Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel

by Warren Williams

  “Wouldn’t have been hard to figure out. This car and Earl’s were the only ones in the parking lot when J.O. went out the door. He knew what direction we’d be going and probably sat back on a side road somewhere, waited till we came by.”

  “That son of a bitch. He could have killed us. But we got him, right? You saw the pickup.”

  Lester thought about it. “I saw a pickup that looked like his. Didn’t get a tag number. I couldn’t actually swear in a court of law that it was J.O.”

  “All right, so we go out to his place and look for a dent in his fender,” Billy Ray’s anger now replacing the terror of the moment. “Should find some of my paint on it. Let’s go!”

  “Number one, I don’t think we’re going anywhere right at the moment. If you haven’t noticed, we are in a ditch, bumper deep in mud. Number two, by the time we could get there, we’ll not find that truck at J.O.’s, not in the dark anyway. He’ll have that old clunker buried so deep back in the woods, we’d need a dog to locate it.”

  “You’re not letting him get away with wrecking my car. No, that’s not right, Sheriff. I can’t sit still for that. I put a lot of time and money into this machine and he’ll pay me for it, I promise you that.”

  Lester let it sit awhile, waiting for the emotion to simmer down, then, “We’ll get him Billy Ray. He’ll pay for your car and go to jail too if I have anything to say about it. We’ll swing by there in the morning. I’m guessing you’ll want to go along.”

  “Bet your ass I do.”

  “Even if you don’t get paid overtime?”

  Billy Ray had to smile at that one.

  “Even if.”

  Lester slipped the 2-way radio out of the pocket attached to his belt.

  “Hope we’re in range of the tower,” he said.

  “Sheriff Morrison to Dispatch.”

  Nothing.

  “Sheriff Morrison to Dispatch. Nelda, damn it, if you’re there, you better answer me.”

  Nelda was indeed on the job this rainy evening, but with the relatively short radio tower mounted on the roof of the courthouse, the range was poor and she didn’t hear the call.

  Billy Ray spoke up, “Sheriff?”

  “What?”

  “I have a cell phone you know.”

  “Oh…yeah, I keep forgetting about those things.”

  Billy Ray checked his phone, had two bars, found Showman Wrecker Service, and got Charlie Showman out of bed. Charlie wasn’t one to keep late hours even on a Saturday night. Charlie assured the men that he would be there directly, and to flash their lights when they saw his truck coming down the road.

  “I got just one thing to tell you Mr. Billy Ray Ledbetter,” Lester said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Like I said earlier, you should have let me drive.”

  “Oh my God,” Billy Ray moaned.

  Chapter 24

  Nelda Hosfelt was in the middle of a Reader’s Digest article on losing ten pounds the easy way when she heard the crackle of static from the dispatch radio. She waited, listened for a moment, decided it was nothing but the lightning outside, and went back to check out a recipe that was no doubt healthy but sounded terrible. Soy instead of burger? Yuck. The telephone buzzed.

  “Police Department” she answered.

  “Hello, it’s…me again,” Imogene Parker said, her voice soft and hesitant.

  It was the third call of the day from Melissa’s mother but Nelda didn’t mind. Knowing if she’d had a child of her own, she would be just as upset, going half crazy, just as anxious to hear any kind of news about her missing daughter.

  “Mrs. Parker, I’m so sorry but there’s been nothing new about your girl. The Sheriff is out in the field right now, still looking and talking to people, asking if anyone has seen her. If he calls in with anything at all, I will call you Hon, just as quick as possible, I promise.”

  “I’m sorry to be a bother, but sitting here, waiting for the phone to ring…” Imogene’s voice trailed off.

