Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4)

by M. Glenn Graves

  Chapter 36

  On the morning of November 30 Diamond called. Rosey and I were still in Norfolk planning for the gathering. We had been on the phone with Aunt May to provide her with ample time to buy all the foods we would need for the feast.

  “Missed you,” I said.

  “Nice to be missed.”

  “Anything happening?”

  “The mark is still doing R&R, although she’s been busy talking on the phone and working at her computer.”

  “You have a visual on her?”

  “24/7. She remains in my line of sight day and night.”

  “You don’t sleep.”

  “Some, but not too much. Makes me lazy if I sleep too often. Could miss something, too.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” I said.

  “Could be important.”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Plans can be good.”

  “I need you to maintain a visual.”

  “Doing that.”

  “If my plan works, she’ll come to me and you’ll be there too.”

  “So I follow and wherever she goes, that’s where you’ll be.”

  “If the plan works.”

  “If the plan works,” Diamond said.

  There was a few moments of silence.

  “What happens if you are not where she goes?” Diamond said.

  “My plan didn’t work.”

  “Wow. That was easy. What do I do then?”

  “Stay with her.”

  “I should have thought of that. This is no longer fun,” Diamond said.

  “For me neither.”

  “If your plan doesn’t work, can I take her out?”

  “No.”

  “I might take her out anyway. For me.”

  “I would prefer that you not do that.”

  “You want her alive.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Restrain yourself with every effort.”

  “I will practice due diligence.”

  “Impressive,” I said.

  As soon as Rosey and I left for Pitt County, Rogers began calling the usual suspects in my life of relationships. Estelle Stevens, Scott Evans, and Uncle Walters Clancy were all invited to Aunt May’s cabin in the wild for a very late Thanksgiving dinner. Or an early Christmas feast. Call it what you will. The clan was gathering. They were told that they had to come, no regrets were permitted. If Rogers had to play the emergency card, she was told to play it. I had to have the whole group of them there. I even added Sarah Jones to the invitation list because I figured that Saunders would find out about her sooner or later. Captain Wineski was also on the list. Detailed directions were provided to all who needed them.

  Halfway across the state Rogers informed me that everyone had been contacted except Wineski, and all had agreed to come for the feast we had scheduled. Everyone was also informed of the danger of the gathering. I felt like they at least needed to know that there was a risk in doing this even though I did not inform them of the complete plan. Truth was, I was still forming the plan and it was anything but complete.

  We arrived at May’s, sat down at her large table for a lunch of soup and sandwiches, and then informed my mother and aunt what was happening and who was coming to dine with us on the morrow. May seemed pleased and immediately began planning her spread for the occasion. Mother was less than enthusiastic.

  “Too many people,” my mother offered.

  “Oh, it will be great. Reminds me when we were younger and the families would get together on special occasions to eat.”

  “Lots of work to do,” Mother said.

  “Look at all the help we have,” Aunt May countered.

  “It’s dangerous, too,” Mother said.

  “It is dangerous,” I agreed. “That’s why I need you both to be extremely cautious, keep your eyes open, and be alert to anything unusual.”

  “This whole dinner party is unusual,” Mother said.

  No one said anything for a few minutes. We munched our sandwiches and slurped our soups in silence. Almost in silence. While we all were thinking of what to say, my cell phone interrupted our pensive musings.

  “Is this here Clancy? The detective?”

  “Living and breathing, Bella. How are you?”

  I spoke the name in order to give Rosey an insight into my conversation in case there was something I wanted him to know without saying it to May and Mother.

  “Fair to middlin’, child. You know how it is.”

  “You have something for me?”

  “Naw, but you can do something for me,” Bella said.

  “What would that be?”

  “Invite me to yur party.”

  I paused too long in the place where I was supposed to answer with my usual wit or serious response. I was dumbfounded for the moment.

  “Before you ask me the same thing you usually ask me, I remind you that I’m a psychic.”

  “Yeah, but you know what I think of that.”

  “Yur learnin’, child, yur learnin’.”

  “I couldn’t possibly refuse such a request, now could I?”

  “Southern hospitality rearing its head, right?”

  “Something like that. It’s a long way to come to eat.”

  “I’ll get there. What time do ya feed?”

  I gave her an approximation, given the current dispositions at the table, I wasn’t about to pose that question within the current atmosphere.

  “I believe I can be of some help to ya. That’s why I’s invitin’ myself to yur party. Otherwise, I never do anything like that. Let this be betwixt us.”

  “We’ll add another plate. See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 37

  Our soon-to-be gathering of guests had grown to ten people – Estelle, Rosey’s office manager, my brother Scott, Uncle Walters Clancy, Captain Wineski, Sarah Jones, my mother’s housekeeper for years, Aunt May, mother, Rosey, myself, and Bella. I didn’t count Sam for the sake of my mother. I also failed to count the two other guests I was hoping would show up, the guest of honor, so to speak, Marilyn Saunders, and her, hopefully, ever-present shadow, Diamond. I doubted that Saunders and Diamond would be dining with us.

