Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel

by Warren Williams

  The speaker was quiet for a time and then, “We have a regular Grillburger and a Flame Grillburger.”

  “I guess a regular will do Miss. I have no idea what a Flame Burger is but I bet it’s expensive.”

  “So that’ll be two Grillburgers, hold the onions on both?”

  “No, no, no. Hold the onions on one and hold everything on the other.”

  “Hold the lettuce and tomato then, how about cheese?”

  “Let me be a little more specific. I want a regular old hamburger with whatever you people usually put on a hamburger, but if one of those condiments happens to be an onion, leave it off. Omit it from the burger. Now if we have that order straight, let’s move on to the next burger. This will be very simple, even more simple than the previous burger we just discussed. I want this burger with no tomato, no onion, no lettuce, no cheese, and here comes the hard part, no bun, no bread of any kind. In other words—and I don’t know to make this any easier for you—a plain ol’ hunk of meat. It’s for my dog here. He’s hungry and I’m getting hungrier sitting here shooting the breeze with you.”

  Lester glared at the speaker, silent except for the hum. Finally, “Would you like that second burger charbroiled?

  “Lady this is Sheriff Lester P. Morrison and I’m about to arrest you for incompetence if you don’t have a couple burgers out here for me and my dog in about 60 seconds.”

  “Drive through please. Have a nice day.”

  The burgers-for-money transaction passed without comment and Lester leisurely drove to the city park where he found one empty picnic table among the three. A young girl and boy were grinning, moon-eyed at each other at one while the other was filled with chips and Cokes for a family of four, the kids squealing and laughing and begging their dad for a push on the swings while their mom relaxed with a book.

  The squirrels were out in force, scampering across the grass, darting from one clump to another, sniffing, searching, and preparing for winter, their frantic activity not unnoticed by the lab. But it was the smell from the sack that had Harley’s undivided attention at the moment, saliva pooling on the seat, as he repeatedly inhaled the aroma, this one even more enticing than the recent telephone pole.

  Lester opened the bag, removed the contents, and shook his head. “They got buns on both of them. Dog, I swear, it’s hard to find good help these days.” Harley made a lunge for the Grillburger and disposed of it, buns and all, in approximately seven seconds. After watching the man eat the remaining burger, Harley decided the free lunch was over and concentrated on the closest squirrel, a plump one, and a fine dessert if it would only sit still for a minute.

  Lester turned his back to the picnic table, rested his elbows on it, and watched the lab watch the squirrels. The dog trembled in anticipation of a chase.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Lester said. He closed his eyes and thought back to the short visit with Mrs. Sanchez. He wondered about the four cars in the drive and the lack of males in the house.

  I should have taken their license plates down, just in case there’s a connection. Maybe the boy met Melissa that night and took her to his home. Hell, she could be in there right now for all I know. Damn it, there’s so many possibilities.

  “Dog, get in the truck. I’m going back to that house.”

  As the pickup moved away from the park and the squirrels, Harley thought about jumping out of the window but didn’t. A faint whine of protest went unnoticed by the human.

  Approaching the Sanchez home, the full impact of his possible mistake hit Lester with a thud; three of the four cars were gone. Only the Jeep remained.

  “Harley, we screwed up boy. Next time though, I’ll bring someone with me that can speak the Espanola.”

  The lab did not respond. Harley was asleep and dreaming of rodents with large bushy tails.

  *****

  For the third time that afternoon, Billy Ray Ledbetter dialed the same number, only to get the familiar recording, “You lucky devil, you have reached the phone of Jason Woods. Leave a message. I might even call you back.”

  “Hey Dick Head, I thought we were gonna ride bikes today. Where you at?”

  Billy Ray shook his head. A cell phone was a waste of money for Jason. Most days, either the battery was dead or he hadn’t bothered to turn it on. Not that it mattered much. By the time Jason could get it together, the day would be gone. Another opportunity to go out and enjoy the warm weather—while it lasted—was slipping away.

