Outcast In Gray: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 7)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Yes, you can go with me,” I said to the Lab who was more of a partner than a pet.

  Sam rested his head back on his front paws knowing that it would take me a few minutes to ready myself for a trip west across the state of Virginia and south into the mountains of North Carolina. It was still early in the day, so I figured that I could easily make it by supper time. Maybe a late supper time. Food and curiosity have a significant draw for me.

  I stood up slowly and placed my sore foot on the floor. The pain was subsiding, but not completely gone. The foot injury came from the lack of marksmanship of a sub-par criminal who shot me while trying to avoid imminent capture. I have this theory about most criminals; to wit, they are stupid. Aside from their lack of mental prowess, the vast majority of them do not know how to shoot a weapon of any description. Call me bitter, but… damn, my foot hurts and two weeks of convalescing had not minimized the pain as yet. My singular solace was that the ignorant law breaker who shot me was now securely behind bars and not likely to see daylight anytime in the next decade. At least I was safe from his ineptitude with firearms for a few years to come. Maybe I should keep track of his imprisonment in case he is still nursing a grudge against me the day he is released.

  I moved my sore foot and grimaced. I stopped, reached back to the couch, and retrieved my old magazine. I tore out the recipe for the farro dish, folded it, and then stuffed it into my jeans front pocket. Perhaps Starnes and I could locate some farro in Asheville.

  Halfway across the state of Virginia I called Starnes because my curiosity was running full throttle. Sam was sitting on his haunches in the front passenger seat watching the road ahead as if he was navigating our expedition.

  “I am on my way to your place so I am not likely to turn around and go home. Now tell me why I am coming to see you.”

  “Where are you … geographically?”

  “Approaching Danville, Virginia.”

  “You’re just a little over halfway.”

  “So?”

  “We’ll have a late supper.”

  “As long as there’s hot cornbread on your humble table, I’m good with late.”

  “I have a new dog,” she said.

  “You want me to come see your new dog?” I said.

  “I want you to see what my new dog brought home.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were kidding me.”

  “You know better. Dog came in with a bone.”

  “Hence your earlier remark about throwing something at me,” I said.

  “Master detective that you are,” Starnes said.

  “Enlighten me about this new dog thing. Didn’t know that you had an old dog.”

  “My bad. I have a dog. Still a puppy of sorts, I suppose. Less than a year old. Mixed breed. I got lonely here on the hillside, so I figured if you could live with a canine, I could too.”

  “Mixed breeds are good. Sturdy and all that. Good dog?”

  “Too early to tell. But, she minds her manners and keeps me alert to visitors at my gate.”

  “You have visitors at your gate?”

  “Not many. Dog does her thing most days.”

  “So what specifically about the bone she brought you makes you think I am interested in coming for beans and ham?”

  “Don’t forget the promise of Carver’s cornbread,” she said.

  “Got that. Craving has already started.”

  “The bone she brought home belonged to a human once upon a time.”

  “You jest,” I said.

  “Never.”

  “There are likely mountains of bones in your hills which oddly enough formerly belonged to humans.”

  “Maybe, but this one is of recent vintage. Hasn’t been dead long,” Starnes said.

  “Any idea where she found it?” I said.

  “That’s why Sam was invited.”

  “Oh, goodie. Hiking and hunting in the mountains of North Carolina with my convalescing foot. At the beginning of the cold and flu season. Should be a hoot.”

  “Call it therapy. See you soon?”

  “I’m aiming at dark-thirty.”

  “Still know the way?”

  “I’ll send up a flare if I get bewildered.”

  2

  I had no trouble finding Starnes Carver’s mountain home which her parents left her when they died two years ago. She had relocated from Norfolk and was looking after her folks when her mother died. The sadness might have been too much for Spud Carver, her father. His erratic behavior and creeping dementia forced Starnes to place him in a nursing home in Buncombe County. Spud died while Starnes and I where limping around trying to solve what turned out to be a triple homicide. She had been the acting sheriff while we were on that case.

  Despite the darkness of the hour when Sam and I arrived in McAdams County, I had no trouble finding her home. I figured that it was much like it was the last time I was there, much like the way it had been for the last seventy-plus years since the day that Spud and some neighbors had built it. I could only imagine because the security light on the pole a hundred yards from the front door was no longer flickering and providing intermittent light to guide me. Death had finally come to the pole light. Still, there was sufficient light emanating from the tiny, compact house to get me safely from my Jeep to the small front porch which displayed two ancient rocking chairs and only enough room for a person with short legs to sit and rock. That meant that I could sit and hang my long legs either over the white rails or slide the rocker back against the front wall of the house, put my feet against the white rails and not rock. Life is full of many choices.

  Along this darkened way I did notice that Starnes had added a picket fence around her front yard. Daylight would no doubt reveal the Norman Rockwell texture to the scene. I wondered if Starnes had built it herself.

  There was fierce barking coming from inside the house. The mixed breed was announcing our arrival. Intruders approaching.