  Rosey, Sam and I walked the perimeter of May’s property to get an idea of the setting of her woods. Since this was new terrain for me, I wanted to familiarize myself with May’s environs. I had learned from my mother that May had purchase close to fifty acres when she bought the large house after Uncle Oswald died. We limited our reconnaissance to the ten to fifteen acres closest to May’s dwelling place.

  We left May doing her best to calm my mother’s frantic and pessimistic nature. I had played that game with my mother for too many years and was a complete and total failure at changing her. Some people enjoy being pessimistic despite all the good things that happen. In this instance, I do believe that my mother has good reason for pessimism. My own optimism was waning.

  “How many total acres here?” Rosey said.

  “I think about fifty or so.”

  “Lot of land.”

  “We’ll have help from Diamond.”

  “Us inside and her outside.”

  “It may be the best we can do.”

  “If all goes according to your plan.”

  “It seldom does.”

  “Ms. Confidence.”

  “Ms. Reality. I subscribe to Murphy’s Law on occasion. It seems to be the order of the day much of the time.”

  “Your mother’s pessimism showing through?”

  “Perhaps. I grew up with it all around me. Some days it was choking.”

  “Did you ever have a respite?”

  “Went fishing. Nearly every day in the summer time. Loved the summers. Endured the winters.”

  “No ice fishing in Pitt County.”

  “The river was off limits during the winters. Some places would freeze over and both my parents would warn me on pain of death if I ever went to the river during those cold sp
ells.”

  “How often did you go to the river during those cold spells?”

  “I’d make pilgrimages now and then. You know me.”

  “I do. And I just bet you’d drag your brother Scott along with you.”

  “His was usually a willing co-conspirator.”

  The woods were thick on three sides, even in November. May had plenty of evergreens to compensate for the deciduous trees having lost most of their foliage. On the fourth side there was an extended grassy knoll which overlooked the front of the house, the entrance to the great room, the largest section of the cabin. A few shrubs dotted the landscape of the knoll allowing for sufficient cover if someone wanted to set up camp and pick off some unsuspecting souls in the cabin below.

  “You’re a trained shooter, Mr. Washington. Is this a good spot to set up in for picking off ducks below?”

  Rosey studied the environs for a few minutes. He walked several feet in all directions as he reflected on the position of the shrubs and the angle said positions would create in line with the cabin. He walked back and forth as if contemplating the end of the world. Hold that thought for the moment.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Definitive.”

  “You could line yourself here for two or three good shots if you were quick enough with your rifle. However, the difficulty comes when you want to get out of Dodge fast. You have little cover in any possible escape route. You’re exposed. So, yes, you could easily pick off a duck or two below in the cabin. But, no, this is not the ideal spot for picking off said ducks. If you miss or the duck eludes your best effort, then you quickly become the duck.”

  “Where would you choose?”

  “Notice that slight rise in the land on the other side of the cabin across from us? The trees are thick enough to provide for excellent cover there. You have the windows along that side plus the added feature of the doors to the deck to provide a shooter with plenty of cabin exposure. A sniper could pick off the same two or three ducks but with the added bonus of the remaining ducks not being able to find him or her before the next two or three shots were fired. I’d camp up there.”

  My cell phone rang while Rosey and I were finishing our recon.

  “All well with you?” I said.

  “I feel slighted at not being invited to the party.”

  “You don’t do well in mixed company.”

  “Truly.”

  “And you have a hard time with the food consumption thing.”

  “There’s that.”

  “And yet, you feel left out.”

  “Indeed. So I called that you might not forget me.”

  “Dearest, how I could never forget you?”

  “That may be the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

  “What’s on your CPU?”

  “Well, while I have plenty of hours to while away, I thought I would continue my vigilant search for information regarding some of the principal players in this little drama we have going.”

  “Ever the stalwart processor. And you found something?”

  “I did. Despite what I dug up and what you were told by Bella the Lovely, I can find no records on Franklin Saunders.”

  “He died a long while back, sometime around 1947, I think.”

  “That would be what we were told. He was supposedly killed after the baby was born and the records indicate she came in 1947. I went back and checked the birth certificate on Marilyn Cantrella. You recall that the name Franklin Saunders was penciled in the margin of that document and there was a question mark after his name.”

  “I do.”

  “That question mark could mean many things.”

  “Without a doubt. So you have checked records and find no one by that name.”

  “Nobody in Corbin or the area around Corbin. I even checked documents further east since he was supposed to have been kin to the famous McCoy clan.”

  “I found one or two people with that name, but their ages do not match. They were either born years after Marilyn’s birth, or they were very old men at the time of her birth. I found no data on anyone by that name that would fit a young man at that time.”