  The apartment was depressing, the clutter and all, especially on a nice sunny day such as this. Might as well clean up the joint, he thought, and started with the clothes and towels strewn around the floor and over the divan. Jana would never have put up with this. Thinking of her brought back memories, mostly the good ones. Be nice to hear her voice again. The last call hadn’t gone so well. She’d been polite but definitely cool, and had cut the conversation short with some kind of mumbled excuse about being busy. Calls to her parents home had gone unreturned. He picked up his cell and scrolled to Jana’s cell number, his finger hovering over the call button.

  Screw it!

  He threw the phone to the divan, watched it bounce, do a flip, and bang on the hardwood floor. Oh, that was smart Ledbetter. Break your phone why don’t you? You got money to burn for a new one, right?

  The day had been screwed up ever since the call from the Sheriff and had gone downhill from there. He plopped on the divan, stretched out with his boots on (something Jana would have given him hell for), and stared at the ceiling. What was Jana doing tonight anyway? Probably had a date lined up if she wasn’t working. Good looking woman like her probably doesn’t spend many Saturday nights at home. By now, she’s sure to be seeing some doctor with big bucks and driving a Cadillac or a Corvette, buying her dinners at the best spots in San Antonio. Then taking her to his fancy-ass home afterward for a glass of expensive wine, and then…to bed. Why not? Was she whispering sweet words of love in his ear like she’d done with him that night in Las Vegas?

  Billy Ray shook the scene from his head and closed his eyes. A nap would feel good, especially since Lester wanted him on stakeout later on. He didn’t relish sitting in a car for hour after hour on a Saturday night with no clear purpose other than seeing what kind of people go in and out of a roadside bar. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, but how the hell is sitting in a parking lot half the night going to help find Melissa Parker? Still, the Sheriff had a feel for these things. He knows how people think, what questions to ask, and how to read their reactions. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

  His own concerns about Melissa were growing. Like the Sheriff, he now believed something must have happened to her; not necessarily a kidnapping, more like a hit and run, injured (or dead), and lying in the weeds somewhere? Country road at night, hard to see, driver might have been drinking, maybe drinking at the Pirate’s Den. They should get some volunteers, walk the highway for a few more miles, east and west of the bar, then the gravel road down from the Parker place. He’d suggest that to the Sheriff tonight.

  He rousted himself from the divan long enough to check his cell phone for damage, got dial tone, but immediately disconnected and resumed his position. Sleep came quickly. His dreams were of a girl, not a teenager named Melissa, but one called Jana.

  Chapter 17

  The storm cellar was as warm as it had been all day, almost pleasant actually. With a small amount of imagination, Melissa could see herself as a little kid again, her and her friends using this place as a secret cave (girls only of course) or to fix up as a spook house for Halloween. Oh yeah, it would be perfect for that. Becky could hide at the back, ready to jump out and laugh like a witch at any kid brave enough to venture down the steps. They could hang dangly things from the ceiling to feel like snakes. And spider webs, got to have spider webs, the kind you buy in a spray can. Oh, this could be a fun Halloween place all right. But the fantasy quickly faded. The Spook House was real, a House of Horrors, not a little girl’s fun place at all. Thi
s was a place she might die in.

  All morning long, she sat at the top of the steps, listening for cars and trucks on the road. At the first sound, she would push the broken leg of the lawn chair beneath the crack of the door and frantically wave the aluminum shaft; a movement, a glint of sun, anything to catch the attention of a passing farmer, a delivery van, or possibly someone searching for her. After the second failed attempt of the day, she had the idea of using a strip of chair webbing, a pennant of sorts, to make her signal more visible. But only one set of wheels had gone by since then, and they never so much as slowed down.

