Sweet Maybelle. He hoped she could find another husband someday. She was gorgeous, kind, and a delight to be around. But for now, she still grieved, even more than he did. However good life might be at this moment, they had gone through hell to get there.
He pulled open a restaurant door and stepped into the cool, looking around. He spotted Maybelle, Imajean, and Jeshua in a booth near the rear, looking over the menus. Imajean had been staying with Maybelle and her family for the summer, and they were back. Man, he’d missed his little girl!
Imajean saw him, and her face lit up. She scooted out of the booth before Maybelle could stop her and ran toward him. Roscoe scooped her up, smothering her cheeks and neck with loud smacky kisses. She squirmed but hugged him tight. Roscoe set her down and did a fake pant and grab at his back. “My, you have grown this summer. Getting heavy.”
“Stop it, Daddy!” She shoved at him, then slid into the booth.
He joined them. “I’m glad to see y’all too.”
Maybelle actually smiled. “She really missed you this summer.”
“Maybe!” Imajean tried her best to look grown up. At twelve, she did a pretty good imitation of it, which made Roscoe’s heart ache a little more than he expected.
“Thank you for bringing her back. I could have come got her.”
Maybelle shrugged. “I wanted to see your folks. I don’t want to lose touch, especially for Jeshua’s sake.”
Roscoe peered at his nephew. The boy who’d once pulled Imajean’s hair and chased her with lizards had turned sullen and withdrawn since his father’s death. Maybelle acknowledged the silent observation with a nod. “It’s a journey. For all of us.”
The server appeared at their table, and they ordered. The conversation moved to summer fun, movies, and school plans. Imajean started the seventh grade in two weeks; Jeshua the eighth. They avoided the topics of William, Juanita, and the events of 1984. Roscoe and Maybelle both seemed to recognize the need to move forward.
Roscoe paid the bill, and as they walked out, Maybelle touched him on the arm. “Can you walk us to the car? I have something for you.”
At her late-model sedan, Maybelle told the kids to get in the back, and she pulled a wooden box from the front seat and set it on the trunk of the car with a thunk. The size of a large boot box, it was made from unfinished pine and had a hinged lid. From the way Maybelle hefted it, the box had a lot of weight to it.
She glanced around before explaining. “I found this in some of William’s things. It took me a long time to start sorting through them.”
“Believe me, Maybelle. I understand.”
She touched his arm. “I know you do. It had a letter taped to the top addressed to me, containing instructions to give it to you without opening it. He said that it was his insurance and that you’d know what to do with it.” She paused, chewing briefly on her lower lip. “I opened it.”
“Natural curiosity.”
“Maybe. But before you look at it, please know that I did not touch anything inside it. Nothing, not even the inside of the box. To tell you the truth, this terrified me.”
Before Roscoe could gather his thoughts about that last statement, Maybelle lifted the lid. There, nestled deep within bunched rolls of velvet, lay four metal blocks, each neatly engraved with the images of US currency. The two on the left were the front and back of the ten-dollar bill. On the right were the front and back of the twenty-dollar bill.
Roscoe placed his hand on hers and slowly closed the lid.
Maybelle licked her lower lip. “So they are what I think they are?”
He nodded.
Her voice trembled. “Then can you get them as far away from us as you can? Not just you and me, but the kids too. And your folks.”
Roscoe latched the box and clutched it to his body. “I will. I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Roscoe stepped back to the sidewalk and watched her drive away. He headed back to the shop, walking slowly, as if he were carrying lighted sticks of dynamite. Because, in essence, he was.
CHAPTER FORTY
Gadsden, Alabama, Present Day
ALTHOUGH WE KNEW the Pineville grapevine would have spread the news of my kidnapping and salvation by now, Mike and I decided to play everything close to the chest. He left the hospital, with his first stop at the sheriff’s office in Carterton. He’d heard good things about the man in charge, and we had to trust that Ellis Patton’s reach had not encompassed that side of the county.
The hospital wanted to keep me overnight for observation, and I used the time to make some calls. I started by updating Darius, as well as warning him that we might be about to open up the counterfeiting case again. I also thanked him for being persistent when our previous call went crazy.
“I’m just glad I was the one on the phone.”
“Me too. So you think you can stir some interest up in the case?”
His voice shifted from friend to agent, and most of the Texas accent vanished. “The unsolved murder of an agent? A counterfeiting cold case? I had people standing at my desk before I finished the first search on Alex Trawler. They’re chomping at the bit. Are you sure there are other bodies where they found you?”
“Darius, at least three people have told me that I didn’t understand how many people had died over this. How many people had vanished. If those aren’t graves, they have a serious mole problem down here. You ever see an abandoned graveyard? Or an archaeological burial site?”
He hesitated a moment. “I’ve seen killing fields.”
“Like undulating waves on a lake, frozen in time.”
“No more dropping your guard, Star.”
“Not even here in the hospital.”
“I’ll see what I can stir up. How long before Mike can get the dogs down there?”
