by Ronald Kelly
"Well, we thought his name was Smith to begin with. But this morning, after all the commotion last night, Gart got a call from the state justice department. Smith's fingerprints had been run through their computer and it turned out he was a professional hitman named Anthony Stoogeone. The other two fellas that came to town with him were his brothers." Miss Mable got some ceramic mugs from the kitchen cabinet and poured the coffee, adding sugar and a pinch of graded cinnamon to each.
"But what did they come here for? Why did this guy Stoogeone kill my father?"
"For his land," came a man's voice from the kitchen doorway.
Jenny turned and saw Gart Mayo standing there. The elderly sheriff looked pale and haggard, as if he had just gone through the worse night in his entire life. That was probably the case, if the slaughter in the PeremontCounty jail was as savage as Miss Mable had said it was. Jenny sat there quietly as Gart once again expressed his sorrow for Fletcher's death and his inability to prevent it in time. He also introduced a man who was standing in the hallway behind him. She shook hands with Captain Joe Nickles, the commander of East Tennessee's State Trooper division and an old fishing buddy of Gart's. He was a big, burly man in his late forties, dressed in a snappy uniform and a Smokey Bear hat.
"I thought ya'll had your hands full over yonder," said Miss Mable.
"We do, but I figured I could either stay over there and go completely off my rocker or come over here and regroup with a cup of your coffee," said Gart. "Besides, I saw Jenny drive into town and figured it might be best to talk to her over here. It's kinda wild over there. Joe's boys have finished taking their pictures and samples. They're toting Stoogeone's body out now…piece by piece."
"And you said this guy killed Papa for his land?" Jenny asked. "The tape Papa sent me in the mail mentioned something about someone wanting to buy PaleDoveMountain, but I didn't think anyone would go so far as to kill him to get it."
"I honestly don't think it was planned that way," said Gart. He thanked Miss Mable as she handed him and the captain mugs of hot coffee. "I think that Memphis company, the Eco-Plenty Corporation, sent those three goons to persuade Fletcher to sign his deed over to them, but things somehow got out of hand."
Joe Nickles frowned. "You still haven't convinced me that the Stoogeone brothers were hired by this corporation. You haven't got a shred of physical evidence linking the two parties."
"What about the stolen deed? The copies that are missing from the county clerk's office?"
"Maybe they're misplaced. You don't know for sure that the Stoogeones broke in and took them." Nickles saw the growing anger in his friend's eyes and tried to make amends. "I'm not sticking up for the scum, Gart. I'm just laying out the facts, so maybe you can look at the situation objectively. An investigator from the state attorney's office will be here this afternoon and I think it would be wise to downplay these accusations against Eco-Plenty and worry about the godawful mess in your jail cell. There's bound to be a major investigation launched, looking into the death of Anthony Stoogeone. The man was under your lock and key, and somehow he got turned into hamburger meat. That kind of thing doesn't set too well with the big wheels in the state justice department."
"And the death of Fletcher Brice doesn't set too damned well with the folks of Tucker's Mill!" said Gart. "I've got a responsibility to Jenny here, as well as to the citizens of this community, to find out exactly what the hell is going on here. If there was a motive to Fletcher's death—and I'm sure that there was a very clear and definite one—then I've got to pursue my leads and find out whether the Stoogeones were acting on their own, or under the orders of someone else."
"I know that," the captain replied. "And believe me, Gart, I'm on your side. I just want you to see the situation from all sides and not go off half-cocked when that investigator shows up."
Gart took a sip of his coffee and then forced a begrudging smile. "I promise, Joe. I'll keep a cool head."
"Good. I figure we'd better get back over there now. The fellows are probably wondering where we went to."
The sheriff regarded Jenny for a moment, surprised at how well the girl seemed to be holding up under such difficult circumstances. "Jenny, if you feel up to it, I'd like you to come over to the office around two o'clock. I want you to be there when I give my statement to the justice department. There may be a few things that won't be too pleasant to hear, but you have a right to know everything."
"I'll be there, Gart," she told him. "And don't worry about me. It's hard to handle, but I'm doing okay."
