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

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Seem to recall, huh?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve visited with them.”

  “So your intel might be suspect. And you think they’re deaf?”

  “Not quite deaf, deaf, but close enough from this distance. Yelling won’t do much good, I think.”

  “Mercy me. We might want to do better surveillance before we go visit many more of your friends.”

  “Let me put a full clip in so I be sure to cover you while you run like the wind,” she said, ignoring my request for better intel.

  “Yeah, bad foot and all. I’ll be running more like a breeze than any wind.”

  I heard the clicking sound of the clip being loaded into the grip, then Starnes yelled, “Go.”

  I headed towards an aging rusty tractor that might have been green once upon a time. It was probably used last some time in the 1950’s. Starnes’ shots caused the shooter from the house to stop and provided me with sufficient time to make it to the rusty machine. I advanced maybe twenty yards closer to the house. I was appreciative of Zeb’s penchant for holding onto his old machine. It made for a good cover.

  I was now on the other side of the red truck and could see Starnes clearly. I watched her take a handkerchief from her pants, tear it in half, and then wrap one half of the torn hanky around her right arm making a tourniquet to curb the blood flow. She then took the other half and wrapped it around the wound directly.

  “You finished playing Clara Barton over there?” I said loud enough for her to hear.

  “Keep it up. He just might nail you yet, you know.”

  “You ready to cover me with fire again?”

  “Which way are you going?” Starnes said.

  “I’m heading towards that small pile of wood near the out building, moving right on a forty-five-degree angle,” I said.

  “You need not be that specific,” she said.

  “You’re the scientist. I was simply speaking your language.”

  “Right. Okay, Batman, let her rip. I’m ready to give you some cover once more.”

  I waited until Starnes started firing and then headed towards the wood pile to my right. A blast landed about ten feet in front of me and to my left causing a mound of dirt to flare up into the side of my head as I was nearing the stacked wood. The cloud of dirt and the suddenness of the explosion caused me to go spread-eagle on the ground as a reflex to the shot. Survival of the fearful, not necessarily the fittest.

  “You shot?” Starnes called out.

  “Just dirty and a bit more cautious now. Thought you said he couldn’t see.”

  “I did, but it might not be Zeb shootin’ at you.”

  “Then who?”

  “Probably Ida, his wife. She’s a better shot than Zeb and can still see.”

  “You could have told me that.”

  “Too much information. You wouldn’t have wanted to move closer to the house.”

  “I didn’t want to move closer to the house in the first place, but since you went all invalid-like on me, I really had no choice, did I?”

  “Whoever is shooting at us is using a small rifle,” Starnes said. “I’m guessing a .410.”

  “You ready to give me some more cover-fire?” I said.

  “Go!” she yelled and I scampered from my prone back position and headed towards the wood pile once more. It was about twenty yards from where I had hit the ground. I could tell that Starnes was shooting close to the window where the shooter was firing from in my direction. But I could tell that Starnes was not shooting directly into the house. She didn’t want to hit either Zeb or Ida or whoever was in there providing this unwelcomed hospitality.

  Once I made it to the wood pile I could easily make it to the side of the out building without Starnes firing another round. I was now about ten to fifteen yards from the corner of the house. Several trees occupied the space between the shooter and me, but I was getting closer now so that accuracy was not something that the shooter had to have in order to nail me. Since Starnes was probably correct about the .410 shotgun being used, close was likely good enough to stop me in my tracks or to cause severe pain or both. Neither of the options available was to my liking.

  I didn’t want to yell out to Starnes and give away whatever keen plan I might devise at this point. It came to me as I was leaning against the gray boards of the out building that Starnes and I should have developed a strategy before I left my initial position. Hindsight, such a wonderful thing, especially when being shot at and trying to avoid death or injury.

  I signaled to Starnes for her to move closer.