  “Did you check the family of Robert Lee Saunders? Franklin was supposed to have been a brother.”

  “No such brother in Robert Lee’s family. I found a younger brother who was ten years old in 1947, but his name was Samuel. I don’t think he would have been involved with Selma.”

  “Nor I. Was he the only brother?”

  “Yes. Robert had a number of sisters, but I didn’t do any checking on them.”

  “Any of them named Frances?”

  “No. What on earth are you thinking?”

  “Nothing. Grabbing at straws, nothing more.”

  “I have a theory,” Rogers said.

  “I bet you do.”

  “I’m thinking that the old rascal Robert Lee got Selma pregnant unbeknownst to Cybil and the rest of the family. Marilyn could be his child.”

  “So who got killed? The story goes that the Hatfields shot and killed Franklin Saunders.”

  “I found nothing like that in any documents.”

  “That he was killed or shot?”

  “Neither. This was all supposed to have taken place in Corbin, right?”

  “That was my understanding.”

  “So, I checked the police records back at that time and found nothing on any Franklin Saunders shot, stabbed, or burned at the stake. Zilch. There is no official document naming Franklin Saunders as being a victim of a crime from 1945 to 1950. I generally do five year searches.”

  “So thorough and yet so young.”

  “Age is not a factor when one studies and absorbs every day.”

  “The scholastic community could not have said it better.”

  “So where do I look for Franklin now, Miss Holmes?”

  “I only have one source for this information.”

  “Return trip to Corbin?”

  “Don’t have to. Bella Cantrella is coming here.”

  “You invited her to the party?”

  “She invited herself.”

  “Perhaps I should do some checking on lovely old Bella. Any chance she is hiding something?”

  “Everyone hides something. She’s character enough to be hiding lots of things. Let me know what you find.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll keep digging. I will unearth something.”

  Chapter 38

  Late in the afternoon Rosey and Sam walked the property a time or two more while I helped Aunt May and my mother prepare as many dishes as we could ahead of time. We left the meat preparation and the bread baking until tomorrow morning, but everything else was cooked, refrigerated, or frozen and stored away for the festive meal. It was the longest time I could ever recall being in a kitchen in my entire life. Growing up, it was not my favorite room in the house, except for its relationship to food consumption. I love to eat. However, I spent more time watching my father clean his firearms than watching my mother follow recipes.

  After listening to my mother fuss about which dishes should be left to the last minute as opposed to preparing them early for longer than I should have endured, I left Aunt May to fend for herself. She was more than capable and she was much kinder than I would have been had it happened in my kitchen.

  Aunt May’s cabin was large enough to accommodate a gathering of this size, at least for a sit-down meal. She also had enough space to sleep many of the comers, but not everyone made plans with us to stay over. Since I was expecting this plan to end my conflict with Saunders for good, my thinking was that everyone would be safe to leave once the party was over. If Saunders was to wreak her vengeance on me and my constituents, she would likely do it when everyone was gathered so that she could have the satisfaction of completely destroying me and those closest to me.

  Early in the morning of the big day, I was up making coffee and trying to activate my bodily system to the ordeal that lay ahead. Rosey and Sam were out doing yet another perimete
r thing. I was standing at the kitchen window watching Sam meander while Rosey scouted the land. While I was our surveillance team scour the countryside, I remembered Aunt May’s earlier comment about wanting to invite Saunders to our meal. Southern hospitality at its best. I told her it would be a cold day in hell when I would do that. Her Christian side chastised me sufficiently.

  I poured the first cup and was meandering from the kitchen to the great room when a voice from a dark corner spoke. I knew immediately who it was.

  “Hello, Clancy. Imagine meeting you here.”

  “I knew you would come.”

  “But you thought it would be at meal time, right?”

  “Underestimated you again.”

  “You seem to be good at that. The chess game belongs to me.”

  “The game is not over.”

  “We’ll see. I came in when Rosey and the dog were going out. Sorry to have missed them, but I would imagine that they will return shortly.”

  “You come alone, or should we add another plate besides yours?”

  “Aren’t we cagey? I won’t be dining with you today. We’ll just sit here and wait for the rest of the gang to show up. We can chat some, you know, reminisce about old times.”

  “Won’t that be lovely,” I said.

  Saunders moved out of the dark morning shadows to a better lighted spot in the great room. I could see clearly now. She was holding a 9mm in her left hand. It was aimed at me, of course.

  “Now, now. Let’s not cop an attitude before the great demise. Can’t be a sore loser. You knew all along that one of us would win and, sadly, one would lose. You just thought it would be me on the losing end. Poor thinking and planning on your part.”

  “So I should be less optimistic now that you have the upper hand?”

  “Well, dearie, it’s life, you know. Winners and losers, that kind of stuff.”

  “And you’ve been a loser for most of your life.”

  “Whoa, there, sister. Until you came along, I was doing quite well.”

  “Rising above your roots and upbringing.”