Complicated Matters

by Unknown

  The sheriff’s face read like a Shakespearean play--all tragedy.

  “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Taylor pointed to a chair. “At least sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down.” Farrah raised her voice. “I want to know what in the hell is going on.”

  Taylor took out his out his black notebook and started reading from it. “At approximately ten-thirty this morning, someone called emergency services and reported shots being fired in the swamp adjoining your parents’ farm.”

  Farrah wondered if he always used that passionless voice. “So?” She frowned. “Some fool is always back there shooting at one thing or another. Why am I here?”

  The office went silent.

  Taylor sat down on the principal’s desk. “Another call came in shortly after the previous one, saying that there was a loud boom around that area.”

  Farrah put her hand over her ears and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “I wish there was some way to make this easier. A truck was sitting under a tree with a woman’s purse containing among other things, a Florida driver’s license belonging to Tara Mathews. Our investigators found John Mathews’ drivers license, in the glove box. A rifle lay behind the seat.”

  “No. No.” She put her hands over her face. “Please no,” she sobbed.

  “Miss Mathews, can you tell me why your parents would go armed?”

  Farrah wiped her eyes and looked up at him. She sniffled. “Are you really so stupid you have to ask me a question like that?”

  Taylor knelt down next to her. “I realize this is hard, but I need to understand your parents if I am to catch their killer.”

  Farrah stared at the floor for a few minutes before she answered him. “The swamp is a dangerous place. It’s best to be prepared. Rattlesnakes, panthers, bear, bobcats; you never know what you’re liable to run into.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll call Children’s Services and make arrangements for your brothers.” Taylor took out his cell phone.

  “Don’t bother.” Farrah put her hand on his. She swallowed. “On my eighteenth birthday, my parents revised their will making me the legal guardian of my brothers in case something should happen to them.”

  “I’ll need to see that will, if you don’t mind.”

  She bent over and hugged her knees. “It’s in a safe deposit box at the bank.”

  “Will you please accompany me to the bank?”

  “Do I really have a choice?” Farrah grabbed her stuff and followed the sheriff. She was mortified when she saw his patrol car. A huge Bronco complete with blue-lights flashing. Can this possibly get any worse?

  At the bank she removed the will from her parents’ safe deposit box along with an age-yellowed paper stating the farm be handed down from eldest Mathews to eldest Mathews. “Satisfied?”

  “May I show this to Children’s Services? They’ll want to make copies.”

  Farrah rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Sheriff.”

  Chapter 3

  Taylor turned off the main highway and stared at the clay, dirt road leading the the Mathews’ Farm. “You really should talk to someone.”

  Farrah stared out the window at the all too familiar scenery. “I don’t need a shrink.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a friend.” The gentle tone in Taylor’s voice calmed her down a little.

  Farrah withdrew into herself. Her parents were gone, but the world didn’t seem to notice. People still went about their daily routines of doing laundry and working in their gardens.

  Little kids played under shade trees and rolled around in fresh-cut grass. Cows still took their time grazing in green pastures. The earth didn’t quit rotating. The humid air hung thick in the atmosphere. The sun didn’t change its routine. Everything was just as it always was.

  “Sorry. I just thought a city cop would be more inclined to suggest a psychiatrist or something.” She pointed to the lane with the Mathews’ Farms sign next to it. “That’s us.”

  “A grief counselor might not be a bad idea.” He knew nothing about farms, but this place was right out a painting. “I could put you and your brothers in touch with one.” Dust filled the air as he made the right a little too fast. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I don’t know. Wash my face and pick up my brothers, I guess. We need to plan some kind of memorial service for Mom and Dad while the relatives are in town this weekend. Do we need to contact the funeral home?”

  “I’m sorry. The explosion was--” He paused.

  “I see.” Farrah felt a sharp pain in her stomach.

  Taylor pulled into the yard. “You need to slow down and process all this.”

  “What I need to do is wash my face and pull myself together.” She opened the car door and ran behind the house before the Bronco came to a complete stop. “Why, God?” she sobbed. “What did they do to deserve this?”

  A mixture of sweet and spicy cologne filled the air. “That’s right, let it all out.” An almost musical voice soothed her as he pulled her long hair behind her. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

  “But my brothers,” she sobbed. “I have to bring them home.”

  A beep sounded from behind her followed by static. She assumed he was using some kind of walkie-talkie when he said, “This is Sheriff Taylor. Is anyone on the force familiar with the Mathews family?”

  “Deputy Winthrop’s daughter plays basketball with Farrah Mathews,” the dispatcher said. “The families sit at the games together sometimes.”

  “Tell him to pick up Jess and Alex Mathews and bring them home.” His voice took on a more authoritative tone. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “We’ll do, Sheriff.”

  “Thanks.” He lowered his voice. “Your brothers will be here shortly. Would you like to go inside?”

  She nodded.

  He helped her to her feet.

  Taylor turned the doorknob. “Do your parents always leave their door unlocked?”

  “They were planning on coming back.” She wondered how a grown man could be so naïve. “Remember?”