  She shook her head. Nothing like arguing from a distance with a wounded scientist and doing it with hand signals. She was much too rational to do anything foolish like running towards the rifle-fire from the house. Instead of moving towards the house and me, Starnes opened fire again in rapid succession. I decided to move to my right and go behind the out building towards the closest tree. An old oak was nearby, having lived there for several generations it appeared. There was a tire swing from its lowest branch on the other side from my position. While Starnes was still firing, I headed towards the oak.

  Once I was safely there, I was now able to see the right side of the house as well the front window through which the rifleman was firing at us. Sure enough a woman was standing there aiming her small weapon towards the old red truck and Starnes’ position.

  Instead of storming the Bastille, I decided to take a more moderating position and try talking to the folks in the house. I was close enough now to do that.

  “Ida?” I called out as if I had known her for years.

  “Who’s that a’callin’ to me?”

  “Clancy Evans,” I said.

  “I don’t know no Clancy Evans. Get off of my land!”

  “We need to talk with you about one of your children,” I said.

  “I don’t know ya and I don’t want ya here. Now git!”

  “I’m afraid that if I start walking back towards the truck, you might shoot me.”

  “Good chance of that,” she said.

  “So how am I going to leave without you shooting me?”

  “Right smart of a problem, huh? I guess you’ll have to take your chances.”

  “No thank you, Ida. I’d just as soon shoot it out with you as to risk you shooting me down as I walked back to the truck to leave.”

  “Who is that out there with you?” Ida called out from the window.

  “Starnes Carver, your neighbor.”

  “Starnes? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. We came together. You shot her and she is nursing her wounds, but at least she’s alive,” I said.

  “Why didn’t ya tell me that Starnes was out there? I’m comin’ out, don’t ya go a’shootin’ me, now, ya hear? I’m puttin’ my rifle down. I ain’t armed. You hear me? If’en ya shoot me down like a dog, it’ll be murder, pure and simple. God’ll get ya for that, too.”

  “Tell me why I should promise not to shoot you when you wouldn’t promise to not shoot me?

  I thought I heard her chuckling at the question.

  “I’m the one ya came here to talk to, right?” Ida said.

  “Indeed.”

  “If ya shoot me, I might not be able to talk with ya too good,” she said.

  “Point taken. Okay, I promise not to shoot. Come on out. You alone?” I said.

  “Zeb’s busy. I’m comin’ out to check on Starnes.”

  A sprite, white-headed woman came walking out of the front door rapidly. She didn’t even look over to my position to see that I had a bead on her. Trusting soul. She had her eye full of business and was headed towards the gate down the long rutted drive where Starnes was still lying prone. I watched Ida Carter gain ground as she moved closer to Starnes. Starnes saw her coming and got up. They met along the drive and Ida hugged her.

  It appeared that we were not going to die on the Carter farm today.

  The two women approached the front of the house as I finally moved from
behind the large oak. My handgun was still in my right hand and aimed at the ground to my right side. I was waiting to holster it just in case Ida Carter might surprise me by pulling out some derringer or other small handgun hidden in her apron pocket. Not likely but not out of the realm of possibilities either. I was still taking notes on the culture of the hills. My years of extreme caution when dealing with people who sport weapons has kept me alive. I have no desire to change my strategy at this juncture.

  “Who’s your friend over there?” Ida said and pointed at me.

  “Clancy Evans.”

  “I got that much. Her name don’t mean a-thing to me, child,” Ida said.

  “She’s from Norfolk,” Starnes continued. “Good friend. Please don’t shoot her.”

  “Land a Goshen, child. If I’da known it wuz you, I wouldn’t a’fired the first shot. Ya should’ve yelled out at me.”

  “Didn’t know you were home, and, besides that, you shot first and hit me right off the bat. Didn’t have a chance to yell except in pain.”

  “I can still hit ’em, ya know. Might be getting’ old, but I can still fire a rifle if need be. You two can’t shoot worth a lick,” she said as she escorted Starnes inside the house. “Shots never even came close to me.”

