Boisterously he called out, “Bring that booty back here.” If his crude words weren’t enough, he followed them with a nasty sounding laugh.
Joyce looked at him the same way I’d seen her look at a cockroach just before she squashed it. With a wave of his hand, he said, “Go on, I’m just funnin’ with you girl.”
I didn’t find Duke funny at all. He’d disrespected Joyce, his wife Minnie, and me all in one fell swoop. He had my blood boiling. If I’d pushed his buttons earlier, he had his revenge by pushing mine. Minnie lifted her eyes from her steady gaze of the porch floor briefly making eye contact with me. For a split second, I read into her expression an apology for Duke’s atrocious actions. She passively glanced in Duke’s direction then returned to her focal point on the floor. Duke hadn’t seen Minnie look up. How could he, he was too distracted by Joyce as she opened the screen door.
Previously, Joyce had asked for me to overlook Duke’s wisecracks. If the mood struck me, I was good at ignoring people, but therein lay the crux of the matter. Avoidance was not my style; confrontation was.
There was a way to bring his mouth to a grinding halt other than my intervention. Joyce had to confront him with an ultimatum. Why was she so passive about putting him in his place? She’d mentioned to me, more than once, that I was jealous because of the sexual nature of his comments. I assured her it was not the case. What I saw was a guy who was nothing more than a self-gratifying spoiler who didn’t care who he hurt in the process of getting his way.
Joyce continued her indifference to Duke’s comments, even though she’d become red-faced and embarrassed by his crude innuendos at times. I wondered whether Joyce still had an ember of passion for him or worse, she felt sorry for his marriage relationship. Regardless, I trusted that Joyce showed the same lack of concern for his shenanigans in my absence as she did when I was present. There were unexplainable vibes that prompted me to take a deeper stab at Duke whenever opportunity knocked. He was rotten to the core—my instincts have never failed.
“Landers had some great pictures of the crime scene. He said the Sheriff has substantial evidence. They might crack this case any minute,” I announced.
What I said didn’t have a shred of truth to it. I was on a fishing expedition, and I wanted to watch his reaction. Duke shrunk from cocky and brazen to a mousy bundle of nerves, either at the mention of Landers and the case he was covering, or the implication that the Sheriff had a strong lead.
Joyce returned with a tall jar of ice tea, bent over at the waist and set the glass on the rustic end table. I anticipated Duke’s smart-mouth spew, but he didn’t say a word and barely glanced at her buttocks. Not the kind of opportunity a baboon like Duke would’ve let slip by, not unless he were rattled deep inside. I watched Minnie as she cast a look at Duke; she’d noticed the change in his behavior too. Preoccupied, and without saying a word, Duke gulped down his jar of tea and signaled to Minnie to drink up. Moments later, Duke grabbed Minnie’s half-full jar of tea and took it along with his empty mug into the resort.
I was amazed. Duke had taken the initiative to clean up after him and Minnie. When he emerged from the house, he moved quickly to the steps. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I gots to be goin’,” he said. Stepping down off the porch and onto the stairs, he whirled back toward Minnie and yelled, “Come on woman!” There had been no reason for Duke to shout at her. Minnie was submissive to the point of unhealthy.
She stood and politely said her good-byes. As she turned toward the stairs, Duke barked a second set of commands. She looked back at Joyce and shame clung to her countenance. Without her uttering a word I heard her cry for help. As she turned to descend the steps, I watched her head droop. Pain swelled deep inside my being which I recognized that had risen within from a time, long past. The pain someone else had suffered, and I was compelled to shoulder it. To the prompt, I had to say, not today. It wasn’t the path I wanted to travel.
Minnie wasn’t petite although she’d been described that way. How I saw her was sickly, skinny, and frail. She wasn’t one who displayed a lot of flesh for the world to see. Initially, I’d banked on the idea she was a religious zealot. Later, I came to realize it was all Duke’s doing. What was visible below her vintage-style plaid dress was nothing but skin and bones for ankles. Not much else showed.
