Murder by Gravity

by Barbara Graham

  Theo did manage a laugh. “Okay, that sounds like him.”

  Roscoe patted the SUV like it was a dog. “Only now you’ve got the bad egg.” The sound of his hand striking the car covered his words, not the look of worry on his face. He clearly didn’t like the situation. “Come back for this group.”

  Theo waved goodbye to Darla’s entourage. “Safe travels.” She backed down the narrow drive until she reached the road, then headed back to town. Watching the remaining passengers as she pretended to check the road behind them was easy. Knowing the doors in the back could only be opened from the outside, a setting Tony had enabled on the car to keep one of the children from doing something potentially tragic, insured they would not try to jump out.

  “Sheriff?” Rex glanced up from his bank of electronics and looked at Tony, who was standing near the front desk, pretending to check the jail visitation paperwork. “What is your wife doing?”

  “I imagine she’s either working or just running a few errands.” Tony trusted Rex with his life and that of his family and every member of his department. Still, he refused to voice his concern about her involvement in the domestic rescue group. “Why?”

  “Just hearing some chatter. It sounds like your deputies are trying to keep an eye on her and stay away from her at the same time.” Rex shook his head accepting the explanation. “She’s so little and seems so sweet.”

  Tony heard the silent, “but.” He grinned. He could guess what Rex might have encountered. Instead of answering, he nodded his agreement. No doubt about it. Theo could be a bit feisty.

  Rex went on with his thought. “But when she gets mad—I saw it once—it was like someone had dropped dynamite down a well.”

  “That’s my girl. Take no prisoners.” Tony glanced at his watch for the hundredth time since Theo had driven off with people he pretended to know nothing about.

  The front door of the law enforcement center swung open and a man Tony had never seen before strode inside, followed by an obviously angry Sheila. He was swearing the whole way. He was built like a rutabaga. Huge shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and a thick neck tapered to a powerful chest and much narrower waist and continued down to short legs and small feet, maybe size eight. They looked half the size of Tony’s own. Being dressed in a purple shirt and cream-colored slacks only added to the root vegetable appearance.

  Tony might have smiled and greeted the stranger but the vitriol spewing from the man’s mouth as he walked away from Deputy Sheila Teffeteller sent a wave of adrenalin through him. This man was bad. Because of the possibly dangerous situation Theo was in, Tony’s internal gauge was already on high alert, and this man was pushing the needle higher.

  “You heard me. I’m not talking to some know-nothing, dumb-broad deputy. I’m going straight to the top.” He ignored Rex but stared at Tony’s badge. “You the sheriff of this wasteland or just another Barney?”

  “I am the sheriff of this beautiful county. You’re welcome to go somewhere else.” Tony stood as tall as he could, which was a good foot, maybe more, taller than the rutabaga. “Front door’s right behind you. Sooner’s better than later.”

  The rutabaga bared his teeth. They were white and straight but totally fake.

  Tony wasn’t sure if his expression was supposed to be a smile or a growl. From his own viewpoint, it was simply unpleasant. He waited.

  “We’ve got business.” The huge arm muscles under the purple sleeve flexed as the man dug into the small attaché case he carried in one hand and pulled out some papers and a couple of photographs.

  “What kind of business?” Tony was curious.

  “You’ll see.” The rutabaga shuffled through the papers and handed one to Tony. “I’m here for Evelyn and the child she stole, a minor child.” He held up the photographs. “These ring any bells?”

  Tony studied the pictures but didn’t touch them or take the papers. He knew the woman in them as Darla. He didn’t have to lie. “I’ve never heard either of those names.”

  “Oh, come now, Sheriff, we both know what’s going on here.”

  Tony was serious. He had no knowledge of the woman or the child other than their appearance. “Why don’t you come with me to my office? Maybe we can get to the bottom of this.”

  “Sounds good.” The rutabaga strutted through the doorway.

  “You’ll have to leave your gun here.” Tony unlocked a steel cabinet just inside the normally locked door. “House rules. Mine.”