Gart smiled. "You're a helluva brave gal. Oh, your father's body is at the funeral home in Mountain View. If you want, we can drive over there this evening after supper. Miss Mable might go with us, too."
The landlady patted Jenny's hand. "Sure, I'll tag along."
Jenny looked into their concerned faces, realizing that it had been a while since she had experienced such warmth. During her stay in Memphis, she had focused on her own concerns, on her own lifestyle and career, making up a dishonest account of a bogus past in Atlanta. That, in turn, had caused her to forget many of the important things in life. Things like friends who loved you and the importance of staying close to your roots.
She felt the tears come then, swiftly and without warning. As the floodgates of her restrained grief opened wide and her weeping grew out of control, Miss Mable was there with a shoulder to cry on and Gart Mayo with soothing words of comfort. Jenny let herself go, easy in the knowledge that, for better or worse, she was finally back home again.
That afternoon, Robert Jergens, the investigator from the state justice department, arrived. But he was not alone. In fact, those who accompanied him through the entrance of the PeremontCounty sheriff's station turned out to be a disturbing surprise for both Gartrell Mayo and Jenny Brice.
Gart and Jenny were sitting in the constable's office, along with Captain Nickles, when they walked in. Gart's brow creased with confusion as Jergens introduced himself, as well as the others. One of the visitors was Vincent Russ, the Eco-Plenty representative, while two others were identified as lawyers for the company. The last person, lingering at the rear as though he really didn't want to be there, was the PeremontCounty clerk, Bill Baldwin.
"What the hell is all this about?" Gart asked. Whatever it was, he had a bad feeling that it amounted to no good.
"Before we get down to the investigation of Anthony Stoogeone's violent death, we have another matter to set straight," explained Jergens. "Mr. Russ has come to me on behalf of the Eco-Plenty Corporation. He is concerned that you may suspect Eco-Plenty of being involved in the recent death of Fletcher Brice. It seems that they did some business with the man last week, purchasing certain properties that he owned, and given the events of the past few days, they are concerned that you might suspect that Mr. Brice was unduly pressured into the transaction."
"You better believe I have my suspicions," the sheriff told him. "I have good reason to believe that Eco-Plenty hired Anthony Stoogeone and his brothers to torture Fletcher Brice into signing over that deed. And I also believe that they orchestrated the break-in of the county clerk's office to obtain the proper paperwork, too."
"I'm afraid that you are mistaken on both counts, Sheriff Mayo," said Vincent Russ. One of the lawyers handed him a folded document and he displayed it before the lawman. "This is the original copy of Mr. Brice's deed. As you can see, it is legally signed and witnessed. You may also note the notarization seal. It is dated three days before the time of Mr. Brice's unfortunate death and the arrival of the three men who obviously committed the crime. Your clerk, Mr. Baldwin, can verify the transaction. He also has a copy of the deed in his possession."
Gart eyed Baldwin with sudden suspicion. "But that copy wasn't in the files. Remember, Bill? I had you check on it for me and it was missing."
Baldwin's face reddened, as if in embarrassment. "I made a mistake, Gart. It was there all along, just filed in the wrong place. And I do remember the transaction between Fletcher
and these gentlemen. I just forgot about it, I guess. My mind was preoccupied with that back-tax business when you and Miss Mable came in that night."
Gart didn't believe Baldwin's lame excuse for a moment. How much did it cost to buy you off, Bill? he wondered. How much did they pay you to cover this dirty business up?
"But if the Eco-Plenty Corporation did purchase my father's land," asked Jenny, "where is the money?"
"It was agreed that the amount of one hundred thousand dollars be deposited in an account at the Federal Security Bank in Knoxville," Russ informed her. "The transfer of funds was made two days before Mr. Brice's death, so he should have had the bank book somewhere in his possession."
"Did you find such a book among Brice's effects?" asked Investigator Jergens.
"Absolutely not!" Gart was beginning to wonder if the man from the justice department hadn't been paid off, too. He was acting more like an intermediary for EcoPlenty than a state official sent to investigate a bizarre and inexplicable murder.
"Would it be possible for us to check Mr. Brice's effects one more time, just to be certain?" requested Vincent Russ.
