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

by M. Glenn Graves

  “You want to go talk with Aunt Jo and see if she was pulling our legs?” I said.

  “Aunt Jo’s not given to that type of humor. She’s always been a straight shooter. Candor is her byword. I’m just having a hard time believing the gist of the tale. You didn’t have questions?”

  “We had lots of questions,” Rosey said. “And we asked them. She gave us the answers, too. I think she was telling us the truth. Why would she lie about such a thing?”

  Starnes was silent while she sipped her glass full of dark, cold liquid. She was thinking, mulling over our fantastic revelation.

  “And this your bonafide clue?” she finally said to us.

  “Partly,” Rosey said. “The fact that K.C. raises large dogs that are mixed breeds, mixed with coyotes, the fact that she might have been raised by coyotes for a few years …,” he watched Starnes’ reaction as she raised her index finger and shook it from side to side. She started to say something so Rosey continued before she could object. “… Let me finish. Give us the benefit here. As fantastic as it sounds, it’s worth checking out. She has some connection with animals, this K.C. Higgins person, and she might be able to help us track down whatever it is that is out there killing people.”

  Starnes was thinking as she continued to sit in silence drinking her beverage.

  “We can check in to it, but I still think you two are absolutely out of your minds for believing such a tale. Wait till I see Aunt Jo and talk with her. In the meantime, we can go over and see K.C. Higgins tomorrow. Maybe she will verify this wild story. Maybe not. It will be interesting to see what she says.”

  “Interesting may not be the half of it,” I said as I left the room to go find something to drink myself.

  43

  When I walked onto the front porch early the next morning with my second cup of coffee, I was surprised to see Rosey sitting on the top step staring into the fog that covered the valley and as well as the mountains surrounding us. Visibility was better today than yesterday. One could see a good hundred yards on this cheery morning. It is also much cooler than the last few days. Winter might yet show her frigidness.

  “You’re up early,” I said as I sat down next to him.

  “Wonder who painted those cups and saucers that Josephine used with us yesterday?” he said.

  “Good question.”

  “She’s talented enough to have painted them, right?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but the woman does have some creative genes flowing around in her body.”

  “I’m thinking she painted those cups to preserve the story of K.C.’s arrival in her life,” he said.

  “Okay, go with that. What are you thinking?”

  “Those weren’t coyotes painted on the cups and saucers.”

  “Really? I guess I hadn’t paid … wait a minute. They were wolves and she said as much.”

  “Hold on there. I don’t recall her discussing the details of the drawing, only the colors she had selected for the three of us. We were the ones who deduced that it was a wolf’s head,” Rosey said. “At least that’s what you said to me later, after we left her home.”

  “Okay, but we can agree that it was not the head of a coyote, so maybe she didn’t draw it or paint it, and she actually bought it somewhere because she liked it,” I said.

  “And it represented some proximity to a story that was significant in her life,” Rosey said.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Where are we going with this?”

  “Not sure. I’m just askin’ some questions, ma’am. Trying to think aloud, you know. Wondering. You have some strange, new acquaintances here in the mountains.”

  “Do, don’t I?”

  Rogers called by the time I was downing my third or fourth cup of coffee. I had lost count with my mental preoccupation about Aunt Jo and K.C. Higgins as well as the horrible deaths we were investigating. The fog was slowly moving out, but still covered the higher mountains around us. Visibility was now about three hundred yards, give or take.

  “I found something connecting K.C. Higgins and K.C. Starling, if you’re still interested,” she began without any greeting. Typical of her installed type A personality which my Uncle Walters had insisted upon for the sake of expediency. Brusqueness, notwithstanding.

  “Of course I’m interested. What’d you find?”

  “I found two elementary class photos – one for the fifth grade in 1983 and a copy of the one you found from 1984. I utilized the roster I had discovered earlier for the 1984 photo to identify a face that also appeared in the 1983 class photo. It was that K.C. Starling person you were checking on.”

  “Why did you need the ’84 photo and roster to identify that K.C. Starling girl?” I asked.

  “She must have had a growth spurt between photographs. She was not as tall in 1983. So height alone could not assist me. However, facial recognition did. The tall girl in ’84 had the same face as the shorter child in ’83.”

  “That means our timeline fits,” I said.

  “It does indeed. K.C. Starling was in the sixth grade in 1984.”

  “And would have been the tall child marked out on the photograph we discovered, correct?”

  “Yes. Kewtie Cecilia Starling was the tall child who had been scratched out of the photo you found in Dottie Higgins’ hidden treasure trove. Begs a question or two,” she said.

  “Yeah, it does. We need to talk with someone who was around back then. Someone who might know what was going on in that class,” I said.

  “To be sure. I doubt if there is any official record out there for me to find concerning pre-adolescent turmoil among fifth and sixth grade school kids.”

  “I marvel at your insight.”

  “You shouldn’t. I remain the same at all times. Brilliant and diligent.”

  “Humble, too.”

  “Humility is not a virtue for my kind of intelligence.”

  “No question about that. So, O Wise One, do you have any name to throw my way regarding someone who might have insight into that 1984 class?”

