Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series)

by Martin Cogburn

  Once Jason got in his truck, he rolled the window down, listening as Susan sat in the middle of the drive-way in her car, trying to get it to crank. It usually took a while to get the old piece of junk to start, but this time it just flat out wasn’t going to.

  He had a bitter thought about her situation as he drove around her in his truck. Maybe she needed to pray about it. Since she was so holy, surly God would hear her. Jason sighed as he came to a stop. Maybe God had heard her because, for some strange reason, he felt compelled to help.

  As he stepped out of his truck, he could tell that her battery was getting weaker by the second. The old car clacked and clanged then, in a final show of disgust, it belched out a back-fire that could be heard echoing out across the open desert.

  Jason came walking up to the passenger side door of Susan’s car as she got out and started walking towards his truck. She went to and opened the passenger door on his truck and got in! Walking hesitantly back up to the driver’s side window of his own truck, Jason stood there gawking at her. He had figured out her intent but still stood there stupefied.

  Susan buckled her seat-belt with a click before looking up at him then at the road, to which she signaled as she exclaimed, “Can we go now?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure, you bet,” Jason spoke as he hastily opened the door and got in. He gave her a funny look then they took off down the road at what he thought was a pretty good clip. Of course, as usual, he was wrong.

  “A little faster, please,” she requested, and although the request sounded kind on the surface, Jason herd the underlining tone that indicated he was nothing more than a foolish little boy, incapable of doing even the simplest of chores without guidance and instruction.

  Chapter Eight

  The nearly new half-ton truck, in direct violation to Susan’s specific orders, was not slide into one of the jail’s parallel parking spots sideways. Jason knew that, given his track record with the law in these parts, he’d better tread lightly. Instead, he chose a much less dramatic entry by heading into the grocery store parking lot, which sat across the street from the jailhouse. Susan puffed out her dismay in a long steady sigh.

  Once parked, Jason cut off the engine. “You say you learned about the kidnapping on the news?” he asked, turning to his sister-in-law.

  “Yes,” she spoke slowly and directly, never looking his way. “The story was on the news at the café early this morning.”

  “What exactly did they say?” Jason wanted to know.

  “That my sister had been kidnapped,” she said calmly as she opened the door and stepped out, “and that her husband is a complete idiot.”

  “They said that?” Jason asked, astonishment evident in his voice.

  “No,” Susan huffed then slammed her door and came around the front of the truck. “That was one tidbit of truth they left out.” She shook her head and strode up to Jason. “I’m just glad that if you had to get her kidnapped, you did it with enough drama that it made the morning news. Maybe someone’s seen her.” There was a brief moment of silence between them as Susan calmed a bit before she innocently asked, “So what are we doing here?”

  Jason gave her a bewildered look. “I have no idea what we are doing here. I’m here to see the sketch artist. What you are doing here, I do not know.”

  Susan didn’t even appear to have heard him. Hard headed woman. She just turned and headed towards the jail. Jason hurried after her, trying to take the lead. His image and self-esteem were low enough already without feeling as though he was following her around like a child, unable to handle life on his own.

  Reaching the street, they came to a halt side by side, waiting for a break in traffic. Jason could see that Susan was fighting the urge to run into the morning traffic and try to dodge her way through the oncoming vehicles. As they waited, she snatched her purse off her shoulder and started rattling stuff around in it. After a few moments of erratic behavior, she gave a frustrated sigh, like she didn’t find what she was looking for, before dropping the purse back to her side.

  “What?” Jason asked.

  “I guess I left my phone in the car. I called momma when I found out,” Susan spoke then shook her head, the pain of having to tell her parents that their other daughter was missing apparent in her eyes. “She’s headed this way – said she’d call me when they got close.”

  Jason never looked her way. “Calling you while she’s traveling?” he asked dryly. “Doesn’t she know it’s not safe to talk on the phone and fly her broom at the same time?”

  Susan shot him an angry look but didn’t say a word. Jason had a feeling that if the truth ever made itself completely known, the sisters themselves knew that their mother could be a bit harsh. Misty had told him several stories about the embarrassment their mother’s witty and rude comments had caused them growing up. Jason easily believed her because there were several occasions when he had been on the receiving end of one or two of his mother-in-law’s clever remarks.