Gart was on the verge of refusing, but he saw Joe Nickles standing in the corner, nodding his head, advising him to play along. The sheriff called his deputy into the office and told him to get the bag containing Fletcher Brice's personal effects out of the evidence lockup.
After Homer left, Russ turned to Jenny. "Ms. Brice, Eco-Plenty wishes to extend its most sincere sympathies for your recent loss. Our president, Jackson Dellhart, hopes that you will not blame the corporation in any way for your misfortune. Mr. Dellhart is a very compassionate man and he has authorized an additional twenty thousand dollars be deposited in your father's account, to help with any expenses that may burden you."
Jenny was shocked, not by the generous offer of the money, but by the name that Russ had mentioned. Jackson Dellhart. The self-centered jerk who had humiliated her at her own debut party less than a week ago. So he was behind the whole thing! She remembered what Rowdy Hawkens had told her about the man and his shady business dealings, about the way he used his corrupt power to accomplish any goal he set his sights on. The more she reviewed her brief conversation with the country singer, the more she came to realize that Rowdy was a lot wiser than she had first thought.
A moment later, Homer Peck showed up with the plastic bag. "Pour it out on the desk, Homer, and show them we didn't go overlooking anything," instructed Gart.
The deputy dumped the bag's contents on the desk blotter. Among the things found on Brice's body was a money roll containing thirty-two dollars, fifty-eight cents in change, a foil-wrapped plug of chewing tobacco, a multi-bladed Case pocketknife…and a bank book.
"What's this here?" Gart picked up the little brown book and checked it out. It was for a savings account made out to Fletcher Brice at the Federal Security Bank in Knoxville. The first and only deposit was for an amount of one hundred thousand dollars. He turned his eyes to his deputy. "Where the hell did this come from?"
"Damned if I know, Sheriff." Homer's moon face was full of bewilderment.
"So, it seems as though things are all cleared up now," said Vincent Russ with a polite smile. "I'm sure that Mr. Dellhart will be glad to hear that. Incidentally, the project for which Mr. Brice's property was intended will begin as soon as possible. In fact, I do believe the surveyors will begin their work bright and early tomorrow morning."
"May I ask what sort of project Eco-Plenty has in mind for PaleDoveMountain?' questioned Jenny.
"We will simply be tapping the mountain's natural resources. Lumber mostly, maybe a little coal mining. But everything planned is strictly legal and within state guidelines, I assure you."
"Yeah," said Gart with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm sure you've got everything all worked out."
Russ ignored the sheriff's tone. "Well, good day to you all. Ms. Brice, you have our permission to come to the mountain anytime within the next week and claim anything of your father's that you might want to keep. After that time, the cabin and other outbuildings will be demolished to make room for the machinery that we will be bringing in." And with a graceful nod of his head, Vincent Russ and the two corporate lawyers left. Bill Baldwin went, too, glancing back almost guiltily as he returned to his office.
"I feel like we've just been royally hornswoggled," Gart grumbled.
"I'm quite satisfied that Eco-Plenty had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Fletcher Brice," said Robert Jergens. "It was a strange coincidence and I can certainly see why the corporation would be afraid that suspicion would be directed their way. My advice to you, Sheriff Mayo, would be to concentrate your efforts on the plausible, rather than the farfetched. Now, if you will please direct me to the cell in which Anthony Stoogeone died, we'll get to the true purpose of this investigation."
Captain Nickles showed the state investigator to the scene of the previous night's killing, while Gart remained a moment longer with Jenny. "I don't swallow this hogwash for a second," the sheriff told her. "But for the time being, I can't push the matter. I'm already on the tightrope, what with having a murder suspect being torn to shreds while in my custody. But I swear to you, Jenny, it's not the end of it. I'll do all I can to find out the real lowdown on what happened to your papa and I don't intend to rest till I make the guilty party pay for it."
"I know that you'll do your best," Jenny assured him with a smile.
