The Underground Lady

by JC Simmons

  "We are going to look hard at all of them. Anything else?"

  "I've sent the note and letter via the local sheriff for a forensics exam. The rope used to hang the coyote is a piece of old hemp. I kept it thinking we could find more like it at a suspect's home."

  "Tell me what you know about the day the woman went missing."

  "She took off early one morning headed to Meridian, contacted approach control, stated her intentions, then shortly thereafter said she needed to return and land. There was no other communication and the plane dropped off the scope. The controller initiated a search. Nothing was ever found, not a trace of the woman or airplane. I've got a copy of the air traffic control transcript coming out of Atlanta, and a copy of the Accident/Missing Aircraft report from the FAA is being mailed."

  "So this woman could have simply crashed into one of the heavily forested areas and never found?"

  "It's a possibility, though the letter, the warning, and a dead coyote points to something a little more sinister."

  "Or some whacko getting his kicks from an old airplane crash. I've seen it happen before."

  "Either way, we are gonna punish this person."

  Hebrone didn't say anything. He simply smiled, and it was not an expression one would take as being pleasant. He is not a man you would want as an enemy. Years ago I was with him in a place called Spider's, a watering hole for local fisherman on the Mississippi coast. Due to hurricane Katrina, it no longer exists, as is true for most of the coast. A shrimper with a reputation for meanness and womanizing tried to force himself on Hebrone's live-aboard girlfriend. The man walked into the bar that night and Hebrone invited him over to our table. I knew things were about to get bad. After the waitress brought the man a beer, Hebrone leaned over close to him and, in a voice that still makes me shudder today, told the man that he was going to kill him. Even though the shrimper was six inches taller and outweighed Hebrone by fifty pounds, he sat his beer down, got up, and left the bar. Hebrone's reputation was well known around the docks. Every night for six months Hebrone would go to where the man slept aboard his boat and leave a mark so that the man knew he had been there and could have killed him. Sometimes it was a note that read, “Not tonight." Try as he might, he could never catch Hebrone boarding his vessel. It finally drove the man insane and he committed suicide. So I guess Hebrone succeeded in what he promised the man.

  "Again, Key West?"

  "Nothing there but the artsy set. The Trust-Funders, writers who can't or don't write, painters who couldn't draw a picture, even with little numbers on the canvas, sculptors who don't sculpt – all just shy of suicide by some idiotic belief they are creative."

  Turning off the gravel road onto the terrace row that led to the cottage, I saw Shack's truck. In front of it was Rose's blue pickup. Good, I thought, the gang's all here. Smoke wafted out of the chimney. Someone had built a fire.

  As we got out of the truck, Shack walked out on the porch carrying a rifle with a scope.

  "You're not planning on shooting me, I hope?" I reached for the weapon. He handed it to me reluctantly. I aimed the rifle at the pond on the south side of the cottage, looking through the scope at six Mallard ducks paddling on the water like a flotilla of navy warships. The lead duck had green eyes – the scope was that powerful.

  Handing the rifle back, I said, “You remember Hebrone?"

  They shook hands like two team captains standing in the middle of a football field just before the coin toss, both eyeing each other for some sign of weakness. It was a strange moment, for I knew each admired the other.

  "I smell food. Is Rose cooking?"

  "Rose is always cooking. She said you'd probably be hungry by the time you got back from the "Big Easy." Her term, not mine"

  "Well, she was correct. I'm famished. What about you, Hebrone?"

  "I could eat."

  Inside, Sunny was bent down in front of the fireplace, stoking the fire. Rose was in the kitchen. Sunny turned and her eyes went straight to Hebrone. Her expression was one of shock.

  Rose came into the room and hugged Hebrone's neck. "It's good to see you again. We were all so happy when we heard you and Andrew managed to survive the hurricane. You must tell us all about it."

  Sunny moved off to the side of the room, and seemed to be searching for a means of escape. She reminded me of the frightened doe that I surprised early one morning while bush hogging. I almost ran over her newborn spotted faun.

