by Lee Mims
Chris shook his head sadly.
“The owner of the pigs later testified before a judge that he hadn’t seen the body because when he’d gone to move the hogs to their feeding lot he’d only opened the gate and not looked in. Fortunately there was a potential investor in the well on the site that day and he helped me put the death in perspective and understand that bad things sometimes just happen. We became close friends very quickly and, as it turned out, that was good for me because I came to draw heavily on his strength and maturity in the coming months.”
“Why was that?”
“Because Sheriff Stuckey arrested my dad the very next day on the grounds that he’d killed Wayne in a fit of rage. My dad had a reputation for having a bad temper and coincidentally had chewed Wayne out the day before I found him dead.”
“What did he chew him out for?” Chris asked.
“Nothing important. The kid was doing something unsafe. My dad was a real stickler when it came to job safety. Anyway, for the next few months, my family experienced more stress than most families go through in a lifetime. My dad was very courageous during the whole ordeal … until my mom died of a sudden heart attack.” I had to pause again and clear my throat. But I wanted to finish. I was actually feeling better. Who knew? Maybe there was something to the touchy-feely notion of sharing a burden by telling someone else about it.
“That’s when my dad shut down completely,” I continued. “And even though my friend had hired the best lawyer money could buy, Dad took a plea deal and went to jail where he could grieve in peace. He was so worried about what would happen to me, being young and suddenly alone, he made me promise to marry my friend in the bargain and, not knowing what Dad would do if I didn’t, I agreed. Of course, in the end, I grew up and the marriage fell apart.”
Chris was quiet for a time, then said, “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories or a sore subject, but why was the sheriff so convinced that your dad was the murderer? Was there overwhelming evidence?”
“Not really,” I said. “I think Dad’s reputation for having a hair-trigger temper hurt him more than the wrench they had as evidence. According to the prosecution, Wayne had been bludgeoned to death with it. This was impossible to prove after what the hogs did to his body, but Stuckey said they’d found it in my dad’s tool box and it had Wayne’s blood on it. As icing on the prosecutor’s cake, there were witnesses to his blow up with the kid the day before.”
“What was your dad’s defense?”
“That he was framed. I was afraid he was going to get the death penalty, although the lawyer said the chain of custody regarding the murder weapon was tainted and he could get him off. At first my dad was very positive about fighting through a long protracted murder trial, but then when mom died and he just gave up. The rest is history.”
Chris turned to me in the darkened car. “You were lucky to have such a special friend,” he said sincerely. “Too bad it didn’t work out.”
“Yep,” I said. “That’s what everyone said.”
By the time we’d reached my house in Raleigh it was after eight o’clock. We pulled in the drive and I invited him in. After I fed Tulip, she hopped through her doggie door to the backyard and I went straight to the wet bar in the den to make myself a tall Black Jack.
“I’d offer you one if you didn’t have to drive back to Sanford,” I said, stirring ice cubes in the ice maker.
“Here, let me do that,” he offered. “You go sit on that comfy-looking couch. I’ll also make you an ice pack for your head. It’s a little late to stop the bruising, but like my mom used to say, ‘It’ll heal before you get married.’”
I did as told and sat on the couch. “I hope you’re right,” I said. “Because I just spent a hideous amount of money for a wedding dress. I’m remarrying my first husband, my very good friend, on November 9th.”
Chris might have missed a beat as he walked toward me, drink in one hand, ice bag in the other, but it wasn’t noticeable. “I’m not surprised. There was no way you were unattached. I couldn’t possibly get that lucky.”
“Oh, not that again,” I said, taking a big slug of my drink and planting the ice bag on my noggin. “I told you, I’m old enough to be your … much older sister. Honestly, I’m the one who’s surprised.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m surprised that you aren’t having to beat the women away from your door with a stick.”
“Who says I don’t,” he smiled, taking a wingback opposite me. “There are a ton of single women my age in and around Sanford. It’s just that since I’ve been back I haven’t met anyone with enough brains to carry on a conversation beyond what’s new on television or at the movies or how to make the hottest new moonshine cocktail.”
“Raleigh is only 40 minutes from Sanford. There are 1.3 million folks living here now. Surly among that number you can find someone who interests you.”
“This is true. I just have to stop hunting and fishing long enough to look,” he said.
“Ah,” I laughed, “now the real reason for your longevity as a bachelor is starting to emerge … ” I paused, hearing a car door slam outside. Suddenly I realized I’d forgotten all about my dinner plans with Will and Henri. Figuring it must be them, I braced.
“Mom!” Henri exclaimed as she and Will busted into the room. “What’s going on? You missed dinner—and who is this?”
“Henri!” Will snapped, taking in my sorry state. “Look at Mom! Can’t you see something’s happened.”