But as the sheriff joined the others in the cellblock, she sincerely doubted that Gart Mayo could do what he promised. If the Eco-Plenty Corporation had been involved in her father's death—and she was beginning to believe that they had—they had gone to great expense to cover their tracks. In the eyes of the law, Jackson Dellhart legally owned all rights to the towering peak known as PaleDoveMountain. And even if she took him to court and attempted to regain possession of the property, she knew that her efforts would be futile. By the time the matter came to trial, the mountain would be stripped of its resources, leaving only a barren lump of ugly stone and earth in its place. And during the process, every living thing on the mountain would be either driven away or killed.
She thought of the thing that her father feared most about the loss of his land—the ultimate fate of the albinos. She recalled his voice on the tape, verbally passing on the responsibility of the Brices to her. A responsibility for a strange species of creature that could not fend for themselves.
But as she left the courthouse and walked back to the boardinghouse, Jenny knew that she could not deal with such troubles now. She had other, more pressing things to attend to in the coming days.
She had a father to bury and a lifetime of hurtful emotions to come to terms with.
Chapter Fifteen
Bubba Graham and Steve Radcliffe had been in the surveying business for going on twenty years. They jointly owned G & R Surveyors, a small company in Knoxville that had the good fortune to net surveying jobs all year round. The two friends hadn't made a great deal of money at their profession, but it paid the bills and sent their kids to college. Mostly they did work for engineers and developers, laying the groundwork for subdivisions and construction sites. They had also done some work for the city, helping survey for the new sewer system that the city had on the drawing board for the outlying residential areas.
Recently, things had been sort of slow. They had netted only two jobs so far that month: verifying a farmer's acreage and squaring off the measurements for a mini-mall in nearby Gatlinburg. So it seemed like a stroke of luck when the wiry fellow in the expensive suit and the handmade shoes walked into the office and offered Bubba and Steve seventy thousand dollars to survey a mountain near the town of Tucker's Mill and section it off for a timber crew that would be arriving around the first of May. G & R had never been offered such a large amount of money; the sewer job had only brought them fifty thousand. Surveying an entire mountain was one of the hardest jobs to get right, a real pain in the ass. But they didn't complain. They eager
ly accepted fifty percent of the money and promised that the job would be finished by the date agreed on, come rain or shine.
There were some pretty weird things about that job on PaleDoveMountain, though. The fellow named Russ told them that the job might prove a little more hazardous than their usual assignments. It seemed that there was some kind of dangerous animal roaming around up there in the woods. The critter had even killed a couple of men; they remembered reading something about that in the newspaper. But Bubba and Steve assured Russ that they knew how to take care of themselves. Both were ex-Marines and expert marksmen. They would take a couple of handguns with them, and if the ornery beast showed its face, they would take care of it.
However, Russ had insisted that another man accompany them on the job, to make sure their work wouldn't be hampered. The third party was named Colin Wainwright and he was a world-famous big game hunter. Bubba even remembered seeing a special on PBS about the guy. The report hadn't been too flattering, referring to him as the "mass murderer of the Animal Kingdom." Most of the bad press was due to the hunter's record-breaking trophy hunts around the globe. During the last forty years, Wainwright had set his sights on nearly every living animal known to man, quite a few of them being endangered species. Bubba and Steve thought Wainwright was an okay guy, though. They figured the bad reputation was just a lot of bull cooked up by a bunch of bleeding-heart liberals and environmentalists who had a grudge against the British sportsman.
On Tuesday morning, Bubba and Steve threw their equipment in the company truck—a white Chevy pickup with C & R SURVEYORS painted on the doors—and headed east to Tucker's Mill. Bubba drove, while Steve sat in the middle, thumbing through the April issue of Satyr magazine. Next to Steve sat Wainwright. The man had to be in his mid-sixties, but he was in much better shape than either one of the surveyors. He was tall and rawhide tough, his weathered skin dyed a leathery brown by years of arctic cold and desert heat. He was even dressed like the proverbial Great White Hunter, clad in a bush jacket and an Australian hat with one side of the brim pinned to the crown. And he carried the prettiest rifle Bubba and Steve had ever laid eyes on. It was a Weatherby .458 Magnum bolt-action with a custom tigerwood stock and a lot of fancy scrollwork etched into the blued barrel and breech housing. A high-powered Bushnell scope topped it off, along with a rifle sling of leather inlaid with leopard skin.