  “Try Mrs. Eula Robertson. She was the teacher, as you might recall.”

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly, not really recalling that name. “I remember seeing a female teacher in the photo with the last name of Robertson. I don’t think we had the name Eula listed. And, as I recall, that figure in the photo was an older woman back in 1984.”

  “Good memory. It is Eula, in fact. Eula Robertson. She’s presently 94 and alive in McAdams Manor, just outside of Athens. Bright, alert, but confined to a wheelchair. She’ll be expecting you today.”

  “You called ahead,” I said.

  “Like any good office manager. Your appointment with her is for 10:30 this morning. Anything much later than that, you will likely interfere with bingo and lunch. Don’t be late.”

  Rogers clicked off and I was left to inform Rosey of our scheduled visit with Eula Robertson. We had plenty of time to mull over any intended strategy by the time Starnes called us inside to breakfast. It was close to eight o’clock. The fog was still heavy in the higher elevations but appeared to be lifting. Perhaps that was a fitting metaphor, but I really don’t get my hopes up about things like that. Investigations are more like a roller coaster ride than any other metaphor I might construe.

  We enlightened Starnes as to the information Rogers had laid on us from the earlier conversation while we dined on pancakes, sausage, and some McAdams County honey from last year. I was beginning to think that it was a toss-up between Rosey and Starnes as to which one was the better cook.

  “Let’s split up to save some time,” Starnes said after she finished her one and only stack of three pancakes.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” I said to her.

  “A girl has to watch her figure.”

  “Why?” I said.

  She cut her eyes at me with faux anger in them.

  “You don’t like men. Why the maintenance on your shape?” I said.

  “Vanity.”

  “O
h, that. So, you’re going to see K.C. Higgins alone?” I said.

  “You fear for my life?”

  “Not really. It’s just that she’s such a strange character. I’m not worried about you. Maybe you should take both dogs, just in case.”

  “Right. Both dogs piled on top of each other would still make less than one of hers. So explain to me just how is it that Sam and Dog are going to be any assistance to me if trouble happens.”

  “Sam might not be the size of her pets, but, the truth is, Sam’s a tenacious Lab when it comes to protecting those he loves.”

  “Maybe you, but I don’t think Sam loves me,” she said.

  I called Sam over and gave him half of my second sausage patty.

  “Sam, my love, go show Starnes that you love her too,” I ordered him.

  Sam moved quickly to Starnes’ chair, put both of his front paws on her lap, and began licking her face.

  “Stop, stop. I get it.”

  Sam jumped down and moved to his water bowl for a drink.

  “He understands English, that’s all. I think his charming demeanor is a front for his love of all things edible. I provide him food, nothing more. And licks do not a love connection make.”

  “You offend my friend,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll take him with me,” she said finally.

  “And Dog, too?” Rosey said, laughing.

  “Dog would be worthless in a fight, but he can ride along. I doubt if they see any action at any rate. Perhaps I shall deceive myself into thinking that there is strength in number.”

  “That would be three to three, I think,” I said.

  “Balance,” she said.

  44

  Rosey drove Starnes’ truck since the dogs were going with Starnes. She took my Jeep so the dogs would have more room on the inside of a vehicle instead of riding in a truck bed. Starnes’ truck was a straight-drive and I didn’t like it that much. I was taught to drive a straight shift vehicle by my father, but I had been spoiled for most of my life by owning automatic transmissions.

  McAdams Manor was an older care facility that had both a nursing unit as well as what is commonly referred to as an assisted living section. It also had several beds designated for patients who needed some rehabilitation without a permanent residence. The facility was built in the late 80’s and was in need of some serious refurbishing. Still, all things considered, it was a good place to live if a person needed it. The way things were going in our culture, what with people living longer and all, it was, for me, a necessary evil. Perhaps evil was the operative word for me.

  Despite the attempt to keep the place decent and clean, I thought calling it a manor was a little too ironic. The exception to that irony would be if they had actually named it after some fifteen-hundred-year-old Scottish castle which was nothing more than a pile of stones with a moat around it.

  The volunteer at the reception desk pointed us down a long hall with a couple of turns that allowed us to find the self-managed care unit. Eula Robertson, despite her tender age of 94, was still able to dress, feed, and take herself to the bathroom as needed. I hoped that I could do as much if I lived to be that age.

  The room was empty when we arrived. The door was open, so we entered. Perhaps she was hiding under the bed.

  The toilet flushed behind a closed door. Aha. She was home, just busy.

  We waited a few minutes, the door opened, and out wheeled this still attractive woman with salt and pepper hair. I was thinking it would have been solid white and thin by her age. I was wrong on both counts. Thick with color splashed around, but, I must say it was rather unruly. She could definitely use a permanent if not a good washing and combing.

  “Don’t let the hair scare you folks. I missed my turn in the beautician cycle. They’ll get around to me sooner or later. In the meantime, it keeps the orderlies at bay. Only the strongest come in to see me. Those other wimps seem to have this notion that I’m a fierce individual despite my usual habitation in this chair during my waking hours.”

  She laughed. Rosey smiled at me and pointed to a chair in the corner.