  For a moment, it looked like the man was going to refuse, but he didn’t. He pulled up his pant leg and exposed an ankle holster. He gently placed the semi-automatic in the cabinet. “I’ll want that back.”

  Tony said nothing, just locked the box and turned and led the way to his office.

  The rutabaga trotted after Tony. Tony imagined the two of them looked like a bulldog chasing a coonhound.

  “Ruth Ann, I’d like for you to come in and take notes.” Tony strode past her desk. Something in his expression, or that of his companion, turned her from her normal, intelligent, I-can-do-it-better-than-you self, into a weak, sniveling air brain. It was what Tony was hoping for.

  Tony settled into the chair behind his desk and his guest sat facing him. Ruth Ann perched on the other visitor’s chair and toyed with her earring. Tony found himself wishing she had chewing gum in her mouth. It would complete the vapid expression.

  “So, now, sir.” Tony rested his hands on his desk. “Why are you here?”

  “I told you. I’m here to collect these two.” He waved his paper.

  “Yes, that’s what you said. I gather you’re a private detective, but I don’t know you, and I don’t know either of them.” Tony forced his hands to stay still. “Where are you from?”

  “Kansas City.” The rutabaga looked a bit surprised he’d answered.

  “And these two are presumably missing persons?” Tony leaned forward, his curiosity unfeigned. Tony really wanted to know how this man had come to be here.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you expect me, out here in the Tennessee sticks, to know anything about these city people? They are obviously not from around here. And, what are we? Maybe seven or eight hundred miles from Kansas City?” Tony was seriously curious about the answer. How had a detective, private or otherwise, picked tiny Park County, Tennessee, to search for a missing mother and child? The only answer, of course, was a breach of the system.

  “I’m not at liberty to give you that information.” The rutabaga studied his fingernails. “Have you seen them?”

  Tony answered honestly. “I don’t have who you’re looking for. And if these photographs are accurate, I don’t have their location either.” Which, since Theo had not called to report her location and neither had Roscoe, was true. For all he knew, the entire carload of people could all be sprawled on the couch in his own house, watching his television.

  “Well, I can tell you this.” The expression on their visitor’s face turned confiding, like he was doing something special, just for Tony and Ruth Ann, just because they’d been so nice to him. “She has some kind of shirttail relative in your county.”

  “No kidding!” Tony leaned back in his chair as if he was settling in for a long conversation but his surprise was real. “Who’s that?”

  The rutabaga glanced at his papers. “A Pinkie Millsaps.”

  “No kidding!” Tony repeated, as he found himself seriously short in vocabulary. He forced some enthusiasm into his voice, but his brain was busy connecting the dots. Pinkie was a strong advocate for women and men being equal. After the way her sister had been treated, she despised domestic violence. He could imagine Pinkie telling a stranger how to find her if help was needed—a shirttail relative would get the red carpet treatment. How many others knew her name and her connection with the rescuers? “I know Pinkie; she works a local café.”

  Ruth Ann piped up. “I know Pinkie too.”

  The rutabaga glanced over at Ruth Ann. “Shut up.”

  Tony consid
ered climbing under his desk to avoid being hit by the ceiling falling when his assistant exploded. Thankfully, Ruth Ann continued to play her role of an air brain with talent and enthusiasm. The rutabaga had no idea what he was messing with, but Tony guessed Pinkie would be treated to a full description of both the rutabaga and Ruth Ann’s assessment of him. The volunteers would be on high alert, and still nothing official would come from his office. The thought made him smile. “Say, if you’re going over to the café, would you like some company? The food is good.”

  “I suppose.” The rutabaga didn’t look very pleased.

  “The pies are a specialty. I recommend the apple.” Smiling, and continuing his self-imposed role as the lovable but less than bright sheriff, Tony led the way, stopping to retrieve the rutabaga’s firearm. He’d bet Ruth Ann was already talking to Pinkie before they got out of the building.