“And where are your manners?” I demanded. “We’ll do dinner another time. Right now I’d like you to meet my friend, Detective Chris Bryant—”
Henri, ignored my introduction and cut me off. “Not at that catering house, we won’t,” she snapped. “That was a tasting they were holding just for us to be sure the selections I’ve made are what you and Dad want and what happens? Dad leaves town and you’re a no-show! Well, I can tell you, I’ve about had it. You have no idea how hard it is planning an event of this magnitude!”
I turned to Detective Bryant to apologize. He was staring at Henri like he’d encountered an alien being. “I’m so sorry, Chris,” I said, although it was obvious I didn’t have his attention. I addressed him again, more forcefully this time, “Chris.” Nothing.
“Chris!” This time I snapped my fingers.
“What?” he startled, dragging his eyes from Henri.
“Tell you what,” I said, standing and guiding the bedazzled detective to the front door. “I’ll call you first thing when I get back on the job tomorrow and we’ll make arrangements to meet at the section of road where I tried to fly the Jeep.”
“Okay,” he said, then pointed back toward the den. “Who was that?”
“Those two ungrateful wretches are my children. My daughter, Henri is the uber-rude one. She’s 26 and my son, Will, the slightly less rude one, is 28.”
“Is she … ”
“Tomorrow, Chris,” I said, then thought of something. “Oh, and before you go back to where I had the wreck, you should know there is a very territorial bull in that pasture. Seriously, get the dairy manager—guy named Luther—to go with you.”
Back in the den all hell broke loose.
I told both children what I thought of their transformation from normal young people into wedding vampires who sucked the life out of everyone and everything, feeding on an unnatural, unrealistic desire to create something perfect. I know, it didn’t make a lot of sense, but it was the best I could do in my out-of-control state.
I mean, I’d nearly been killed in a wreck that cost me my magic Jeep, then been chased by a bull. I knew my venting was perhaps a tad over the top, but I couldn’t help ending my tirade with, “And for your information, you two idiots, perfection is an illusion. You can chase it all you want, but it’s unattainable.”
Henri burst into tears, stormed out of the house, i
nto her car, and left.
Will quickly made me another drink. “Tell me about your day, Mom. How did you get all bruised and banged up and where’s your Jeep?”
I felt a little better after he and I had a long discussion, including a detailed account of my day, but without any mention of the sheriff and my run-in with him or the fact that a bullet had likely caused my accident. No sense worrying him. While we talked, Will made me a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I didn’t realize how hungry I was or how tired. I wanted to call Bud, tell him about my dismal day, but I was too damn done in. Tomorrow, I promised myself.
Wednesday morning dawned dull and grey, mirroring my mood and physical state. My body, as I clomped downstairs, was one stiff, sore aching muscle. And that was after a hot shower and a BC powder. Then I smelled coffee. My heart leaped. Bud was back!
When I stepped into the kitchen, I encountered Will and was instantly disappointed, which in the next instant made me feel guilty. I sighed and made myself another promise to call Bud first chance I got. Fortunately Will was busy scrambling eggs and buttering English muffins and missed my emotional struggles. “What are you still doing here?” I asked. “I thought you left last night.”
Will looked up from his task and licked his fingers. “I was going to,” he said. “But after I called Henri and told her what had happened to you, she insisted one of us needed to stay and check on you during the night. You did hit your head, you know. Since I was here, it made sense I stay.”
“I see,” I said, still ticked over last night’s display.
“We’re really sorry, Mom. Especially Henri. She feels just awful.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s just, well, you know how she can be sometimes. She’ll call you soon. And from now on we’re going to keep a tight rein on getting too caught up in this party. I mean, wedding.”
Yeah and humans will soon vacation on Mars. “Fine.” I snipped. “Soon as we eat, I need a ride to the iPhone store and a car rental place.”
After purchasing a phone, completing the download of my contacts and other information from my computer, and renting a plain grey minivan—folks coming in for a major NC State football game on the weekend had taken the good ones—I prepared to leave the car rental parking lot.
Will slid the van door open for Tulip. She climbed in, showing a slight stiffness, too, and proceeded to check out her vast new domain.
“Drive careful, Mom,” Will said with a forlorn look on his face.
“I will,” I said. “And thanks for all the help, sugar.”
“No problem, and don’t worry. Henri’ll calm down and everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”
As soon as I got back onsite, I set about trying to catch up on logging all the samples I’d missed yesterday. A knock at the door preceded Jackie’s entrance with more bags of samples.
“Once we got back drilling, we made good progress,” he said, dropping the samples on the table. “What’s with the minivan?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. Jackie folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the table as I recounted my activities after I left him yesterday. When I got to the part about my tire being shot out, his immediate reaction was to suspect the sheriff.
“Maybe you should ask Greenlite for a replacement. You know, someone to take over for you here,” he said. “A gas well ain’t worth getting killed over.”
“I hear you,” I said. “Keep in mind, we don’t know for sure if it was him. But I’ll take your advice and keep a sharp eye.”
“Okay, then,” he said dubiously. “’Course, long as you’re up here around me and the boys, we’ve got your six.”
