Foolish Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series Book 3)

by Mark de Castrique

  I drove the hundred yards down the gravel lane and was surprised to find Susan’s Subaru parked in the turnaround. Although she had a key to my cabin, she sat behind her steering wheel. I lifted Democrat in my arms and ran to the cabin’s porch as she dashed ahead of me.

  “Hi. This is a nice surprise.” I fumbled for my door key as the dog struggled to greet Susan.

  “I just pulled up. Here, I’ve got my key handy.”

  As she opened the door, I glanced back at the two vehicles. Wisps of steam rose from my hood where the cool rain hit the warm metal. Susan’s had distinct puddles of standing water and no steam.

  As we walked in the living room, squeals penetrated through the closed door to the guest bedroom. My organic security system was functioning flawlessly. George the guinea pig made her presence known.

  “Your mother said you’d gone out with Tommy Lee’s friend early this morning and she hadn’t heard from you. I was afraid you might not have time to check on George.”

  I set Democrat down and he ran to the bedroom door. George Eliot had been my companion as I transitioned from marriage to repeat bachelorhood. The lab had adopted her as a litter mate, and the affection was reciprocated, especially since Democrat didn’t eat lettuce.

  I started to ask Susan why she hadn’t called me on my cell, but I sensed some other agenda at play. “Thanks. I left her food dispenser filled with pellets and hung three water bottles, but you never know.”

  Susan turned away, went to the kitchen, and opened the fridge. George’s squeals intensified. I let Democrat in to see his pal. The black and white, long-haired Peruvian guinea pig stood up on her hind legs, scratching the glass side of her terrarium. Democrat gave a sniff to assure himself everything was in order and then ran back to the kitchen in case Susan had found more than lettuce in the refrigerator. I lifted two empty water bottles and followed him.

  Susan held the lettuce under the spigot, and then patted the leaves dry with a paper towel. “How’s your head?”

  “It’s okay. I put my medicine on this morning, but then we got caught in the downpour.”

  “I noticed.”

  I looked down at my mud-streaked pants. Mother had wanted me to change when I picked up Democrat. I wondered if she’d put in a call to Susan, alerting her that I was flagrantly disobeying my doctor’s orders. But how could Susan have beaten me up here? “I’ve just got to get through tomorrow. After that, things will be out of my hands.”

  “There’s not much in your hands now. Let Tommy Lee and the professionals take care of it.” She gathered up the lettuce and headed for the bedroom.

  “I used to be a professional too.” I heard the bitter twist in my words and wished I could call them back.

  The only sounds in the cabin were Democrat’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor and George’s peals of hunger. Then her squeals abruptly ceased as she devoured her leafy feast.

  Susan returned and leaned against the counter. She studied me for a few seconds without any hint of anger. “A professional knows his limitations.”

  “Look, I’m not driving this thing. Tommy Lee’s been telling Kevin and me what to do. Kevin’s a good cop but he’s a fish out of water down here.”

  “So you’re both working for Tommy Lee?”

  “Right.”

  Susan bit her lower lip and studied her fingertips. Then she gave me a cold stare. “How does Melissa Bigham fit into this?”

  My throat went dry. The unexpected question hinted at why Susan had been sitting in front of my cabin, waiting for my return. “You knew I’d taken her into my confidence about the body, and you heard our conversation last night.”

  “I heard one of your conversations. Or did Melissa return simply to watch you sleep?”

  The cut on my forehead burned as blood rushed to my face. I knew I looked guilty and the more I’d protest, the worse I’d appear. “She had information she didn’t want to share in front of you. Her idea, not mine.”

  “About the body?”

  “About Kevin Malone.”

  That answer softened her indignation. “Oh.” She faltered, unsure whether to press a confidential matter.

  I remembered Melissa’s kiss and knew some of my guilt was deserved. “She found out Kevin’s been suspended from the Boston police force. He accidentally shot his partner.”

  “My God. Does that have something to do with Y’Grok Eban?”