  “Pinkie’s almost always down at Ruby’s Café at this time of the morning.” Tony kept his dumb-hick expression in place. “She’s the breakfast and lunch cook.”

  Clearly struggling to maintain his role as the polite visitor, the rutabaga man feigned a salute. “It’s nice you want to come along.”

  “Sure, why not?” Tony did not want to go anywhere with this man. He also didn’t want him harassing Pinkie. The middle-aged grandmother was one of his favorite citizens, and if he had to guess, she was quite likely to be involved in the disappearance of a runaway wife. Not only was Pinkie all about respect and equality, but her sister Sally had suffered at the hands of her own husband, Possum, for years. Now Possum was dead and no one was sorry. Both ways he looked at an encounter between Pinkie and the rutabaga meant someone was going to need protection. Reinforcements sounded like a good plan.

  He led the way in the Blazer and called for Wade to meet him at the café. The rutabaga followed in his late model sedan. Tony would bet the back doors of the car could only be opened from the outside. In that, it would resemble Theo’s SUV, but hers was to protect children; the rutabaga’s would be a prison.

  Ruby’s Café hadn’t changed its name, location, or basic menu for half a century. Each successive owner had become Ruby, including one man. The current Ruby had her name legally changed and then married one of his deputies. It was a popular place to eat for locals and tourists alike. The interior was always clean and freshly painted white with an old-fashioned counter with cherry-red vinyl-covered stools, red booths lining two sides, and a few tables with chairs in the center.

  Blossom Flowers, preparing for her wedding, spotted him and Wade, and bustled through a swinging door, presumably to greet them. The arrival of the rutabaga-shaped man caused her to turn in midstep and return to the kitchen.

  A glance at Wade’s face confirmed his own impression. The pastry cook and the private detective had already met.

  When the slab of Tony’s favorite apple pie was delivered to him, a small note accompanied it, dropped onto his lap as the pie hit the paper placemat. It would have been amusing cloak and dagger stuff in the movies, but in real life, it sent a serious warning. “He’s a bad man and a liar.”

  Tony hoped to keep the conversation on the quality of pie. “This is some of the best pastry in the state.”

  “Where’s this Pinkie?” The rutabaga waved his fork in the air while talking through an oversized bite of fresh pumpkin pie.

  Watching the open-mouthed mastication made Tony lose his appetite. Almost. He still finished his favorite pie but was careful to keep his eyes on his plate.

  As if waiting for the men to finish eating first, Pinkie came to the table. In her fifties, Pinkie was a free spirit. She rode a motorcycle and had tattoos. She had recently taken to dyeing her graying hair pink. Surprising no one, it wasn’t pinkish gray; it was wild magenta. “Sheriff?”

  Tony introduced her to the rutabaga. “He says he’s got a few questions for you.”

  Pinkie tilted her head to one side as if listening to a second conversation. “Not your questions, Sheriff?”

  Tony shook his head slightly. “Wade and I will wait for you outside.” His words were meant for the rutabaga, but he was staring into Pinkie’s eyes. He hoped she understood what he was saying. She was welcome to tell any lie she liked. He would not be there as a witness.

  She winked. Message received.

  Tony and Wade waited in the sunshine. There was no conversation, just the moment of peace. The snow on the café roof was melting. A couple of droplets joined forces and fell into the small puddle below the overhang. The sky was becoming a brilliant clear blue, not the most common color here in the Smoky Mountains. Maybe it would turn into a perfect autumn day.

  Only a few minutes later, the rutabaga joined them.

  “Did you learn what you needed?” Tony tried for slightly obtuse. Maybe he’d use the phrase “slightly obtuse” in the book he was writing. He thought it sounded colorful and yet descriptive.

  The rutabaga snarled. “Nothing but a bunch of dumb hicks in this town. I’ll bet you boys are married to your sisters.”

  Tony didn’t respond.