  I parked in the dirt-mingled-with-gravel driveway next to Starnes’ Ford Escort and her old, beat up Chevy truck. I couldn’t see the aging process on either vehicle, but I remembered how bad they looked the last time I was here. I doubted any improvement had come along in the last two years.

  “Cornbread will be ready in about ten minutes,” Starnes said as I entered the house. She was holding the dog from attacking us while the barking continued.

  “Dog got a name?” I said as I watched Sam sit down next to me and stare at the strange looking canine in front of us.

  Starnes’ mixed breed was a blend of black, white, and some brown thrown in as if another color was needed. There was a dash of red on its hip near the tail. It was hard to tell what composition formed the breed, but she seemed to be kin to something that resembled a shepherd mix.

  “Not yet. Still adjusting to her, and she to me,” Starnes said amidst the continuous barking.

  “What do you call her when you want her attention?”

  “Dog.”

  “Clever. Okay, Dog, you need to stop barking and get used to the idea that Sam and I are here to stay for a while,” I said.

  I stared directly into the eyes of the dog, which is not usually recommended when approaching an animal unfamiliar with you. Risk taker that I am, I chose the fearless route and looked into her large, brown eyes. They were engaging. She had a pleasant look about her; at least there was some pleasantness around her face.

  She suddenly stopped barking and lunging at us. What I imagined to be her desire to eat us for supper soon dissipated. She sat down on her haunches and stared at Sam as if she had never seen such an animal like him.

  “You have a charm, Clancy,” Starnes said as she released her grip on the blue dog collar and walked into the kitchen. The dog remained seated, staring at us. Her tail was motionless.

  “Think she’ll attack if I move past her?” I said, loud enough for Starnes to hear me back in the kitchen.

  “One way to find out.”

  “Some host you
are,” I said and told Sam to stay put for the moment.

  He turned his large head and looked into my eyes as if to say, “I can take this scamp with one paw tied behind my back.”

  I shook my head as if to answer his suggestive stare and crossed between Sam and Dog. Neither moved.

  “You still alive?” Starnes said with her back to me as I entered the kitchen. “Cornbread is close to being done. If you’re not mauled, wash up and let’s eat.”

  “Untouched by either mongrel,” I said.

  “I don’t hear any chewing or growling. What’s happening in there?” Starnes said.

  “Impasse. Each staring at the other. Could take a while to settle this.”

  “At least she minds you,” Starnes said. “You a dog whisperer or something?”

  “Something,” I said sitting down at the table after washing my hands at her kitchen sink.

  At the point that I was enjoying my second bowl of beans and ham along with my third piece of Carver cornbread, my peripheral vision caught sight of some movement at the kitchen doorway. The two dogs were side by side entering the food area. Their noses were aimed upward and they were sniffing as they approached the table together. Tag team no doubt.

  Starnes turned and watched them enter and sit down in unison. Sam and Dog were staring at us while we ate. Hunger won out over egos.

  “You feed her table scraps?” I said.

  “Sometimes. Mostly she gets dry food. Perhaps a reward for good behavior and peaceful coexistence might be in order,” she said.

  I nodded. Starnes found a large bowl approximately the same size as Dog’s dish and placed it in front of Sam. She partially filled both dishes with the dry dog food and then piled some beans and ham on top. She took a piece of cornbread and started to crumble it as a topping for the whole feast.

  “Whoa, Chief. I came a long way for that cornbread,” I said.

  “You’re not that many years away from your church-raising to begrudge a little food for our faithful companions are you?” she said.

  “I can share most things. I do draw the line with some items,” I said.

  “Relax. I have another skillet baking in the oven as I speak.”

  “Woman of my dreams,” I said. “By all means, give the dogs some cornbread.”

  “Now that our animals have decided to tolerate one another, tell me about the bone that Dog found.”

  “Femur.”

  “Old or new?”

  “If you mean the age of the previous owner, I’d guess a man in his forties,” Starnes said.

  “I meant was it an old bone abandoned several years back or something of a recent vintage?” I said.

  “You forget so easily. Like I told you on the phone, it’s of recent vintage. I’d say no more than two weeks old. I handed it over to the ME in Asheville before I called you. I should hear back in a few more days.”

  “So you are guessing and waiting on the official report?”

  “Educated guess, and substantiated by the ME I left it with.”

  “Before the said ME even did a thorough check.”

  “She’s good at what she does,” Starnes said.

  “Had anyone reported a missing femur?”

  “Good that you brought your humor with you.”

  “Never leaves my side.”

  “That would be debatable. We’ll head out tomorrow and see if we can track something.”

  “You know where Dog found the bone?”

  “No.”

  “How do we know which way to head out?”

  “I’m betting on Sam and Dog to find the way.”

  “Vegas would love those odds.”

  3

  The morning brought a cold that was not friendly. It was more than a month since the official mark for the beginning of winter, and I was in the mountains of North Carolina after all, so I was not overly surprised to wake up and wish for a warmer climate. The price of friendship and vigilant work. Bone hunting in early February amid anti-social temperatures. I was, after all, in the throes of the season for cold.