  "Sunny, meet Hebrone Opshinsky, my friend from Key West that I told you about."

  She came forward. "I'm sorry, Mr. Opshinsky. You look like someone I knew a long time ago."

  They shook hands.

  "Please call me Hebrone. Your expression says it must have been a bitter relationship."

  "Yes."

  "Come and sit," Rose ordered. "Lunch is ready. We can all get to know each other."

  "We already know each other, Rose."

  "Well, these two don't." She pointed to Sunny and Hebrone, and gave me a hard look.

  "I've already eaten, so I'm off to feed some cattle. How about we get together later on in the day, talk about things?"

  "Good, Shack. How about five o'clock, here."

  "Okay. Good to see you, Hebrone."

  "Same here."

  "Where's B.W.?"

  "Out back, stalking a turkey."

  "If I was the turkey, I'd be worried."

  We sat at the small round kitchen table eating baked ham sandwiches and French-fried potatoes, Hebrone and Sunny covertly eyeing each other.

  "So how is that wolf you live with?" Rose asked.

  "Savage is doing good, but having Smash aboard has caused some consternation. Savage can't decide whether to befriend him or eat him. I think the same is true for Smash."

  "Who is this Smash?" Sunny asked, looking at Hebrone.

  "Andrew Bullard. He's a mutual friend of ours. I'll let Jay tell you about him."

  "So how did you two manage to survive that hurricane?" Rose asked, piling more fries on Hebrone's plate.

  "By the time we left here and arrived back on the coast, things were getting iffy. Katrina was winding up tight, and it looked like we would take a direct hit, so we did the only thing we could do, put to sea."

  Rose looked surprised. "You went out in the ocean during a hurricane?"

  "Better to be in the open sea than a lee shore."

  "That's what the navy does in a blow, take their ships to sea," I said.

  "Jay, you remember old man Will LeBlanc, had that Chris Craft he'd restored and lived aboard? The one with the carpenter's shop that covered the entire inside of the boat. He planned on riding out the storm tied to the dock. Smash made him sail with us. He ran LeBlanc's boat, and I ran mine. We went east around the hurricane. There was some rough weather, heavy seas, fifty mile per hour winds, but both boats survived, and we made Key West in good shape. Those that remained in port along the Mississippi coast were all lost."

  "So how is the Admiral adapting to island life?"

  "Good. There are few craftsmen like him left. He stays busy. But Key West…God. The tourists have ruined it. Now there are giant cruise ships offloading two thousand people at a time. It's sad. As soon as we can, we'll sail back to the coast."

  "Not much different down there. The only rebuilding going on is by the gambling casinos."

  Rose and Sunny started to clean the table, but I insisted that it was my kitchen and I'd take care of it myself. I told them to take Hebrone into the living room, sit in front of the fire, and tell him all about Hadley Welch.

  An hour later, Rose and Sunny left for Rose's house. I promised to let them know what we planned to do after we met with Shack this afternoon.

  B.W. came in as they left without having caught a turkey and smelled around Hebrone, growled, and ran and jumped into my lap.

  "He smells Savage on me," Hebrone said.

  "He's had some run-ins with coyotes. Don't seem to cater to 'em."

  I opened a bottle of Petit
Sirah and we sat in front of the fire sipping the wonderful dark wine.

  "Your girl reminds me of a Conway Twitty song."

  "Which one?"

  "'Tight Fittin Jeans.' The one where the woman says, 'I married money, I'm used to wearing pearls, but I've always dreamed of being just a good old boy's girl…and partner there's a tiger in these tight fittin jeans.' That one."

  I laughed, but somehow I didn't think it funny. I felt as a stranger to myself, so what could I know of others. Having Hebrone here did help keep me from feeling as if layer upon layer of courage and resolve was not wearing away anymore. I felt that now, maybe my soul would not cave in upon itself.