Minnie quickly shuffled across the yard to catch up with her husband. Duke fired up his pickup and backed out of the space. He’d allowed only enough time for Minnie to get the door closed before he slapped his old Ford in gear. The rig shot off with a clattering noise as it bounced through the driveway potholes, stirring up a cloud of dust.
Joyce and I sat quietly watching the dust settle on the driveway. I had to challenge Duke’s behavior to change the situation, but persuading Joyce was easier said than done. “I don’t like the way he abuses her.”
“You think he abuses her?”
“From what I saw, yes. If I talked to you like that, wouldn’t you feel abused?”
“I’d kick your butt!”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you talk tough now, but you wait for later. Then we’ll see.”
A sly smile crept across her face. “You would let me and you know it.”
There was no sense arguing about it. She was right.
“Just the same sweetheart, maybe we should accept Duke’s invitation to visit. I’d like to see what it’s like for Minnie to live there.”
“It’s not our business Walter.”
I couldn’t tell if she was naïve or didn’t have a desire to know the truth. Her words were the same as what others had said that were in Minnie’s life. It was a tough pill to swallow. If I was going to live a quiet country life in peace and harmony with my surroundings, I had to suppress the impulse to fix problems when I saw them. I’d taken an oath, and part of the oath was to rescue or defend the weak. How could I avoid conflicts? I’d trained my eyes to see them. It was that simple.
The vehicle in the driveway didn’t bear the markings of a cop car, but it was obvious. The police cruiser had all the bells and whistles in the front and back window. Joyce and I watched from the porch as the driver slowed to a stop in front of the resort.
I had no interest in going out of my way to meet the local constables. I didn’t see the benefit. It looked as if I was going to meet one today whether I liked it or not. The driver climbed out and leaned over the car’s hood as he wrote on a notepad. He glanced in our direction then returned to his notes. Tall, slender, and dignified he was a class act for Shell Knob and looked out of place.
“Know him?” I asked.
Joyce looked the officer over carefully before she answered. “No.”
Casually, the man strode toward the porch, tucking his notepad into an inside suit pocket. I watched his eyes shift left to right taking in the surroundings. He was searching for a particular person or object. “Hello, I’m Detective Simon Parker with the Barry County Sheriff’s Department.”
“I’m Joyce Farmer.”
Parker extended his hand toward Joyce. His smile gleamed as they shook hands. Turning his attention to me, he said, “And you are?”
“Walter.”
“Is that Walter with a last name or just Walter?”
“Walter Goe.”
“Okay.” Parker extended his hand. “I’ve heard of you.”
I laughed under my breath, shook his hand, and said, “Nothing good I hope.”
“Quite the contrary Mister Goe, it was all good.” Parker continued the handshake. “Jay Landers spoke highly of you.”
“That’s because Landers doesn’t know me well.”
“Jay said you’re a crime reporter and probably knew more about crime than anyone else around these parts.”
“I’ll have to thank Jay for his kind words. Yes, I was a journalist. A little tired of the crime beat. Took a break from the circuit.”
Parker turned toward Joyce. “I’m investigating a homicide.”
“There’s been so much talk about it.
How horrible.”
Parker’s eyes darted straightway toward me as Joyce answered. He was watching my reaction. “Joyce, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure, anything to help.”
Parker spent the next few minutes tossing out questions concerning guests of the resort, especially people traveling through, one-night stays or unusual activity. It was interesting to listen to the side talk. Parker never came out and said it, but his interest was in the newest member of the Shell Knob community—me. I was familiar with side talk as a ploy. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t committed the crime they were investigating.
Parker turned his attention toward me. “How about you, Mister Goe?”
“Call me Walter.”
“Yes sir, have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”
I laughed, “Detective, I’m not from the south. Everything is out of the ordinary to me.” Then I laughed again for emphasis.