“I appreciate it, but I don’t think we need to worry,” I lied. “It probably was just a stray hunter’s shot. It is deer season, after all.”
The rest of the day passed without incident. Chris called and left a message that the sheriff had him on another case all day, but he’d get up with me soon. I tried to reach Bud one more time before leaving for home.
I’d tried several times during the day but his phone just went to voicemail. As luck would have it, I was on the highway by the time he returned my call. When the phone vibrated in the drink holder, I resisted the urge to answer, or even pick it up. Maybe I had learned my lesson about messing with the phone while driving.
The very moment I pulled in the driveway, fifteen minutes later, I reached for the phone to return his call and noticed I had a message too. It was from Annette Lauderbach wanting me to stop by or call when I got a chance. I made a mental note to do so, then called Bud. Greece is seven hours ahead so it was close to midnight there. “You just getting home?” he asked across the miles and time zones that separated us.
“Yes,” I said, feeling giddy at hearing his voice. What was it about that guy that turned me into a pile of mush? I didn’t know. Never had. I’d loved him and hated him so intensely for so many years—the hate being for his controlling nature—that now that I was about to commit to him again, I surprised myself at the depth of my feelings for him. “What are you doing?” I asked goofily. God. I sounded like a schoolgirl.
“Laying here thinking about you,” he answered, sounding just as goofy. We went on like that for a few minutes. He said his return time was still up in the air. Then he asked if there was any word regarding the boy’s hunting accident and I told him what I’d learned. I considered telling him about totaling the magic Jeep, my run in with the sheriff, and the big meltdown with the kids but decided against it. There was simply no point in worrying him. When we hung up, I felt wonderful.
Love is a great healer of all types of wounds.
NINE
My plan of action Thursday morning: an early start in the doghouse, logging the samples collected during the night while I’d been sleeping and the crew had been drilling ahead. We were down hole a little over 100 feet and still in the Sanford Formation.
I’d logged sandstones and mudstones interbedded with each other seemingly forever. The grain size hadn’t started to coarsen up yet and that was the indicator I was looking for. When it did, I’d know we were approaching the basal beds of conglomerates in the Sanford, including one unit containing very large pebbles, termed “millstone grit” because it was quarried back in the 1800s for that very purpose.
Around lunchtime I gobbled down the KFC snack lunch I’d bought on the way in. Tulip ate the biscuits, which, after hours in the mini-fridge, were as appetizing as cardboard. After freshening up a bit, I headed for the Lauderbachs. Besides finding out what Annette wanted, I was hoping to get some additional information on Clinton and take care of thanking Luther in a more substantial way. Once I’d accomplished those things, I’d take care of flagging the site for Lauderbach #2.
When I arrived, Annette opened the door—a pleasant surprise—and led me back to the sunroom again. Arthur put down his copy of the Herald when I entered, but pointed back to it and said, “Very informative article in there on Clinton Baker, the young man killed on our farm. Have you seen it?”
“No,” I said, taking the chair he offered.
“Lots of detail about him, his hopes and dreams. Really gives some insight into what a fine fellow he was. He was interested in everything. It’s just so sad,” Arthur sighed deeply. “Now nothing he dreamed of will ever come to fruition.”
Mentally scratching questions regarding Clinton from my to-do list, I said, “I’ll have to read it later. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Suddenly, there was a clamor outside the window. A flurry of shouting and running created by a bevy of teenage boys playing tag football lifted the somber mood in the room.
“What fun!” I laughed. “And how convenient to have those old outbuildings in just the right spots to serve as end markers. It’s good they can still serve a useful purpose. Plus, it’s wonderful you’ve preserved them.”
�
�Thank you,” Arthur said, laughing at the antics of the players. “Now days that’s about all they’re good for, that and homes for bats and mice, but it’s important for the kids to see how things were done in the old days.”
“Are all those yours?” I asked, nodding at the players.
“Gracious, no,” he said, feigning astonishment. “Only three of them.”
“We had one a year for a while there,” Annette said wistfully.
And you’re still sane. Impressive. “You have a beautiful family,” I said with true admiration. Now I remembered that Sara had told me about her three younger brothers. “And you have one other son, right?”
“Yes, he’s at State, majoring in Animal Science so he can take over the farm one day.”
“Well,” I said, moving on to the reason for my visit, “besides being here in answer to your voicemail, I wanted to drop in and thank you so much again for the help you and your employees gave me Tuesday. Without Luther and Ruby, I’m sure my day would have been much harder.”
“Now, now, none of that!” Arthur said. “We’re just sorry that old buzzard, Boss, got after you. And as to Annette’s voicemail … ”
“Now, Arthur, I can answer for myself,” Annette said. “I called just hoping you’d gotten some test results or something that would let you know that billions of barrels of gas are right below the farm, just waiting for us to tap into them.”
Arthur rolled his eyes.
I laughed. “Actually gas is measured in cubic feet, billions or trillions as the case may be, and it’s a little early to know anything yet.”
“Oh, dear,” Annette said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just a silly goose.”