  “I understand, Hon, and don’t fret yourself about calling in too much. It’s usually pretty quiet around here at night and as most folks can tell you, I like to talk, so you won’t be a bother at all. You got to be worried sick, I would be, so call in anytime you want and we’ll chat, okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Nelda had hoped to try to soothe the mother, get her mind off the disappearance for a while, maybe talk about some recipes using Angus beef, but the next sound from the other end of the line was a sharp click. Then the recording, “If you’d like to make a call…”

  *****

  Imogene had been sitting by the phone for nearly 48 hours, leaving it only long enough to cook Albert his meals, three a day, just like always. Albert got mad when he didn’t get his food at the usual times no matter the circumstances. Earlier that evening, he had stuffed his gut at the supper table, putting down the chow like it was his last meal. Imogene had watched in silence, repulsed by his slovenly manners and reminding her of the old boar hog they had owned before hard times forced Albert to sell it. How he could eat while their daughter was missing was incredible, him sitting there, seemingly oblivious to the plight of their little girl, stuffing down the fried chicken like he was; legs, thighs, grease dripping down the corner of his mouth, ignoring the white meat. Imogene had taken but a single bite of the breast when her stomach lurched, on the verge of vomiting. She would feel Albert’s hand if she threw up at the table, no question about that. The little round man went for a second helping of mashed potatoes followed by great ladles full of hot brown gravy. He had finished the fried okra with his first plate. An apple pie sat waiting on the stove, one of two Imogene made every week. Albert liked his apple pie.

  Now, getting close to bedtime, Albert sat in front of the TV in his tee shirt and boxer shorts, sipping whisky and watching reruns of Dog the Bounty Hunter, getting drunk…again. Usually, the whiskey made Albert horny and even now, the first two buttons of his boxers were undone, his hand resting in his crotch as Beth, the amply endowed wife of Dog, jiggled across the screen. Imogene prayed that Albert wouldn’t want her body tonight; not tonight, please God, not tonight.

  Albert stayed with the TV long enough to watch the last of the weather forecast to see if any violent storms or more rain was headed his way. There were not. The front had been fast moving and was now approaching the city limits of Wichita, Kansas, but not before dropping close to an inch on Cimarron County, a welcome amount for the farmers. Albert hit the remote and the little 19 inch TV went dark. No need for anything larger being as their living room was small to begin with was the way Albert looked at it.

  “Move your damn chair closer,” he had snarled at Imogene when she had suggested a newer and larger model. “Sometimes you act like you ain’t got a lick of sense.”

  Imogene avoided her husband’s eyes as the man shakily rose from his chair and made his way down the hall, stumbling and bumping against the faded wallpaper as he went. The house was so quiet, she could hear the splash of urine from the bathroom, knowing that Albert didn’t bother to raise the lid, he never did. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her easy chair, pretending sleep. It didn’t work. Albert stood at the bedroom door, staring at her with hooded eyes.

  “Come on back here woman. You got some wifely duties to perform for the man of the house. Be quick about it now.”

  “I have dishes to clean up Albert. It won’t take long.” It was a ruse that Imogene had used before and this evening she had purposely left the frying pan out, the bottom covered in bits of chicken skin and grease. If she was lucky, Albert would be asleep in a few minutes.

  “Forget about them dishes. You can do ‘em later. Get your ass back here. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.”

  The demand had an undertone of menace and violence, a tone that Imogene was all too familiar with. A thoroughly dejected and beaten woman turned off the lights. There was no option but to obey.

  Moments later, Albert was on top of her with
every pound of his obesity, mauling, pushing, shoving. His breath reeked of whiskey and neglected teeth. The glow from a nightlight beside the bed lit up the beads of sweat on Albert’s forehead as he struggled with the act. His eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, mouth agape, grunting with every stroke. Imogene did her best to block it out, to think of other times and places, happier times, but tonight, with Melissa gone, her mind traveled only as far as her little girl’s bedroom, a room where she and her daughter had shared conversations late at night and giggled about girly things. Melissa’s room had been a sanctuary of sorts, off limit to Albert and his ways. On many nights, Imogene had rocked her daughter to sleep in the antique rocking chair that sat there to this day, a treasure that had been passed down through the generations on Imogene’s side of the family. She had read to Melissa from that chair; first with nursery rhymes, then Dick and Jane, followed by Winnie the Poo and Dr. Seuss. To watch her fall asleep, to tuck her in with a gentle kiss on her forehead, wishing her a good night, sleep tight, were the happiest moments Imogene had ever known.

  “Wiggle it a little woman. My gawd, it’s like screwing a dead fish. Hell, nobody could get off with you, you ugly bitch. Move it, shit.”