  “You sleep okay?” Starnes said as I stumbled into the kitchen looking for hot coffee.

  “Mostly.”

  “Troubled spirit?”

  “Frigid body.”

  “I have extra blankets.”

  “I’ll take two,” I said as I poured a cup.

  “How’s your injured foot?” she said.

  “Still sore, but usable.”

  “What caused the injury?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “You did something stupid?”

  “Something stupid was done to me,” I said.

  “The price of being a detective, huh?”

  “More to do with the incompetence of the criminal element of our time.”

  She smiled at me, one of those knowing smiles I generally hated. “Shot you in the foot, did he?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

  “Hungry, camper?”

  “We have a long day of hiking and following dogs?”

  “Unless the gods of luck be with us,” she said.

  “Then, yes, I am famished.”

  “Take a seat. Eggs and toast coming up. Leftover ham and beans as well, if you’re interested.”

  The food hit the spot. I declined the beans, but I did steal some of the ham pieces from the night-before supper offering. The scrambled eggs and buttered toast were the right beginnings for a long day. Cold weather causes me to eat more, sometimes too much. I washed the dishes while Starnes left to check the oil level in her truck.

  My foot did feel better. It must have been the cornbread.

  When I opened the front door to leave, a rush of cold air took my breath momentarily. Starnes had her head under the hood of her rusty red truck. She was banging on something with a hammer.

  “Can’t find any good mechanics in McAdams County?” I said.

  “Don’t need ’em. Runs like a top.”

  “As long as you have your hammer.”

  “Wouldn’t go anywhere without it.”

  We put the dogs in the back and headed out towards what I considered to be the veritable unknown. This was Starnes’ world, not mine.

  “This is a large county. How on earth do you know where to begin?”

  “I take Dog down to the Ivy River and let her run and swim. I’m guessing that’s where she found the bone.”

  “Guessing?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t show it to me until we had arrived back at the house. Must’ve thought I would take it from her. Her first bone and all. She’s new at this dog-master thing, like me.”

  “Sharp learning curve for both of you,” I said and smiled as I remembered some of my early months with Sam.

  Twenty minutes later Starnes parked her truck on the side of the road next to the river. I started to put down the tail gate when Starnes held up her hand to stop me.

  “Tell Sam what you want,” she said.

  “Did you tell Dog what you wanted?”

  “She don’t listen so well. Still learning vocabulary.”

  She motioned with her index finger for me to come over near her. I obeyed.

  “I don’t think she’s as smart as Sam,” she whispered so that Dog could not hear.

  “You know dogs have better hearing than humans,” I said.

  “Just tell Sam what we want,” she insisted. “I know he understands you. I don’t pretend to get it, but it works. So, humor me.”

  “Not sure I want to divulge my secrets to just anyone.”

  “I think we’re past the just anyone stage in our relationship. Talk to the dog,” Starnes said and walked over to the cab of the truck.

  “Sam, go find the place where Dog discovered the human bone. We need a trail.”

  Sam stared at me as if I had asked him to recite the Gettysburg Address verbatim. He turned his head and raised his nose a little as if sniffing something in the air. I couldn’t tell if he was ignoring me with so
me pleasure or beginning his technique of finding what we needed. He stood erect, raised his front right paw for effect as if testing the directionality of the wind, then walked over and nudged Dog in her side. They suddenly bounded off together following the Ivy River Road. I determined that they were running westward toward Tennessee. I guessed that they would have several miles of difficult terrain if that had been their ultimate destination.

  “No magic words, huh? That all you ever say to ‘em, just, go find this or that?” Starnes said.

  “I like to keep it simple. He’s complicated enough without compound sentence structures.”

  “Still don’t get it. You must sit around Norfolk when you’re not working a case and teach him English.”

  “He knew the language when he found me,” I said.

  “One of life’s great mysteries,” she said.

  “Yeah, I say that a lot, too.”

  We trotted a quarter of a mile still a good bit behind the two galloping dogs when it came to me that what Starnes and I were doing was a mistake.

  “Let’s go back to the truck and follow them on wheels,” I said.

  “As long as they stay on the road,” Starnes said.

  “Yeah. That could be a problem. But Sam will alert me, or, he will come back and get me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Hasn’t failed yet.”

  We walked back to the truck and sped off after the two canines who were out of sight by the time we returned to the place where we had last seen them. The paved road turned into a single lane graveled surface in less than a mile. It was really more dirt than gravel, but the state maintained the road as it was, or so the sign said. Some gravel, mostly dirt with a smattering of pot holes mixed in for a bumpy pleasure.

  Starnes slowed the truck and we searched both sides of the gravel road for signs of the dogs. At the fork, we turned slightly left and headed downward towards the river.

  “Subdivision of sorts up there,” she said gesturing with her head to our right as we turned left.

  “And why don’t you think the dogs went that way?”

  “Just an informed hunch.”