  The lack of water was beginning to take its toll. Her lips were cracked and her tongue felt rough and swollen. A dull headache had set in, not like the one from the tequila, but one of those nagging, never-going-away pains that promised to last all day. Was yesterday the last time she’d peed? It had burned like crazy, the torn tissues reacting to the urine she supposed. From what she could tell in the bad light, her puddle had looked to be a dark yellow-orange in color. The strong odor had made her wrinkle her nose. She dreading having to go again and not just because of the pain. Even though no one could see her, having to squat with no bathroom, was well…gross, something she had done only twice in her life. Both times when her father wouldn’t stop at a gas station and made her get out beside the car when she couldn’t hold it one second longer. How utterly embarrassing. But now, no squatting since yesterday afternoon. I need water, bad.

  Again, with the first light of day, she had gathered what little dew she could reach with her fingers, a maddening small amount; a tongue-wetter, no more. She thought about all those delicious drops of water, then spoke aloud.

  “There has to be a way, some method to reach more of the dew, gather it somehow. There’s the webbing from the chair. Would that work? I could push it outside the crack, wait until morning and pull it in. Maybe, hmm. Wait, wait, wait, the poncho; it’s made of plastic, big, and wider than the webbing. Sure, that would do it.”

  Melissa hadn’t seen the mice in a while and she called out.

  “Lulu, you hear that idea? What about it? Would it work?” Then to herself, “I’d need maximum surface area that’s for sure. Let’s just say it did work, how best can I get the dew back through the crack without dumping it? What have I got to work with here?”

  The inventory didn’t take long.

  “I got leaves, sticks, a broken chair, a poncho, a jar, and a cot, that’s about it. Any ideas Lulu?”

  She concentrated on each item, one at a time, hoping for a spark of inspiration, a surge of creativity. She kept coming back to the chair, focusing on the metal, thinking, forming possibilities. Minutes passed.

  “I got it. I got an idea, Lulu. Okay, mouse, listen up. What we have here is a frame, that’s exactly what this is, a frame to hold the poncho, to collect the dew.”

  With growing enthusiasm, Melissa rolled the longest edge of the poncho around one leg of the bygone chair, repeated the action on the other side with the other leg, and then, keeping both hands tight on each leg, pulled the plastic tight. As long as she kept her grip, there was a good foot and a half of usable surface area to catch the next rain, if there was one, or some dew at nightfall.

  “Yes!”

  Back at the top of the stairs, she carefully worked her invention through the crack, avoiding any sharp and pointed weeds, and found a relatively clear area with short grasses.

  “Lulu, I think we have liftoff. All we need now is for the weather to cooperate, the right temperature and humidity, and we will drink my little furry friend. We will party down!”

  It was a poor choice of words. The word party conjured up a flashback to her ill-advised visit to the Pirate’s Den and the numerous shots of tequila that night. Other scenes began to flood her senses. She fought them off, didn’t want those thoughts in her mind, not now, not until she was free and yet the images appeared; the patio, the music, people coming and going. Melissa shook her head as if to smash the mental photos developing in her brain. But like an old Polaroid instant camera, the pictures kept on coming, whir-chunk; someone touching her breast, whir-chunk; a face over hers, forcing his mouth on her lips, whir-chunk, an arm, a muscular arm, holding her down. Melissa tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let loose with an animalistic scream to the outside world.

  “NOOOO!”

  Her heart was racing again, on the verge of another panic attack. She grabbed the lip of the door, something solid, and held on, squeezing the fear away.

  “No, no, don’t let it happen Lissa. Don’t lose it, not now. Calm down, breathe, breathe.” She sucked in the air, passed her dried lips, tasting the freshness, taking it to the bottom of her lungs, feeling the heat, and imagining it to be the warm breath of life. The sensation passed. Calmer now, the girl brought the poncho back inside the cellar and spoke to the mouse although she still couldn’t see it.

  “Sorry if I scared you, Lulu. Tell you the truth, I scared myself a little too. But I’m okay now. You can come out.”

  The mouse did not appear and the pile of leaves at the rear of the cellar was quiet.

  “All right, I know you’re frightened. Just don’t leave me, okay? I need your company, more than you’ll ever understand.”