  Chapter Ten

  Shack returned at five o'clock and we sat in front of the fireplace. Opening another bottle of the Petit Sirah, I poured Shack a glass of Jack Daniel's – he is not a connoisseur of fine wine. The sun had set, but out of the kitchen window the sky was filled with light. Strips of pink and orange glowed on the horizon, and every tree seemed like a distinct creation.

  Shack fingered his drink, stared at the flickering flame in the fireplace. "This country is a dangerous place to make friends, a worse place to make enemies. We have to be careful with Rose and that St. Louis woman."

  Hebrone smelled the wine, looked over the top of the glass at Shack. "You are right. Until we find out exactly who we're dealing with, one of us ought to stay close to them. You've got your own family, Jay or I can cover the women."

  "How many people do you know in the area who trap coyotes?"

  Shack looked at me, thought for a minute. "Three or four. Most people just shoot them when they start bothering their animals. I guess anybody could catch one if they wanted. A piece of fresh meat and a trap is all that is required. They are sly, cunning creatures, but hunger is a powerful thing."

  "That coyote was alive when it was hung from my door."

  "Probably trapped, then sedated. Otherwise, it would have been a handful to handle."

  "Make a list of the local trappers. Maybe one of them can offer up something that could be of help."

  "I'll do that tonight, get phone numbers, addresses. How long before you hear from the sheriff on the note and letter?"

  "Depends on how backed up they are at the crime lab. However, the man said he'd put a rush on it."

  "His daughter works there, you know."

  "No, I was unaware of that. Maybe she'll do it quickly for dear old dad, especially since he's running for reelection next month."

  Hebrone got up and threw two sticks of wood on the fire. "If this is murder, we need to find a motive. What was that paternity thing you mentioned? The banker from Decatur?"

  "The first thing out of his mouth during our brief conversation was that he did not father the daughter. It was a surprise to me. Sunny denied it had anything to do with why she was looking into her mother's disappearance. She said there was proof that Ed Pfeiffer was her father, and that her only motivation was the anonymous letter."

  "We know the Welch woman was the mother?"

  It was a question that I hadn't thought about. "I guess Rose can tell us for sure. She was friends with Hadley Welch."

  Shack sat his glass on the coffee table, motioned that he did not want another drink. "Why don't you two re-interview all of the men, give Hebrone an opportunity to evaluate them. He has good instincts for judging people. I'll keep an eye on the girls while you're doing that. Whoever it is will know you're continuing to nose around and may make a move to carry out one of the threats. We will be ready."

  "Not a bad idea, Shack."

  "I'll be off then. Whoever this is won't make a move until they know you're still looking into the disappearance, but we need to be careful."

  "One of us will stay at Rose's house tonight."

  "That will be an interesting coin-toss," he said, with a telling grin. "See you both tomorrow."

  After Shack left, Hebrone said, “He's an intelligent man."

  "He can also be deadly."

  "Yeah, I'm familiar with that type personality. Pour us some more wine, and let's decide who gets to flirt with the young woman from St. Louis."

  When I phoned Rose, she scoffed at the idea that they needed protection, saying that she could damn well look after herself and her houseguest. Besides, she reminded me, the outcome of our last practice session with the slide guns was that she out shot me. It was true, I dislike automatic pistols, have never become proficient with them, cannot learn to trust them – they will sometimes jam. My magnum never does, and nobody can outshoot me with that weapon.

  Rose finally relented when I said Hebrone would come to stay the night. She thought it a good idea for him and Sunny to get to know each other.

  "So how come I get to stay with them? I don't remember volunteering for the job, though after seeing the young woman, I can't say as I much mind."

  "There's something about Sunny Pfeiffer that bothers me. I can't put my finger on it, but some of her actions make me think that there is more than one reason for her to be in Mississippi looking for her mother after twenty-five years. Maybe I'm wrong. I'd be interested in your impression of her."