  I smiled at Starnes knowing that she was about to divulge to Ida that she had no intention of shooting at her. I followed the two women guardedly at a distance as we headed towards the front door. I was holding back to be sure all was safe. I hadn’t seen Zeb as yet and didn’t know if this friendliness of Ida’s might be a ploy on her part. I watched the two women enter the house while I stood about two long strides from the front porch stoop.

  Ida came back out the door and stood on the porch looking at me.

  “Ya comin’ inside, lady?”

  “If you promise not to shoot me.”

  “Don’t do nothin’ to provoke me and I won’t be a’shootin’ ya,” she said.

  “Is that the promise I get?”

  “That’d be the most of it,” she said.

  “I’ll do my best not to provoke you.”

  Some relationships seem a bit harder to develop.

  15

  The house, what I could see of it, was clean and orderly. Old furniture and furnishings lined the walls and spaces where one might expect to find such. A handmade curio cabinet sat in the corner on the right just inside the front door. It was full of pigs, all shapes, sizes, and colors. One was wearing sunglasses lying in a lounge with a tiny umbrella next to its relaxed position.

  The couch in front of the archway that led to the next room had a dark green throw over it hiding whatever color it might have been at the beginning of its life. A purple chair was to the left of the couch near the window on that side of the living room. A couple of cane backed chairs sat upright facing towards the outside at the front window. One of them was in the middle of the window while the other was off center to the right side. I suspected that it was Ida the gunman’s position while firing at us. Seated and firing at whoever was dumb enough to approach unannounced.

  I followed Ida and Starnes through the open archway. She pointed to a chair at the wooden dining room table for Starnes to sit. Ida moved to the left and entered the kitchen.

  “You can sit at the table as well, Clancy Evans,” Ida said from the kitchen. Her voice was stern but without a hint of anger or other emotion. I got the clear feeling that this was her house and she was in charge of it.

  I could hear water running. Soon Ida appeared entering the dining room with a large bowl full of water and a wash rag. A towel had been thrown over her left shoulder. She put the bowl in front of Starnes and sat down opposite us facing the front door.

  “Ida,” a graveled voice echoed softly from somewhere else in the house.

  “You take care of Starnes,” Ida said to me, handing me the wash rag and towel. “I need to tend to Zeb.”

  She left us.

  I removed Starnes’ field dressing on her right arm. The bleeding had almost stopped. “Worse than I thought,” I said.

  Starnes looked at the wound and then at me.

  “I’ll probably live,” she said.

  I cleaned the wound with the water and wrapped it with the towel that Ida had given me.

  “Need some type of antiseptic,” I said.

  “I’ll get ya something,” Ida said as she walked back into the dining area.

  “You have any peroxide?” I asked.

  “No, but I got some White Magic. It’ll kill any germs known to mankind,” she said and chuckled to herself.

  She was gone just a minute or so, returned with a quart canning jar filled with a clear liquid. A piece of white paper was taped to the side of the quart jar with the words White Magic printed on it in large, black letters. Underneath the name, there were four X’s. The line between humor and truth was thin here.

  “Just pour it on the wound and no drinkin’,” she said. “I’m watchin’ ya.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said and removed the lid.

  I held Starnes’ injured arm over the bowl of water and poured a small amount of liquid over the deep gash. Starnes grimaced.

  “Damn,” Starnes said.

  “Cures most things around here,” Ida said.

  “Or kills them,” Starnes added.

  “Cud,” Ida said. “That’s why I put them four x’s on the side of the jar. I think three of ’em mean poison. This stuff is a little more stronger than most poisons. You gonna live?”

  “No thanks to you,” Starnes said. “Why are you still shooting at people? Been having issues with neighbors?”

  “Don’t trust anybody these days. Times are hard.”

  “Times have always been hard, just don’t remember you shootin’ before you found out who you were shooting at,” Starnes said.