  “I don’t know what I’m going tell her or daddy,” Susan sighed in dismay as they waited. “I feel like this is my fault.”

  Jason turned to her with a bewildered look on his face and asked, “How in the world could this be even a little bit your fault?”

  “You know,” Susan sighed. “Because of me helping you and Misty meet.”

  She was met with a blank stare. What on earth was she talking about? Jason hadn’t realized the two were sisters until several days after his first date with Misty – so how on earth could Susan claim any credit for their meeting?

  Finally composing himself, Jason scoffed, “We met by pure fate or accident or whatever it was. One thing I know is that it certainly was not by your plans… unless, of course, you told her to spill food all over me,” he added sarcastically.

  Now it was Jason’s turn to be met with a blank stare.

  “I did,” Susan stated slowly.

  They had missed several prime opportunities to cross the street, but Jason could care less. “You did what?” he demanded.

  “I – I,” she stammered, “I did tell her to spill food all over you.”

  “You told her to spill food on me?” Jason asked, the full meaning of what Susan said finally sinking in. Misty had tricked him! “You two set me up!” he exclaimed, coming to the full understanding. “What on earth for?” he demanded.

  “She just wanted to get your attention,” Susan all but cried.

  Get his attention? “She already had my attention!” He paused. “That, that… that’s the most deceitful thing I’ve ever heard of – spilling food on someone just because you think they’re not giving you enough attention. Why didn’t she just talk to me? – Tell me how she felt?” he asked, bewildered.

  Suddenly, Jason felt like one of the passing cars had slammed into him. “Oh, dear lord!” he gasped.

  Susan turned to him. “I thought you didn’t believe in him,” she stated, and the look on her face said she wasn’t even trying to be funny. “Besides, what’s he got to do with this?”

  A train could have been driving down the street, right in front of him, and Jason wouldn’t have noticed it. He had just gotten through giving his sister-in-law a tongue-lashing, and if Misty had been there, he would’ve given her the same treatment… for the exact thing he was guilty of.

  “Nothing,” Jason sighed. “It’s okay. I’ve done stuff like that. Nobody’s perfect,” he said feeling a lot less judgmental.

  Susan looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’ve never seen anyone, not even a pregnant woman, change emotions faster than you just did.” She paused for a moment, gazing across the street and shaking her head before getting back to the original point. “Anyways, because I helped her meet you, I feel responsible for getting her into this whole mess.”

  Ouch. “So you wish she had never met me?” Jason asked, feeling like someone had stuck him with a needle and all of his life’s purpose was deflating from him.

  “Don’t ask me that question, Jason,” Susan
ordered. “It’s far too complicated. She seemed really happy when y’all first got married. She’d tell me things like you were her knight in shining armor, but she eventually quit saying that. I guess her knight’s armor got rusted somewhere along the way.”

  “Your knight’s armor didn’t turn out so well either, you know,” Jason spoke defensively before he had a chance to consider his words.

  Susan chose to not counter his remark. “I’d say that’s probably enough about us,” she spoke quietly. “Momma and Daddy already know Misty is missing, but I have to think of how I’m going to tell the rest of my family… especially Ken.”

  Jason, with eyes dull and voice monotone from emotional pull, looked off across the street and said, “Why in the world would you need to tell him anything? He’s just a kid. He won’t even know she’s gone.”

  “You don’t know children very well, do you?” Susan asked.

  Jason shrugged. She had a point there. “Even if it does come up, just make up something,” he advised. “Say Misty has gone to see one of her brothers. Say she’s joined the circus or she’s out on her world finals professional bull riding tour,” he said, adding a little sarcasm to his words as he flung his hands in the air. “It really doesn’t matter. The one thing I do know about kids is that they will believe just about anything.”

  "I can’t lie,” Susan said defensively. “One, it’s just wrong. Two, sooner or later Ken would find out the truth. When he does my lie has just undermined my authority… along with his trust in me. Honesty is always the best policy,” Susan said, reciting the line that Jason had heard all his life but never bought into. To him the end always justified dishonesty. That was his policy. Why hurt someone with the truth when a little white lie was much easier for him to administer and for them to receive?