  Imogene ignored him. You’re on your own tonight you fat pig, she thought, but she dare not say it of course. Albert is gasping now, exhausted, his legs and arms quivering. The thought passed through Imogene’s head that if she continued to lie still, the man might have a heart attack. The idea was so sinful, so un-Godlike, and yet…comforting. She couldn’t suppress the hint of a smile at the darkened ceiling.

  Albert didn’t see the little smile, his eyes scrunched down in lustful concentration as they were, but he did continue to rant.

  “You want this to be over? You can’t wait can you? Well, you need to help out the Big Daddy here. Put a little action on it or I’ll move on to other pastures.”

  Imogene knew what that meant, but it was what Albert said next that opened her eyes and wiped the semblance of any grin off her face, perhaps forever.

  “I didn’t have any problems like this with the girl,” he said, wheezing.

  Imogene’s body went ridged.

  “What did you say?”

  Despite the whiskey, Albert realized he had gone too far this time. His mouth had betrayed him. Yet, the woman was still there, beneath him. He was over her, in complete control, and always would be. He reacted the only way he knew how and slapped the woman across her face, hard, the crack of flesh on flesh loud in the darkened room.

  Screw it, he thought.

  It was the meanest lie that Albert had ever told to his wife, the mother of all lies, but damn it, he was sick and tired of her laying there like a corpse, staring at the ceiling every time he wanted a little. It was time for a different kind of payback, not a simple slap across her chops, but something for her to remember and think about. Next time he wanted sex, all he’d have to say was “you…or her.” He’d hear no more excuses about washing up any pots and pans.

  “Yeah, I took her once,” he elaborated, making it up on the spot. “But she was asking for it. Twitching that little ass of hers around, wearing those short skirts. That and the low cut shirts showing half her boobs. Coming out of the bathroom with only a towel around her with part of her hind end hanging out. What did she think she was doing if not teasing me? It was plain as day. So what? She’s of age. Nothing illegal. Deal with it bitch.”

  There was a moment of pure shock, utter disbelief. Surely she hadn’t heard it right. Her husband had sex with Melissa? Is that what he’d said? No, no. It was the liquor talking, had to be. Even Albert, as mean as he was, wouldn’t do that. But as she looked into his reddened face and porcine eyes, she thought it to be true.

  “You bastard, get off of me!” Imogene yelled. She put her hands on his flabby chest and shoved, bucking her hips, and tossing the big man to the side with strength she didn’t know she had. Albert laughed.

  “Oh, so there is a little fire left in the stove huh? Could have fooled me. Where was that fighting spirit a while ago?”

  Imogene stood beside the bed, her thin naked body trembling in rage, glaring at the monster she was living with.

  “You’ve hit me and I’ve said nothing, hoping for better times. You’ve tormented me all these years and I put up with it, mostly for the sake of my daughter so that she could have a father figure in her life. I’ve cooked for you when I was too sick to get out of bed. I’ve let you do whatever you wanted to do with me in the bedroom and whenever you wanted to do it. I did it for Melissa. Yes, you took us in when Melissa’s birth daddy abandoned us and we were about to be evicted, when my baby and I had no place to go. I give you that. I was thankful… then. You gave us a home. I thought you were the kindest man I’d ever met. I thought you were the answer to my prayers; my baby and I had a house to live in, a man to provide for us, a protector.”

  Albert was getting tired of listening to the sass.

  “Damn right I took you in and don’t you ever forget it. You need to shut your mouth woman, before I slap you backwards.”

  “No, I won’t shut up, not this time Albert. Not now. For once, you’re going to listen to me.”

  Albert knew he should get off the bed, smack the bitch up side the head, and remind her of her place. But considering the whopping lie he’d just told about screwing her big tittied daughter, just to watch her face, he’d show a little mercy and let her rant a while. Then, he’d take her again…hard. The thought of it was getting him excited.

  “I figured you out soon enough, Albert, it didn’t take long. It wasn’t that you felt sorry for us and wanted a family, no, you wanted a cook, a maid, and a sex slave. As for Melissa, you never liked her did you? She was baggage, someone to be tolerated, right? You never had a kind word for her, no matter how hard she tried to please you. She always believed you were her real daddy you know, I never told her otherwise. Thought it would be simpler that way. But as bad as it got, I figured I owed you something for what you did, how you helped us. I put up with it, the cussing, the yelling, and even the beatings, but the way I see it, that debt was paid long ago.