  “No. But Melissa figured since I’m working with him, I ought to know his past history.”

  “Does Tommy Lee know?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I heard it from Kevin.”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “You asked him about the shooting?”

  “The officer in Boston who spoke to Melissa phoned Kevin and warned him a reporter was snooping into his background.”

  Democrat nudged his nose into the back of Susan’s knee. She crouched down and stroked his neck. “I’m sure that put her in an awkward position.”

  “She doesn’t know. I haven’t told her yet. Despite what some people think, Melissa Bigham’s not at the top of my to-do list.”

  I should have left well enough alone. Instead, with that one sarcastic phrase, I snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

  Susan got to her feet. “I don’t care whether she’s at the top of your to-do list or not. And I’m not going around spying on you, if that’s what you think. I saw her car last night because I came back to apologize for being bitchy. Now I’m glad I didn’t have the chance.” She started for the door.

  “Look, Susan.”

  “Just forget it. We can talk about this after tomorrow.” She was out the door before I could say another word.

  “Mr. Clayton. Remember me? Edith Delaney.” The woman leaned out the small window of the guardhouse so that I could see her face.

  The pale skin, straw-blonde hair, pointed chin, and deep-set brown eyes were as common in the mountains as honeysuckle on a fence post. The only thing distinctive about her was the rent-a-cop security hat.

  “You buried my grandmother last month. Miss Ida Mae Hyder.”

  “Of course. I remember you,” I lied. “Must be the uniform.”

  Edith Delaney beamed. “That’s right. My husband didn’t want me to wear it, but I thought Grammy’d like the official air I could give to the service.”

  Now I did remember her. As a self-appointed traffic cop, she’d tried to direct the funeral procession out of the church parking lot and caused a fender bender.

  The sudden pink tinge in her cheeks showed she’d recalled the incident as well. “Your name’s on the admittance list, Mr. Clayton.” She reverted to her official tone. “Go ahead.”

  The gate bar to Crystal Cascades lifted and Edith waved me through. She hadn’t bothered to ask me who I planned to see.

  Tommy Lee had called me at the cabin with the condo’s address. He said Franklin Talbert had wanted a description of me and my vehicle and the assurance that I’d be coming alone. I guess he thought I’d bring a carload of star struck mountaineers to gawk at him. He’d be disappointed to learn I didn’t know anyone other than Archie Donovan and the mayor who wanted to meet him.

  If the cliff dwellers of the Southwest had half a million dollars to spend on each dwelling, they’d have created Crystal Cascades. The luxurious condos clung to the side of a mountain. The architect had designed floor to ceiling windows to insure each residence offered a spectacular view. On a sunny day, the lowly peons in the valley like me saw the prismatic effect of the glass turn the mountainside into a massive wall of jutting diamonds.

  The road carved the exclusive development into terraces as it snaked up the slope. Small parking areas shared the ledges and I never understood how so many retirees could get so many Buicks so high without tumbling over the edge. Of course, no one lived here during the winter, and very few homes were occupied this early in the season, which is why the mayor was able to arrange accommodations for Franklin Talbert on suc
h short notice.

  Talbert’s condo was about halfway up. A black mailbox atop a wrought-iron post marked the entrance down a short, steep driveway. A double garage formed the base of the unit and a brick-paved ramp curved up through shiny galax to the front door. A wheelchair could make the ascent, but too much speed coming down would turn the walkway into a ski jump.

  I checked myself in the rearview mirror. The fresh application of ointment glistened over my stitches and the bruised skin now had a purple tinge. I wore a rain slicker and pulled the hood over my head. The front edge just covered my battle scar.

  I had to admit I felt a twinge of excitement at meeting Franklin Talbert. Although I wasn’t a big fan of his films, I’d seen a few and couldn’t help but be a little awed by someone whose twenty-foot image on the silver screen played to millions of moviegoers. I wanted to make a good first impression.