  Tony had always promised himself that he wouldn’t ask anything of Theo or Ruby or any other suspected part of the sisterhood moving abused women and children through the county. What he didn’t know, he couldn’t report. But now problems were circling close to his home and to the residents of the county where he was sworn to protect and serve. Somewhere along the line, the wrong person had been given information, and that was bringing big trouble into the county.

  When Theo returned to town with Darla, her daughter, and the dog, Tony and Mike Ott met her in the parking lot of the grocery store and moved them into Mike’s personal car. As they drove away, Theo’s beautiful hazel eyes, magnified by the lenses of her glasses, swam with tears.

  Tony stood by his Blazer, watching. “Theo, honey.” The words sounded okay in his head. “I have to ask you some questions about the sisterhood or whatever you call it.”

  Theo frowned. “Please don’t.”

  “I’m not going to ask you for names or even how long this has been going on or exactly how it works.” Tony fell silent, wondering, but not asking how it began. “This is not part of the county’s official shelter and protection system.”

  “No.” Theo’s eyes did not meet his. She stared into the distance. “These poor souls are only passing through. They are delivered to us from another shelter. Hiding. Waiting to go on.”

  “Theo, honey,” he began again. “Someone very, very dangerous is looking for one of your transitory people, probably that woman who just left with Mike.”

  Her eyes did meet his then. “How’d he find us?”

  “I’m guessing he sent an agent pretending to be a victim to search for her. Them.”

  “Oh, no. So, the woman with the two children does work for him?” Theo sagged against her car, looking both aged and childlike. “We’ve always been so careful.”

  “How long is always?” Tony seemed to remember something happening not long after they had moved to Silersville. He had still been a boy but he’d heard whispers in the kitchen. Doors opening and closing. His mother calling, “I’ll be back in just a bit.”

  “I don’t know. Forever.” Theo wiped a stream of tears from her face with the heels of her hands. “My mammaw was involved, and eventually I was enlisted.”

  “Go on.” He moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her closer to him. “I gather it’s like an underground railroad.”

  “Exactly.” Theo shivered. “They come here terrified and yet forced to trust in the kindness of strangers. They stay until someone picks them up.” Theo’s hands turned palms up. “No one talks about it, and I have no idea how the message is sent, or to whom. My job is to take them food and clothes and check the quilt hanging near the house.”

  “Tell me about the quilts.” It was so common for there to be quilts hanging on or near the houses in the area, they could be an obvious symbol to someone, once you knew the way it worked.

 
“Different patterns mean different things,” Theo said. “Like ‘room here’ or ‘full’ or ‘not safe.’ ”

  “The underground railroad.”

  “Precisely.” Theo’s head bobbed. “But different. These messages are for the couriers, not the victims. We feed them until someone else comes and takes them on.”

  “So how do you know where to take the food?” Tony was not about to address having a pitiful cook like herself in charge of feeding the runaways, or at least supplying some of the food. Maybe that was to make sure no outsider guessed her role.

  “The quilt is changed.” Theo smiled as if reading his thoughts. “All I have to do is drive past and look at the quilt. If it’s the old one, I just keep going. If it’s changed, I check in. The runaways aren’t just dumped off, you know.”

  He whispered in her ear, “No, remember? I don’t know.”

  Theo’s head moved up and down, acknowledging his problem. Her curls brushed against his chin and he found himself enjoying the smell of Theo’s shampoo. Finally she said, “It’s a little harder these days because fewer new homes have clotheslines. Those new homes have to have a banner, you know, like a flag.”

  “What about the neighbors?” Tony wondered how deep this group went. If Theo’s grandmother had been part of it, it certainly wasn’t a new invention.

  “There are a couple of houses, not next door to each other, but near other members of the club, so to speak. Places where the changing quilts would be easy to see.”

  Anger started growing deep within him. Some really bad guy was threatening the safe passage of future desperate families, and now possibly his own people. He couldn’t even imagine the possible danger to his wife and mother. “Do you ever have men coming through?”