  “And the truth shall set you free,” Susan added, interrupting his thoughts as she began jaywalking across the street to the law enforcement office.

  That last part Jason certainly shied away from. It sounded too churchy to him. And tell that to a convicted felon. He scoffed, shook his head and jogged past her to the jailhouse door, opened it and walked in, letting it fall shut behind him. Susan had to catch it or have it plow her under. He didn’t have to look. He could feel her anger. Sometimes even he wondered why he liked being such a jerk.

  Everyone looked like busy bees, so Jason stopped and stood at the front desk, waiting like a perfect gentleman. Susan endured the sheer drudgery of it all for no more than a minute before brushing past him to intercept a stocky middle aged woman who hurried by with a stack of papers.

  The lady seemed to be very high-strung because when Susan called to her, she halted and did an about-face so aggressively that she slammed straight into the rapidly advancing Susan, sending some of her paper stack crashing to the floor. Between apologies and remarks of forgiveness given, Susan began helping pick up the mess of strewed papers and now empty folders.

  Someone approached from behind Jason. Walking past him, Sheriff Victor instructed, “Come with me,” with the wiggle of his finger.

  When Susan saw them starting to leave without her, she dropped the conversation, as well as the stack of papers she had been handing to the woman, who, in turn, jumped away like the papers were a venomous serpent as they re-crashed into the floor. Susan didn’t seem to notice the lady’s look of shock. Instead, she fell in line behind Jason.

  Realizing they had a follower, the sheriff cocked his head around slightly and said, “Just Jason.”

  Susan looked crushed. “Well, can I at least borrow your phone to call Momma?” she asked Jason. He tossed it back to her before rushing to catch up with the sheriff. Just before he got out of earshot, he heard Susan speaking loudly and rapidly into the phone. “Momma, momma, it’s me, it’s me… not Jason.” Boy, was he ever going to be in for it.

  “You sure did stir up a hornets nest,” Victor spoke dryly.

  “Have you got anything yet?” Jason asked hopefully.

  Victor cut between a few tables, casting a glance back. “We may be closer to solving this case than you think.” They turned and walked down a long hallway. Jason wasn’t sure where they were going, but he assumed to see the sketch artist.

  They were almost to the end of the hall when the sheriff turned to a solid black door and opened it wide, allowing Jason to enter first. The room was dark. As they entered, a lit up glass to the side drew Jason’s attention; on the other side of it was a room with two people. Deputy Andrews stood over an apparent prisoner who, with head down, looked to be asleep.

  What was going on? This wasn’t the sketch artist’s office. It seemed that the room Jason looked into was an integration room. He gave the sheriff, who was watching him, a questioning look. He then turned his attention back to the man seated. Something made the prisoner look up and what Jason saw sent a shock through him. He knew that face – had seen it before. The drunk.

  Jason suddenly felt highly compelled to try and help this poor man who was obviously being victimized by the local law enforcement.

  “On what grounds did you arrest him?” Jason asked, trying to sound official.

  “Public intoxication,” Victor replied simply.

  “You have no right to question him,” Jason stated.

  “Yes, actually we do have the right,” Sheriff Victor replied dryly. “And he has the right to remain silent.” They both looked in at the drunk who had started blabbering to Andrews. Sheriff Victor smiled. “Quite obviously, he has waved that right.”

  “He has the right to an attorney,” Jason remembered suddenly. At least that’s what was on all the TV shows.

  The sheriff chuckled. “He has been made full aware of his rights, Mister Hathaway. Why do you care what we do with him, anyways?”

  “I don’t care,” Jason said and tried to sound like he meant it. “But if he’s just an old drunk, why is he being questioned?”

  Victor gave him a sly smile, like he had hoped Jason would ask that question. “You never know who might have some valuable information.”

  The sheriff leaned over to a small microphone. “Andrews,” he spoke calmly. Deputy Andrews snapped to attention and the drunk bobbled his head up and looked around for the source of the voice. “Vicky boy, iz’at chu?” he slurred out loudly.