  "Okay. Let me have one of those Glocks you keep in that hidden gun case, and an extra clip."

  Retrieving the pistol, I asked Hebrone to find out from Rose if she's sure Hadley Welch is Sunny's mother. He agreed, and I dropped him off at Rose's farm and drove back to the cottage. The Big Dipper was framed over the driveway. In the hollow to the north, a large animal ran through the brush. Deer bed there at night.

  Inside, I closed the screen to the fireplace, gave B.W. some food, and readied for bed. It had been a long day, and the wine made me sleepy. Lying in bed, I let my mind drift, thought about Rose, Shack, and Hebrone. Earl and Annie Sanders came to mind, with Earl telling Annie about his attraction to Hadley Welch. What would be the purpose of this world if there were no reason for the existence of virtue? My neurons summoned up a visual of my ex-girlfriend bending over naked to feed B.W. one spring morning. This thought happened a split second before tears formed over her leaving for Seattle with the banker. I suspected she'd become infatuated with another man, but I found this inconceivable because men love to think of themselves as the only stud in the pasture despite the presence of other bulls. Then I remembered the trees and green fields of my childhood and chimney smoke on the damp morning air. The memory of my father's hard, rough hands, the sandpaper scratch of his beard the day he embraced me for the last time as he went off to meet his fate in a P-38 Lightning fighter plane under a blue Pacific sky in a long ago war against an evil empire.

  I slipped into a deep sleep that crept across me like smoke.

  ***

  Full consciousness did not come easily, but I floated toward sound and light, and as it seemed I would break free to full reality, I would slip once more into a murky insensibility. I would drift helpless like a cloud until the light and sound called me forth again. But what brought me toward total awareness was smell, the familiar aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon. The clock beside the bed read seven a.m.

  Pulling on a pair of pants, I went into the living room. Hebrone was building a fire and Sunny Pfeiffer stood in front of the stove putting strips of bacon onto paper towels to drain. B.W. sat on the counter beside her eyeing the bacon strips.

  Hebrone stood, glanced at me, nodded toward Sunny, and shook his head. "It's about time you got up. Rose said that this country living was making you lazy."

  "Where is Rose? I'm surprised she isn't here giving orders."

  Sunny turned from the stove. "Good morning. I insisted Hebrone bring me here so that we could get an early start. I hope you don't mind?"

  "Would it make any difference?"

  "Oh, you are one of those people who are grumpy before they've had their coffee. Here, let me pour you a cup. Where do you keep that honey jar?"

  "Just exactly what is it we need to get an early start doing?"

  "Hebrone said last night we were going to re-intervi
ew the men my mother was dating at the time of her disappearance so he could make his own impressions of them."

  "Oh, he did, did he?" Looking at him, I said, “When did you start speaking more than three words at a time?"

  He gave me one of those stares that said I might be nearing a line that I really didn't want to cross. "You said she was going to be working with us."

  The phone rang, interrupting our conversation before it escalated into something ugly.

  "Jay Leicester." It was John Quincy Adams, the sheriff. "You are kidding. Okay, we'll be at your office at ten a.m."

  Hebrone came and sat beside me at the kitchen counter. "Crime lab?"

  "That was the sheriff. They got prints off the note and letter. Two different men, both local. He'll have their sheets ready for us in his office at ten a.m."

  Sunny picked up B.W., sat down beside Hebrone. "What does this mean?"

  "It means we know who sent you the letter, and we know who hung the coyote over my door."

  "Who are they?"

  "The sheriff will have all that information for us at his office later on this morning. He said both men lived in the area, so we need to get Shack to go with us. He'll probably know them."

  Sunny fed B.W. a piece of the bacon. "How can they know who these people are so quick?"

  "Once they 'raise' a print, and there are several ways that can be done, they scan them into a computer which is networked to a national database. If they have a criminal record, been in the military, or have been fingerprinted for any reason, their prints will be there and it only takes seconds for a match to be made. Big Brother is watching."