  She took another deep breath and thought about her new invention and tried to see it happening. They had talked about condensation in science class, something about water vapor molecules and thermal energy, but the specifics had been forgotten. All she could remember was warm air meeting cool air and since the grass would be warmed from the sun during the day, the cool air of evening should reach a dew point causing water droplets to form on the plastic. It was a plan. Better than nothing—much better than screaming her lungs out—especially with her tongue and throat so dry. The thoughts about the night air brought up another problem; how to stay warm without the poncho to cover her bare legs and feet.

  With a rustle of leaves, a mouse suddenly appeared, but instead of its usual methodical search for food, the creature made a dash for the steps and carriage board. After the first few inches and realizing the presence of the human, it stopped and stared.

  “Well hello there, nice to finally see you. What’s your hurry this morning?”

  The mouse hesitated for only a moment before making a final rush to the top of the stairs, past Melissa, and with one leap, exited through the crack of the cellar door, disappearing in seconds. Lulu had left the building.

  When the shock of seeing her friend leave in such an unexpected and unexplained manner set in, emotions welled up inside her and before Melissa could stop it, a deep sob erupted from her chest. The departure was a crushing blow to her fragile state of mind, her best pal leaving her without a single gesture of farewell. It was silly to think like that and deep down, she knew it, but a bond had been broken. They, she and Lulu, were going to stick it out together, hell or high water, come what may, and eventually leave together, but not like this, not one without the other. It was then that Melissa remembered the other mouse she had seen earlier. Maybe the departed mouse wasn’t actually Lulu at all but her sister or brother instead. Could have been a distant cousin for all she knew. That was possible, quite possible. In fact there could be any number of mice still roaming around, more than willing to keep her company. No need to get all boo-hoo about it, not yet. But what if all the mice had up and left during the night? What if that was the Last of the Mohicans and she was truly alone?

  “C’mon, Lissa,” she said aloud. “Get a grip. It was just a mouse. You got more important things to think about, like how to stay warm tonight. Yeah, why don’t you worry about that Lissa and not lose it and get mushy–mushy over some little mangy, nasty, and probably diseased rodent?”

  The tough talk didn’t help much. She was going to miss the little varmint, no doubt about that. She decided that talking to the mouse was so therapeutic, so oddly comforting, she would continue with the inane chatter, mouse or no mouse. The shrinks might say that was crazy but screw ‘em.
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  “Lulu, if you’re still here, tell me this. What can I use to cover up with tonight when I’m freezing my tootsies off, hmm? How do you stay cozy in this damp and dreary hell hole?”

  She went to the bottom of the steps and sat down to think about it.

  “What’s that old saying, necessity is the mother of invention? Lissa, you sure do have a necessity, staying warm and alive, so you better darn well invent something.”

  The old army cot worked great to keep her off the cold floor; the problem was the chilly air beneath her. With the thin canvas having no insulation, there was no way to retain body heat. Then another revelation hit her. The answer was right in front of her eyes, or in this case, her feet. She had been walking around on them since day one. The leaves, at least four to six inches deep in some places, covered the cellar floor. Lulu, no doubt, had made a den somewhere beneath the surface. With the leaves packed in tight, the mouse’s bedroom must be as comfy as a bird’s nest. Melissa began to feel of the leaves, moving from front to back, top layer to bottom, testing. The first couple of inches on top weren’t bad, but below that, where water had seeped into the cellar, the old foliage was damp to the touch, definitely not cozy, and there weren’t enough dry leaves for a human-sized bed.

  Melissa returned to the top of the stairs and stretched out against the steps, enjoying the sunlight as long as possible, and closed her eyes in thought. The heat radiating from the door felt good on her face and she caught herself falling asleep despite the discomfort of the steps digging into her back and legs. At least it was warm. A balmy wind from the southwest blew through the gap, moving her hair and caressing her face with a gentle touch that was almost human. Her mind began to drift, up and away from the cellar, to places she longed to visit; pristine beaches, the national parks, and places overseas such as Paris or Rome. She would take a cruise, lie out on the deck, get a tan, and watch the blue of the ocean sweep by.