  I pulled an umbrella from the backseat, but didn’t bother to open it. It would be for Talbert’s use if he needed protection from the light drizzle. As I stepped onto the walk, I looked up at the wall of windows. The dull sky made them less reflective and I could see the interior of the condo. Franklin Talbert stood looking across the valley. He must not have heard me drive up because as he caught sight of me, a flash of surprise crossed his face. Immediately, he disappeared into the shadows.

  I rang the bell. After a few minutes, the door opened and Talbert held up a hand that first stopped me and then beckoned me in. He had a cell phone pressed against his ear.

  “Well, you tell them to Fed-Ex the script revisions to me tomorrow or I’m out of the deal.” He swept his conducting hand to indicate I should take a seat. “And I won’t just be backing out as the star, but the producer as well.” He turned his back to me as he closed the door. “See what that does to their completion bond.”

  Funny thing. He hadn’t been on the phone while standing at the window. And he must have had a terrific service since no cellular tower I knew of covered this side of the ridge.

  Franklin Talbert was at least three inches shorter than me—all of it in his legs. At five-six, many of his leading ladies and certainly his cinematic archenemies must have towered over him. But, a long waist and rugged face made perfect camera fodder. Put him on a box or stand his true love in a hole and the illusion of John Wayne for the 21st century would be complete.

  He faced me as he listened, or pretended to listen, to the recipient of his anger. He gave me a nod of greeting, and then pointed to the phone as if it were some inoperable growth he could do nothing about. “No. That’s not acceptable. I wrap in two weeks, and if they’re not ready to start mid-May, there are three other projects waiting in line. The revisions tomorrow, Allan, or send me another deal. No excuses.”

  He snapped the phone away from his ear and tossed it on a leather sofa. “Enough of that.” His short legs took a mighty stride toward me. “Sorry. My agent’s on the verge of botching my next picture, and it’s either a new script or a new agent.” His broad hand reached out. “Franklin Talbert. Thank you for getting me.”

  Whether his phone conversation had all been an act or not was immaterial. The guy was good and now I had become the center of his universe.

  I shook his hand and met him eye-to-eye. “Barry Clayton. I’m handling the funeral arrangements for Y’Grok.”

  “Yes, Y’Grok Eban. A real hero. I owe my life to that guy. And my career.”

  “Your career?”

  “My first film. It was based on our mission in Vietnam. I was on the ground in the central highlands. Y’Grok was one of my contacts. Operation Falcon. Jesus. Hard to believe that movie came out nearly twenty-five years ago.”

  I took a closer look at the actor. Beneath the tan were a few wrinkles, especially around the eyes. His black hair had a slight touch of gray at the temples. He must have been over sixty, but he’d pass for forty-five with good makeup and lighting.

  “Operation Falcon,” I repeated. “I saw that movie.” I had seen the film, but I’d been eight years old. “Was that the name of the real operation?”

  “No. And the storyline was fictitious, but the action wasn’t. Y’Grok got me out of more than one close call.” He looked at his Rolex. “Got time for a drink? The bar’s well stocked.”

  “Thanks, but no. We’d better head on. We’re supposed to meet the others at six.”

  “Okay. But I still don’t understand what’s happening. Your mayor said the service had been delayed so I could get here. Is this some kind of rehearsal before tonight’s party?”

  I hadn’t realized Talbert would be so clueless. I’d expected Senator Millen’s aide to have at least covered him on the basics by now. “No. There’s been a complication. I’ll give you the background on the way.”

  “Let me grab a jacket.” He disappeared up the stairs and returned five minutes later. He’d quickly changed into a well-tailored cashmere sport coat with a cable-knit sweater underneath. “I assume we’ll be going straight to the mayor’s schmooze-fest afterwards.”

  “Yes, then they’ll probably bring you back here.”

  He sighed. “I’d like to avoid that, Barry, if it’s not any trouble. They’ve been very gracious, but I’ve enjoyed as much as I can stand of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”

  I laughed. Franklin Talbert had pegged Mayor Whitlock and Archie Junior perfectly. “Sure. And I’ll be the excuse if you want to leave early.”