Parker set the stage to mirror my actions with a hardy laugh. I was aware of that trick too. Parker offered a handshake as he prepared to leave. “Thank you both.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Parker left as slowly as he had arrived. He sauntered toward his unmarked cruiser, breaking his casual stride with intermittent stops to take notes. He wasn’t done yet. A sense of déjà vu came over me as if I was in a rerun of an old television episode, Colombo. Parker turned and walked toward the house making solid eye to eye contact this time. “You’re not leaving the area anytime soon are you, Walter?”
“Not unless you’re telling me I have to be out of town by sundown?”
Parker had looked me up and down before he answered, “We’re down south not in the old west.”
He was savvy, and I liked that. “No plans,” I said, as Joyce stepped next to me, slipping her hand into mine.
Parker smiled. He turned toward his car and had walked a couple steps before he turned around to ask a question. “Do either of you own or drive a pickup truck?”
“Neither of us,” Joyce answered.
Parker nodded, and once again headed toward his car. For five long minutes, Parker sat behind the steering wheel and worked on his notes. Finally, he backed out and slipped down the road out of view.
Throughout the evening, Joyce asked questions about the likelihood of Minnie’s abuse. I could see she was interested. With each scenario recounted, the impulse to right the wrong grew stronger.
It would be great to live a life of innocence, but not one of naiveté. Too many victims started out naïve and ended up easy prey. Joyce’s eyes had been opened to the possibilities. Duke wasn’t the care-giving sort of guy he pretended to be. Under pressure, he could be tweaked, and his true worthless-scumbag nature would surface. Duke’s personality paralleled Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde’s. I would know—I had one too.
Back in my cabin for the evening, I checked my Palatini cell phone. I didn’t need to carry the phone with me and had left it under my mattress where it was safely hidden. I had missed calls. Lead Palatini operative, Anna Sasin’s, and our facilitator, Maximillian Karnage had left messages. Max had a fancy title, Society Palatini Grand Master, but he was mainly the go-to guy for all the knights. I called him first.
Max was a world traveler. There was no telling what country he would be in when I called so calling times were irrelevant. It was impossible to know his location. He might be in the cabin next to me, for all I knew. I rolled the dice and made the call.
As soon as he answered, I cut to the chase. “What’s up Max?”
“I’ve had an inquiry if you’re interested. An operative with a foreign engagement has asked for you by name. Are you game?”
“Is it Anna?”
“No, it’s a mop-up operation in Paraguay. Do you remember Russell Gunn?
“Yes, I remember Rusty.”
“He has asked if you were available.” Max waited for a response, but he was met with silence. “What gave you the idea it was Anna?”
“I had a missed call from her; that’s all.”
“Are you presently engaged in a project?”
“No, I’ve taken some time to myself. I have an important agenda. You know, catch up on some fishing, and that sort of thing.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I know we can count on you when you are ready. We have some enchanting places that would welcome you with open arms. Frankly, they need you.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind. Give my regards to Rusty.”
“Keep in touch. It was good to talk with you again.”
The next morning, I placed a call to Anna. I left her a cell phone message then put a call into Landers. I had plenty of time, and it was a good opportunity to touch base with him. When he answered, it didn’t take long to get down to the nitty-gritty.
Landers voice dropped to a whisper, “Meet me at Whiskey Gulch. I need to talk.”
“When?”
“It’ll take me twenty-five minutes to get there from Cassville.”
“Okay Jay, you can count on me.”
I checked out with Joyce and confirmed she didn’t have me committed to some domestic activity. I let her know I was meeting Landers again at his request. I was relieved to hear she didn’t have an interest in tagging along.
I kept my weapons and bug-out bag in the trunk of the Avenger under strict lock and key. It was time to reconnect with my recent past. I fired up the car and drove toward the rendezvous location. A couple minutes down the road, I pulled over and retrieved my .40-caliber and paddle holster from the trunk. Concealing it carefully under my light weight jacket, I was careful to ensure Landers wouldn’t be able to see it. The last thing I needed was questions surfacing about carrying concealed without a permit. I might have been over-reacting on the side of caution, but Jay sounded concerned. I’d rather be prepared.