  “One of you needs to sit on the bed. They don’t have a lot of furniture in these rooms. Besides that, I seldom get a lot of company. Most of my peers or friends are dead. Some students are still alive, but most of them don’t come around to see their old teacher. Please, sit.”

  I took the corner chair and Rosey sat on the edge at the end of the bed. Eula wheeled herself between the two of us.

  “Now, who are you and what do you want?”

  “Clancy,” I said pointing to myself. “That is Rosey,” I gestured in his direction.

  “Okay, Clancy and Rosey. Interesting names. Once knew a Clancy. He was a real hell raiser. Can’t say I’ve ever had a Rosey in my life. Like that name, though.”

  “Thank you,” Rosey said.

  “You two got last names?” she said.

  “Washington, ma’am,” he said. “Hers is Evans.”

  “So you’re not married.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Can’t assume those things. Not anymore. So, what’s the occasion for this visit?”

  “What do you remember about the class you taught in 1984?” I said.

  “You’re kiddin’ me, right?” she said “Hand me that large, plastic thingy with a straw. I’m thirsty.”

  I handed her the large, plastic thingy with the straw and she sipped for at least a minute or more. She handed it back to me when she had finished her long draw.

  “Fill that, please,” she said.

  I looked around, spotted the sink, and filled her oversized cup with more water. There was a little ice still in it, but not too much.

  “You want some more ice?” I said.

  “Naw, that’s good for now. I’ll get one of the fearless orderlies to get some for me when they come by to check in a few minutes. They always are glad when I ask them to run an errand. Keeps them away from me and outta my room, outta my life, sort of. Works for all of us.”

  She smiled and sipped more water. I sat back down in my corner chair.

  “Wow, 1984. That’s a few years back. Can you be more specific about this class? I don’t remember years as much as I remember students.”

  “You had a class with Randall Lee Carter, Rufus Ramsey, Dottie Higgins, and maybe a girl named K.C. Starling in it that year,” I said to her.

  She froze. It was a noticeable reaction. I watched her closely as she stared at me, then she stared at Rosey. The freeze didn’t last long.

  “I recall that class. My, oh my … that poor little Rufus Ramsey. The year before he was in my class there was that terrible accident that killed his family. He was the only one spared. I don’t recall why Rufus wasn’t in that truck with them, but he was saved. I reckon you could call it being saved. He lost his entire family, father and mother, and his three siblings. Horrible, just horrible.”

  “I read about that,” I said, referring to the newspaper clipping I had found in Rufus’ cabin.

  “Yeah, it was in all the papers. Poor little Rufus.”

  “Can you tell us anything you recall about your class in 1984?” I said.

  “I surely can. It started off okay, but then after a month or so of school, the principal came to me and asked if he could combine classes. Had a sixth grade teacher get sick and leave, so I agreed to take in the sixth graders. Blended class. For the most part, it was a successful kind of merger. Unusual for that era to do such a thing, but, in our little school, it seemed to work out. But close to Christmas and our break, as I recall, there was an incident.”

  She paused in her tale and wheeled herself over to the door. She shut it with some force. The door was heavy enough not to make a loud sound when it closed despite her thrust. She wheeled back to her middle position between us.

  “Some of the kids made fun of that K.C. Starling kid. Teased her a lot. I stopped them when I heard it or saw it happening, but I don’t think I heard or saw everything. It was bad. At firs
t she cried a lot. But, funny thing about that, she never came to me for either solace or help. She simply endured it. I saw it, sometimes heard it, and that’s when I would act on her behalf. Never did she come and seek my protection. She just took it.”

  I was wondering why she had closed the door.

  “Then one day she didn’t take it anymore. One of the boys, I don’t remember his name, but it wasn’t Rufus or Randall, … another child, a boy, he was teasing her and she bit him.”

  “Bit him,” I repeated.

  “Yeah. As I recall he had to have several stitches. Mother of the boy was anything but pleased. I tried to tell her that her son was provoking K.C., but it did no good. She threatened to involve the sheriff, the principal, and the school board. Threatened me even. Said I was an unfit teacher. Probably true, but she was just a bag of wind. Never did follow through.”

  “What were the kids teasing K.C. about?”

  “That’s a good question. They teased her about everything. She was tall for her age and, as I seem to remember now, not only was she tall when the classes merged, but she kept growing taller. And, she was a strange child. Didn’t talk much. She tried to enter the playground games, you know. But she never got the hang of what they were doing. She would run and jump with the best of them. In fact, she could run faster than any child on the playground. But when she got excited by whatever she was doing, she would make strange noises.”

  “What kind of strange noises?”

  “The kind that cause children to tease you.”

  “Can you explain that?” Rosey said.

  “Yeah, I can, but you won’t believe me. I told the principal and he laughed at me. I told some of my colleagues, fellow teachers, the ones I was close to, and they laughed at me as well. Apparently I was the only one who heard the noises, besides my students. I stopped talking about it with my colleagues, stopped talking about it altogether with anyone, and simply did my best to help K.C. survive that year.”

  “What did it sound like, the noise she made?”