  The heavy clouds created an early dusk and I waited until I’d safely negotiated the winding road down before dropping my bombshell. “This meeting is not about tomorrow’s service. Last Monday someone broke into our funeral home and stole Y’Grok’s body.”

  “Stole his body?” Talbert’s voice trembled. “What for?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “But that’s crazy. Does some yokel want to get on the front page of the local paper?”

  “No.” I pulled the hood of my slicker away from my forehead. Even though the daylight was fading, Talbert could see the jagged cut across my forehead.

  “Christ. They did that to you? In broad daylight?”

  “Actually it was Tuesday at three in the morning. Only one guy. One very efficient guy like someone right out of your movies.”

  “Umm,” he grunted. “That’s more than a prank. So what are we supposed to do? Why are we having this meeting?”

  “Y’Grok had a message for Kevin Malone.”

  “Malone?” An edge grew in his voice. “He’s mixed up in this?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you know he’d be here?”

  “My publicist said Stormy and Ryan. I got the news about Y’Grok’s death and hopped the first flight out of Sydney, even though I thought I’d miss the funeral. Didn’t even bring an assistant.” He made his trip sound like he’d crossed the Sahara with one bottle of Evian water.

  “Y’Grok wanted to see Kevin before he died,” I said. “He had something for him. We think from Vietnam.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Senator Millen, the General, Kevin, and Tommy Lee.”

  “Who’s Tommy Lee?”

  “The local sheriff. Tommy Lee Wadkins. He’s a vet who knew Y’Grok. I was the only one without a personal stake until I got my head bashed in and a body stolen out from under me. We were hoping you might know why someone would want to steal Y’Grok’s body.”

  I kept my eyes on the road, but heard Talbert shift in his seat. For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then he whispered, “Who knows about this?”

  “Nobody outside that circle.” I decided to keep Melissa, Susan, and Uncle Wayne out of it for now. “But we’re going to have to go public before the service tomorrow.”

  “And this message for Kevin Malone is tied in somehow?”

  “We think the message was tattooed on Y’Grok’s body.”

  “Do you know how outrageous that sounds? It’s like a damn movie pitch. A secret message for Kevin. And I suppose Kevin’s the one who said Y’Grok wanted to see him.”

  “He got a letter.�
�

  “Did you see the letter?”

  “No, but—”

  “But Kevin Malone is a loose cannon. Believe me, he worked my operation in Nam and I wouldn’t trust the guy to follow an order for a cheeseburger and fries. Always had to do things his own god-damned way and then blame somebody else when he screwed up.”

  I drove without comment and thought about a dead cop in Boston.

  Talbert snorted. “Maybe I can solve this mystery after all. Kevin Malone probably cooked this whole thing up to draw attention to himself. Look important when the story breaks. A secret message just for him. Ten to one he’s the guy who whacked you.”

  I shook my head. “That won’t fly. He was at the sheriff’s house when I was attacked. And a preacher admits mailing Y’Grok’s letter to him, and my uncle saw the tattoos when he embalmed the body.”

  “Then what’s any of this have to do with me?”

  “The letter to Kevin made only one statement—Raven’s come home.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “Raven.” He exhaled. “No wonder Kevin came running. You know about Raven?”

  “They’ve given me the background.”

  “Yeah, but what I bet they didn’t say is that somebody blew the lid on that operation. Curious thing. I transferred Malone out for insubordination and then our operatives started disappearing.”

  “You’re saying he betrayed the network?”

  “I’m saying he may have a very good reason for not wanting Y’Grok’s message to see the light of day. He’s no fool and just because he has an alibi doesn’t mean he’s not behind the theft. He knows the cardinal rule of covert operations—deniability—and believe me, Kevin Malone’s the master of keeping his hands squeaky clean when he’s up to his elbows in shit.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As my jeep rounded the final curve of my driveway, its headlights swept across Tommy Lee’s cruiser and a dark blue Mercury Grand Marquis with a Hertz bumper sticker. My guests had arrived ahead of me.