  Victor smiled and nodded his head, “Yep, it’s me Donald. How are ya?”

  The drunk laughed. “I been uh seein’ tha sun ssshhhh-ine through tha baw-tum of uh full baw-dul, su I’m uh dewin’ aw-ight sheriff.”

  Victor chuckled. “Good, glad to hear it, Donald.” He looked over at Jason. “Hey Donald – We’re gonna ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”

  “Yeeeaaah, shore, shore,” the drunk laughed. “You an’ me an’ you is bu-dees… bu-dee,” he chuckled, “so you ken assssk me anythin’ you wanna. I’m un hon-est men that wooun’t never tell no lies to nobody ‘cept for tha’ time you asssk me if I‘ad been drinkin’ cause then you’as just uh askin’ fer me’da lie.” The sheriff smiled at the memory while the drunk paused. “I knew this fella one time,” he shook his head at what he was about to reveal,” cud nnnot ku-eeep from lyin’. When ‘e’s just uh a kid he told his momma…”

  “Okay, okay Donald,” Sheriff Victor laughed. “You can tell Deputy Andrews all about that later, but for right now, would you please tell us this – has anything out of the ordinary happened in your ally lately?”

  Donald stared blankly into the mirrored glass, trying to remember. “Yeeaah! Shore has!” he shouted excitedly. The sheriff looked over at Jason with a victorious smile on his face. “I saw a rat.” The sheriff’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “Min you, an it-tee-bit-tee rat that ate a cat,” the drunk sang out then busted into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

  The sheriff put a hand to his head. “Any humans?” he asked, frustration evident in his voice.

  The drunk’s eyes got big as if he had just been shocked into sobriety. “No sir!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see ‘em eat one single
human!” Victor threw up his hands in defeat. “If I did, I’d uh pra-bob-lee uh passst yew in ‘ur fan-see pu-troll car,” the drunk sang out with laughter.

  Donald continued to ramble. “Rat that ate a cat,” he laughed. “Funny.” He chuckled to himself for a few moments before his expression turned thoughtful. “But seriously, I did see somthin’ mi-tee strange tha’ other night,” he half mumbled. Victor’s head jerked around as he refocused on the drunk.

  “Yeah?” the sheriff encouraged.

  “I wus sittin’ there keeeeping an eye on tha dump-ster when awe tha sudden, whoosh, this one fella wen’ runnin’ by like e’d seen tha devil.” He swung his arm across in front of him as if he was watching the man run by and in the process knocked over his glass of water. The drunk looked down at the glass as if he wondered why it had bailed off the table at such a time as this then back up at Deputy Andrews, “ ’ave you ever seen tha devil Dee-putty?”

  “Uuuhhhh, no, I… I haven’t,” Andrews answered, obviously surprised and a bit insulted by the question.

  “Weeell, dun’t you judge hum to arsshhhuually,” Donald instructed, leaning in, “cuz ‘es purrtee scary an’f you seen ‘em you’d pra’lee run too.”

  “Okay sir,” the deputy said, trying to sound professional. “Can you remember anything else?” The question sounded like he really hoped he could not. The deputy and Jason had that one thing in common.

  No such luck. “Yesssssssirrrr, I thank tha’ devil really wus chassin’ ‘at pur man, cuz assszzz I was a sittin’ there, you know… by tha blue dumsser, minin’ my own bezzness, this nother fella come up an’ I guess ‘e didn’t see what ‘e want-ed to see,” the drunks eyes got bigger as he continued, “cuz ‘e started rollin’ ‘round on tha ground an ah mumbling ‘bout somthin’!” There was bewilderment in his eyes, like he could not believe it.

  He then leaned towards the deputy like he had some private information. Deputy Andrews seemed hesitant for some reason, but the drunk got him coxed down for a huddle anyways. “I t’ink ‘e might ‘ave been driiinnnken,” he whispered then clasped his hands together in front of his face, so close that he went crossed eyed, before his voice went back to its booming, normal tone, “cuz all I seeeen wus h’m tore ‘is clothes up.” With that he pulled his hands apart in a tearing motion.