Jay’s car swung wildly onto the little dirt pad and alongside my Avenger. I focused my attention in the direction from which Jay had come for signs of a tail. With no second vehicle anywhere in sight, I rolled down my window. It was obvious he wasn’t interested in getting out. Jay’s window lowered as he sank back deep into the driver’s seat. I glanced around once more for good measure and gave Jay a thumb up gesture. Confident we were alone he began, “Have you ever had an anonymous source give you information that was viable?”
“Yeah, sure. What did you pick up?”
“I got a call late yesterday in my office.” Jay stopped and looked around before continuing, “She whispered, ‘I know about the Alaskan girl found at Forbes place.’ No one has called the victim Alaskan, not even the police. If it turns out to be true, the caller knows more about what’s happened.”
“No doubt. What else did you get?”
“My first thought was this lady is concerned about getting caught talking to me. I could hear the fear in her voice. She told me the girl was eleven-years-old and had been here about two weeks. Then the line went dead.”
“Here means what? Cassville? Shell Knob?”
“I’m not sure, I think our area around Cassville. I’m going to sit at my desk and see if I get a call back. If my hunch is right, she’ll call again. While I wait, I’ll be scouring the missing person’s reports, starting with Alaska.”
“Jay, you didn’t mention telling the cops what you picked up?”
“I’m not ready to get involved.”
“Too late, buddy. The gal made that decision for you. Whether you like it or not, you are involved. What you do with it is up to you.”
“I’m researching right now.”
“Play your cards right with the information, and you could write your ticket out of Barry County. If you hand the information over to investigators, you could be a hero around here, make allies with the police, and still publish the scoop.”
Jay relaxed, smiled and said, “Gotta go.” I sat parked for a few minutes trying to figure out how a child from Alaska made it all the way to Missouri. It was bizarre. The most probable scenario was a kidnapping. If she
had been in the area long enough for the anonymous caller to have seen her, it was possible others had too. While my thoughts drifted, I threw the Avenger in gear and headed south. I wanted time to think about Jay’s caller.
The dead girl was not the key to the case. Jay’s source was the ticket. In my mind, the witness was likely a local community member and not associated with a drifter theory. The caller had been specific. The girl was “Here” for a couple weeks. I hooked a right on Highway 86 and traveled west for a while. When I crossed over Table Rock Lake, I continued north to the confluence of Highway E. In Barry County there weren’t that many women. One of them called Landers. She was a needle in a haystack, but the stack of hay had grown smaller. I took the turnoff to Highway E, which pointed the Avenger in the direction of Shell Knob.
I was traveling in a big circle. I didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but I was being led by a prompt from my spirit. The road hooked to the right where I accessed Highway M. I wanted to keep my attention focused on the information Landers had received, but festering tensions with Duke were an ongoing issue and needed to be addressed. Confusion distorted my thoughts. I was near Duke Dixon’s gun range and survival training camp.
I stopped the Avenger in front of Dixon Holler. There were no markings on the map. Most hollers, gaps, draws, and gulches hadn’t been officially recognized. However, they existed in the knowledge of the local folks.
The only readily available landmark for the Holler stood twenty feet off the highway onto an access road. Spray painted on the fourfoot wide weathered plywood sign read, “Dixon Holler Gun Range.” Signage, down in Dixieland, especially those that have stood the test of time, have character—and bullet holes. A set of four mailboxes decked in various shades of gray and blue paint hung from a cross beam on top of a six-inch wide milled post, heavily soaked in creosote oil.
It was bone-dry weather for springtime. The usual cloudy skies had remained clear for weeks which led to cooler nighttime temperatures. I got out of the car and touched the red clay roadbed that led up the draw in a westerly direction toward Dixon’s place. It was a powdery dust. Tire prints would readily show, and it was common practice to photograph tread marks. Plaster casts were unlikely, but forensic sciences might have a few new tricks. I caught myself. I was processing details as if I were on the hunt for a victim. I looked up the Holler and noted scrub brush and a diverse gathering of trees obscured the gun range and Duke’s house from the highway. What was going on in my head? Old habits were tough to dismiss as irrelevant.
Blood Appeal Page 4