  “That’s right. It’s a different world up here.” Taylor walked with her to the kitchen. He seemed to be talking to himself more than her. “Do you want some water. Is there someone I can call?”

  “You can quit hovering over me and give me some space,” Farrah snapped.

  He sat down at the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Time crept by. Farrah felt as though she were going to explode. Death is just another part of life. Everything happens for a reason. Grief is best dealt with in private. She felt her blood pressure rising. If that damn sheriff would just leave me alone I might stand a chance of getting my act together. Tension boiled up inside her.

  More static came from the sheriff’s direction.

  “Sheriff Taylor, this is Deputy Winthrop. I’m outside with Alex and Jess Mathews.”

  “Bring them in.”

  Deputy Winthrop opened the door, but stopped short of going inside.

  “What’s going on, Farrah?” Alex grabbed his sister and dug his fingers dug into her arms. “Deputy Winthrop wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  Taylor took a few steps toward Alex. “You might want to lighten up on that grip.”

  Alex released her. He drew his eyebrows closer together and shifted his eyes. “Why were we taken out of school like a couple of delinquents?”

  Everything was closing in on her. If she had just been able to collect her thoughts in private, she was sure everything would have been better. Alex’s inquisition pushed her too far.

  “Mom and Dad are dead,” she shrieked. “They think somebody was shooting at something and missed their target. Happy?” The words no sooner left her mouth, than she wished she could swallow them back.

  Alex dropped into a chair. Jess turned pasty and ran into the bathroom slamming the doo
r.

  Farrah was so fixated on Alex, and his interrogation, she forgot about her youngest brother standing only a few feet away. “Jessie! I’m sorry, Jess.” She chased after him. “I am so sorry, Jess.” She cried as she leaned against the bathroom door. “I am so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Hold it. Sheriff Taylor didn’t say yes or no when I asked him about the funeral home. He just said he was sorry.

  She came back into the kitchen rubbing her face. “Sheriff, I want to talk to you in private. Alex, stay with Jess.”

  Out on the back porch, she folded her arms and faced the sheriff. “Would you like to tell me what’s really going on?”

  Taylor took a few steps back. “What are you talking about?”

  She clenched her fists and matched his steps. “I’m talking about exploding tractors, dead people with no bodies, and revised wills. Nobody prepares anything that well unless that person knows something’s about to happen. And I don’t believe in freakin’ coincidences. So don’t even try.” She unclenched her fists and dropped her arms to her side. “Now, I am asking again. What in the hell is going on?”

  “I know that you’re hurting, but--” He reached out for her, but she slapped his hand out of the air.

  “Don’t touch me.” She opened the screened in porch’s door made her way down the steps. “If you won’t level with me, I’ll find out by myself.”

  “You can’t go back there!”

  Farrah took one step back up. “Why not?”

  “It’s a crime scene. Only authorized personnel are allowed back there until the investigation is over.”

  “My brothers need me.” She turned and went back into the house. Try and stop me.

  Chapter 4

  Taylor watched the house from a more hidden location.

  Farrah and her brothers emerged from the house and started the evening chores. They carried buckets to various pens.

  He could hear chickens cackle and horses whinny.

  The youngest, Jess, fed and played with the family dog.

  The newly installed sheriff smiled as he watched the Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

  His laptop beeped.

  He logged on. “Taylor here.”

  “This is Commander Phillips. How’s it going over there?”

  “I stand out like a pork roast at a bar mitzvah, sir. The town’s people look at me as if I have two heads. And the Mathews family--Well, they’re a tough lot.”

  “Have you learned anything yet?”

  “I’ve learned enough to make me question the rationality of this farce. We are putting those kids though hell for nothing.”

  “Your complaints have been noted. What have you learned?”

  “Miss Mathews has been given custody of her brothers in a will written by her parents about the time of her eighteenth birthday. The farm automatically passes from eldest child to eldest child.”

  “I can work with that. Is there anything else?”

  “She doesn’t believe her parents are actually dead. I was able to keep her away from the crime scene today, but I wouldn’t put it past her to go out there when nobody’s around. You had better make sure that scene looks authentic.”

  “It does,” said the commander. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t think any of them has a clue as to Daniel’s activities. I do know she wasn’t the least bit surprised her parents went armed. She gave me this lame excuse about wild animals, but I’m not buying it.” Taylor continued to watch the family. “I need to hang around the townies and see what I can find out. Staying out here all the time will arouse suspicions.”

  “You need to stay with that family. There are guards at the schools, but the farm is where they’re most vulnerable. Create reasons if you have to. I don’t care what you have to do, but stay close. Their lives are in your hands. Phillips out.”

  Now ain’t that a boatload of responsibility for one fucked-up cop to handle? Taylor’s eyelids drooped. He felt himself succumbing to exhaustion. Phillips wanted him to stay close, but what good would that do if he fell asleep? The word, poachers crossed his mind. His brain might be tired, but it still worked. At least, for a few more minutes. He hit his tactical mic and called dispatch. “This is Sheriff Taylor calling dispatch.”

  “Whatcha need, Sheriff?”