  “Been married to old Zeb too long, I reckon. Takin’ up his ways,” Ida chuckled.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” Starnes said while I wrapped her arm with some clean, shredded rags that Ida had provided.

  “Wiley Ponder’s been bothering my boy Roscoe Bean of late.”

  “Thought Roscoe got married and moved out,” Starnes said.

  “He did, just didn’t move too far. His house is on up the holler, about a quarter of a mile.”

  “At the trail head,” Starnes smiled.

  “Yeah, the trail head, where you’inses used to roam about,” she said. “Now pour another smidgen on that bandage,” she nodded with her head as she gave me orders.

  I obeyed and Starnes groaned again.

  “It should keep the infection out,” I said trying to offer some solace.

  “Or destroy most of the tissue inside my arm,” Starnes replied. “Who made this mash?”

  “I did. Ya know I don’t trust anyone else to make my liquor. Besides, had this family recipe for years. Old Granny McAdams gave it to me after she taught me how to fix it. Best stuff ever. Clean and wholesome.”

  “Wholesome?” Starnes said with a heavy dose of skepticism obvious in her voice.

  “Hope so,” I said to Ida.

  “Don’t worry none, young lady. I been usin’ this as a remedy for all ailments for more than fifty years. Raised seven kids and one old coot of a husband with it. Some things ya just rely on.”

  “I think we might need to have a doctor look at this, Starnes,” I said. The blood was coming through my triple bandage. The gash caused by the glancing shot was deeper than I had at first suspected. “You might need some stitches.”

  “Ida, you have any old cotton balls lying around? We could wrap it tighter. That’ll stop the bleeding,” Starnes said.

  Ida left us without a word.

  “Can’t go to a doctor,” Starnes whispered to me. “Might get Ida in trouble.”

  “You’re gonna keep losing blood, pass out, and then I’m the one driving us around this county looking for a hospital.”

  “Won’t need to do that. Asheville’s the closest.”

  I rai
sed my eyebrows and started to say something else. Starnes raised her left hand, pointed her index finger at me and pretended to shoot.

  “Can’t go there either,” Starnes said, exasperated with me.

  “So what’s the plan? I watch you bleed to death here on the edge of the world?”

  “Ain’t the edge,” Ida said as she returned with the cotton balls. “But ya can see the edge from here.”

  She smiled at me for the first time as she plopped an old jelly glass down between Starnes and me. She saw the question in my eyes before I had a chance to articulate it.

  “Time to pour her a drink. Needs some of that inside now. Outside has had enough,” Ida said to me as she left once more.

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Preparing for surgery,” Starnes said as she motioned to the canning jar with her right index finger. “Fill half the glass. I can’t drink more than that.”

  “Are you crazy?” I said.

  “Like she said, she’s been using this stuff for more than fifty years. I’ve seen her sew up gashes deeper than this. Nothing that lady can’t do.”

  I reluctantly poured the clear liquid from the jar into the old jelly glass.

  “I think you are out of your mind,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said between gulps, “but the thing is…”

  Ida came back into the room with a large sewing needle and some coarse looking thread. I stared at her with great skepticism.

  “The thing is what?” I said to Starnes.

  “I trust her,” she said as she downed the last drop of her half-filled jelly glass. She then leaned her back and sighed.

  “I’m dizzy,” Starnes said and closed her eyes.

  “Good,” Ida said as she threaded the needle and unwrapped Starnes’ arm.

  Ten minutes later, the White Magic had run its full effect on my friend Starnes Carver. She was semi-conscious but lost somewhere in a nether world of dreams and illusions.

  There was a permanent smile fixed upon her face when Ida Carter began surgery. I’m not a squeamish person when it comes to injuries and blood and stuff like that. But watching some mountain woman sew up a deep gash with a sewing needle was not on my to-do list for today. I left the room and silently prayed that Ida Carter knew what she was doing.