  And now, now you tell me that you’ve forced yourself on Melissa. I should have guessed it was coming. I saw the way you looked at her sometimes, followed her with your mean little eyes. I blame myself for not getting her out of here sooner, but I was waiting for her to graduate, to have a diploma where she could find a job and get out from under your roof, to make it on her own. Tell me this, Albert, and don’t you dare lie. Do you know where Melissa is? Did you see her out there on the road when you dumped her clothes up at that bar? Did you do something to her? Did you hurt her, or worse? Imogene’s eyes blazed in the semi-darkness, “Did you kill her, Albert?”

  Albert lay with his head propped on a doubled-up pillow, his expression dull and blank. One hand was under the covers and in his crotch. There was movement beneath the sheet.

  “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he said with a sneer, enjoying the power, the domination. He’d never seen his wife in such a tizzy. This was fun.

  “It’s over, Albert. I’ll pack in the morning and live in a cave if I have to, but I’ll not spend one more night in your bed.” Imogene grabbed her robe from a hook inside the closet and left the room with Albert calling after her.

  “Hey, come on back here. I’m not finished with you.”

  Back in the living room, Imogene found comfort in the familiar creaks of her old chair as she rocked herself, back and forth, trancelike, covered with a quilt she kept handy for chilly evenings. She rocked and rocked, thinking of Melissa, the only thing good and pure in her life. She rocked and listened for Albert’s ugly drunken snores to come rumbling out of the bedroom and down the hall. Anger building on itself, growing, multiplying; she rocked faster and faster, the chair groaning from the force of it, the wood threatening to split and break. Ten minutes, twenty, rocking, rocking.

  That son of a bitch, that miserable son of a bitch.

  A
horrible image flashed in her mind. Albert on top of Melissa, just as he’d been with her earlier, grunting and sweating. The hot nausea in her stomach was at a boiling point. Springing from the chair and cinching her robe tight with the sash, Imogene dashed out the front door and onto the lawn. Twigs jabbed at her bare feet, the grass cold and wet. She ran to the end of the drive, ignoring the sharp gravel, took a deep breath of cool air, and screamed, loud and long, into the night. She had failed her child, failed to protect her from the monster they lived with, failed in the most awful way a mother could fail, failed to save her own daughter’s life.

  Albert heard the yell through the bedroom window, grinned, and tugged the sheet up around his chin, feeling the sleep coming on fast. His stomach bounced as he couldn’t help but chuckle at Imogene’s reaction to his so called confession. The look on her face, hee hee, like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. He’d tell her the truth in the morning. As it was, she might not make him breakfast. There was that one time though, that morning with Melissa when it almost happened.

  It had happened on a Sunday when his wife had gone to church with the neighbors and Melissa had stayed home, saying she didn’t feel well. It was just past eleven when Albert decided to look in on her, curious if she was really sick or using some lame excuse to avoid another sermon on sins and Satan. If she was fakin’ it, well, he might have to deal out a little punishment.

  As always, her bedroom door was closed. Albert quietly turned the knob and eased the door inward. Melissa lay across the sheets asleep, covers pushed down from fighting off the slight fever she’d felt the night before. Some kind of flu bug was going around the school, lots of absences, and she was hoping to shake it off before Monday. She had an excellent attendance record and hated to miss her classes.

  She wore a thin nightie, almost transparent, barely coming to her waist, her white cotton panties in plain view. Albert froze and stared. He’d never seen the girl this exposed, so pretty, so vulnerable. He couldn’t take his eyes off her perfectly rounded buttocks and the way one breast pushed against the gauze-like material, the nipple clearly outlined beneath the fabric. The early stages of an erection pushed against the crotch of his overalls. The girl was sleeping soundly, her chest rhythmically rising and falling in a most erotic manner. Silently, Albert moved closer to the bed for a better look, mesmerized by the sight of all that soft, womanly flesh. He touched himself, felt a stirring. He had to see more, at least one bare breast, all of it. His hand, almost of a mind of its own, moved to the scooped neck of the nightie, took the hem of the collar and oh so carefully lifted it up and over the milky skin.