Pamela Whittier entered. “I came in early for a meeting and just heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”

  Pace and I stood and I took Pamela’s hand. “Thank you. Everyone’s been wonderful.”

  “I saw Susan and she said Dr. Madison’s consulting. You couldn’t be in better hands.” Whittier smiled at Pace. “And with the good reverend here I know your family’s being well supported. But if there’s anything we can do, please let me know. If you need to work here, we can set up a computer just like Sheriff Wadkins has.”

  “Thank you. That won’t be necessary. But if something comes up, I won’t hesitate to take advantage of your offer.”

  “That’s what we’re here for.”

  When she was out the door, Pace asked, “Who was that?”

  “Pamela Whittier. The president of the hospital. She must have heard of you.”

  He chuckled. “And I’ve heard of her. But the name ‘Old Iron Balls’ didn’t seem to be the appropriate way to greet her.”

  Susan returned a few minutes later and assured me Dad’s new antibiotic would be administered immediately. I decided to run by the funeral home, pick up Democrat, and take him back to the cabin. I could grab a quick shower and get the clothes I needed to carry me through the Cosgroves’ visitation. As I pulled into the driveway of the funeral home, I heard Democrat barking furiously on the back porch.

  I ran from the jeep to find Wayne standing with a box held over his head and Mom tugging at Democrat’s collar.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Fletcher,” Wayne said. “He’s done it now.”

  “What’s in the box?”r />
  “Fluffy!”

  I heard a cat screech. Democrat broke free of Mom and jumped up on Wayne.

  I wrestled the dog away and manhandled him into the kitchen. With Democrat barking behind the closed door, I took the box from Wayne and set it on the floor.

  A note on top read, “Mr. Shaw. Like we discussed, I want Fluffy’s ashes put in an urn and placed in my mother’s casket. Thank you for taking care of this delicate matter. Respectfully, Julius Cosgrove.”

  I opened the lid. A disheveled white cat who looked like its tail had been stuck in an electric socket cowered in a corner. The animal hissed and spat at us.

  Wayne backed away. “What the hell did Fletcher think we were going to do? Cremate Fluffy on the barbecue grill?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fletcher hopped around the parlor like the floor was molten lava. “I had no idea the cat was alive.”

  Uncle Wayne and I sat on the sofa with Fluffy boxed between us.

  “Stand still,” Uncle Wayne said. “You’re moving so fast I can’t hear you.”

  Fletcher stopped and I could tell from his expression he was trying to make sense of Wayne’s request. I knew Uncle Wayne had grown hard of hearing over the last few years, although he wouldn’t admit that fact to anybody. These days he did as much lip reading as hearing and Fletcher’s agitated gyrations were making reading his lips impossible.

  I pointed to a winged-back armchair. “Sit down and we’ll figure out what to do. What did Julius Cosgrove ask you yesterday?”

  Fletcher sat down and rubbed his hands back and forth on his knees. “He asked for you or Wayne. Since both of you were gone, I said that I worked for you and would be glad to help if I could.”

  Wayne and I had been at the shuffleboard courts. I remembered Mom said Fletcher had done a good job dealing with the Cosgroves. Maybe too good a job.

  “Mr. Cosgrove said he had a question about rule 6513,” Fletcher explained. “I told him I wasn’t familiar with it.”

  Uncle Wayne shifted uneasily on the sofa. He suddenly realized that somehow his clever stunt had bitten us in the butt.