  “I’m out here on Old Rocky Ford Road. Some of the farmers have been complaining about something or someone disturbing their animals at night. It’s probably nothing--”

  “But it could be poachers,” the dispatcher interrupted. “I’ll get some Wildlife Enforcement officers out there immediately.”

  “Thank you. Taylor out.” He looked up at the sky. “Thank you for suspicious dispatchers, God. Amen.”

  He went back to the small sheriff’s house. After a few painkillers and whatever whiskey he managed to swallow straight from the bottle, he prepared for bed and fell asleep on his couch.

  Too many tragedies had befallen his life. His sixteen-year-old brother Rafael had come to a violent end when Taylor was just twelve years old. Their mother sent Raf to the grocery store to buy a gallon of milk. Someone cut his throat during a traffic jam. Hundreds of people around, and no one saw a damn thing.

  He still wrestled with that reality. As a cop, when a perspective witness said, “I didn’t see anything,” Taylor questioned them about the little things. The color of apartment drapes. The shape of the car in front of them. The color of the dog some lady was walking. The minute details just about always triggered something useful. “I saw nothing,” was never an acceptable answer for him.

  He remembered his father screaming about how his eldest son’s life was worth less than five dollars to someone. “Five fuckin’ dollars,” Lonnie Taylor screamed. His wife Sarah, Raf and Taylor’s mother, sobbed on the floor at his feet, in front of some detective in a cheap suit.

  A Mexican name and blond Irish good looks, made Raf interesting to just about every girl he met. To little Antonio Heath Taylor he was the big brother, the genuine hero, who was never too busy to spend time with him.

  Some repeat drunk decided to go out for another beer and broadsided Taylor’s only love and wife Lianna. Sweethearts since high school, she was the one who kept him focused after all hopes of playing college basketball were dashed.

  That same year, his beloved Grandmother Serena, his Abuela, succumbed to breast cancer. She took with her the spirit of his grandfather Antonio.

  I really need to call Abuelo and see how he’s doing. Taylor thought as he drifted off to sleep. He’d like that.

  Hellish clips from his life invaded his dreams. Waking up in a cold sweat, he gave up on sleep, and put on his uniform. May as well see what the night life’s like around here.

  He dressed and walked outside. The warm, muggy air made him miss Miami.

  Movement in a back alley got his attention, so he walked down it to investigate.

  “Meow.” A cat jumped out of a trash can.

  Taylor laughed when he saw a kid climbing up a ladder to his window only to have to climb down and knock on the front door. The kid’s dad let him in, but screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors.

  Taylor radioed in, “If someone calls in a domestic disturbance on FDR Drive, tell ‘em I’m already out here.”

  “You got it,” the dispatcher said. Her unorthodox way of doing things amused him.

  *

  Millie’s was a twenty-four hour place, and home to just about every insomniac in Morgansville. Twenty-four seven, people gathered for coffee, food, and gossip.

  Taylor took a seat at the end of the bar.

  A dark haired girl flipping hamburgers glanced over her right shoulder. “What can I get ya, Sheriff?”

  Taylor had come to know the girl as Chris. “Do you handle this shift by yourself every night?”

  “Why?” she laughed. You lookin’ for a second job?” Even the florescent lights in the diner couldn’t dim the sparkle in her big, brown eyes. She was perky and cute, with
whit as sharp as a razor.

  It amazed him how a white woman could remind him so much of his dear, sweet, funny Lianna. Physical appearances and accents had nothing to do with it. They possessed the same soul. “I guess it never hurts to have two.” He joked back with her. “I’ll take some coffee when you get the time.”

  “Are you hungry?” She set a mug of fresh coffee in front of him along with a spoon and a small cup of fresh milk. “Sheriff Daniels, always ate here for free.”

  “Thanks, but coffee is all I can handle for now.” He planted himself on a barstool and muddled through the early morning hours while the radio blasted country hits and classics.

  It seemed odd what people would talk about in a public place. He learned everything from who was sleeping with whom, to who was dealing drugs and making moonshine.

  No one here knew anything about Daniels’ business. If they did, he’d know about it by now. He did make a mental to raid the meth-lab on Johnson-Hendry Lane, and to pay more attention to the goings on behind the carwash at the Jiffy Mart.

  He checked his watch. A few minutes before six o’clock. Daylight was breaking through. “Thanks, Chris.” He made sure she saw him leave a dollar bill under his coffee mug.

  She cleaned the counter. “Be careful, Sheriff.”

  “Hey, Flo.” Taylor checked in with the Sheriff’s office. “What’s going on?”

  “You should spend the weekend hanging around the high school. The graduation hoopla is going on and there might be trouble.”

  “Is the sheriff usually a visible fixture at such functions around here?” Taylor tried to figure out if she was passing him a message, or simply being helpful.

  She kept working on her computer. “Strictly low profile.”

  He refilled her coffee cup. “You’re the boss.”

  She faked a toast. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Chapter 5

  Farrah stared at her coffee as Alex wondered in to the kitchen rubbing his eyes.

  He poured himself a glass of orange juice. “Aren’t you going to graduation practice?”

  “How can I?” Earlier that morning, she searched the sight of the accident, but found no signs that their parents were still alive.