“A couple of days. There aren’t many around here, and the ones who are stay pretty busy. He thinks the county sheriff is on the up and up. He’s going to ask him to go after the warrants. And he’ll be the one to call you or the FBI for help.”
“The more the merrier?”
“I was thinking more like there’s safety in numbers. If all goes according to plan, he should call you later today.”
“Keep me posted if he doesn’t.”
I then called Gran to let her know that everything was OK. Mike had called her as soon as they’d found me, but he’d not given her any of the details. I hesitated to tell her about the trailer, at least until we knew for sure what had become of it. I fully expected it to be in some ravine halfway between here and Chattanooga, but no need to deliver the bad news until it was finalized. So I just assured her I would be out the next day and all was well.
“Hmm. I don’t believe you.”
“Gran …”
“Don’t you ‘Gran’ me, young lady. Your police person was a mess when I talked to him.”
“He’s not my police—”
“Just hush. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
“Gran …”
“And I’m bringing chicken and dumplings.”
My stomach growled. “Well, if you insist.”
She laughed, a sound that was good for my soul. “See you soon, sugar.”
“Don’t speed.” My eighty-year-old grandmother had a lead foot.
“Will do my best.”
My stomach rumbled again. After twenty-four hours with nothing but broth and toast, her chicken and dumplings sounded like the world’s greatest panacea. I laid my head back on the pillows and closed my eyes, more exhausted than I wanted to admit. Even with the IV fluids and a bit of nutrition, my brain still felt a little scrambled, my muscles weak and prone to cramps. I hurt all over, and I had avoided mirrors since I’d been admitted. The concussion had left me with a dull headache and nausea if I moved too quickly.
All of it a hard reminder that I wasn’t the young rookie anymore. I couldn’t “take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’,” as the old slogan went. “Lord,” I wh
ispered, “aren’t cold cases supposed to be mostly research and conversations? Uncovering old secrets?”
Then again, some people would kill to keep their old secrets buried.
“Star?”
The soft voice from the door was gentle and familiar. I opened my eyes to see Imajean in the doorway. I straightened and pushed myself up against the pillows. “Imajean. Please come in.”
She did, bringing with her a large canvas tote bag. She wore a trim navy-blue pantsuit with a pink blouse. A navy-and-pink scarf delicately circled her neck, accenting the matching earrings. “I don’t want to disturb you. Were you sleeping?”
“No. Praying, I think.”
She smiled. “Definitely not something I want to interrupt.”
I motioned for her to sit in the chair closest to my bed. “No worries. God and I aren’t on particularly good terms anyway. I’m definitely one of his errant children.”
“Aren’t we all?” She sat, placing the bag on the floor next to her, although she didn’t turn loose of the handles.
“Probably. How did you find me?”
“After I got your voicemail, I kept trying to call back. It went straight to voicemail, so by this morning, I knew something was wrong. I called the police department first. When they wouldn’t tell me anything, I called the museum.”
“Ah. Betsy and Claudia know all.”
“Always have.” Imajean paused, her mouth tightening into a slight frown. “They also said to give you a message. Something about finding the keys?”
That sparked a fire in my brain. “They found the keys?”
“Something like that. Betsy said she’d call you later.”
“Excellent.” I tried to tamp down my excitement, but it wasn’t easy.
Imajean obviously saw it. “This is good news?”
“Probably the best we’ve had in a while.”
“I doubt that.”
I stared at her. “Why would you say that?”
She gestured at the tote bag. “Because my guess is that I’m carrying the best news you’ve had in a while.”
I looked from her face to the bag and back, feeling oddly wary. “How so?”
She leaned back in the chair, finally letting the handles drop. She loosened the scarf around her neck, then rested her hands in her lap, one on top of the other. “Star, my father changed after he saw you the first time in the drugstore. It’s almost as if he’d been dormant, waiting to die. All of a sudden, he came alive again. He’d been living with us since he had his first stroke two years ago, and most of the things he’d kept from his house were in a walk-in closet. He started going through some of it, organizing it. He got Charles to show him how to use our computer. He asked me about you, some of the oddest questions, like if anyone at church had any run-ins with you. That kind of thing.”
Ah. “Like he was investigating me.”
“Exactly. That’s when we talked about the letter boxes, and I insisted he put them in a safe-deposit box. He did, along with some other things he thought were valuable.” She glanced down a moment, her lips pursed. When she looked back up at me, her eyes glistened. “After he died—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “After he died, I wanted to know why he had … what had spurred him on so. I went to the bank and got those letters—”
“I still think that they are vital—”
“And I found something else. He had also put this in the safe-deposit box. At first I thought it was old coins he’d colleced, but these were taped to the top of it.” She reached down in the bag and pulled out two envelopes. “He obviously wrote these once he decided to talk to you.”
“Why is it obvious?”
“They’re both typed, printed from our computer. One is for me. And one is for you.” She looked out the window, silent, and this time I just waited. She brushed tears from the corners of her eyes and focused on me again. “Star, Daddy knew that if he talked to you, there was a great chance he’d be killed. He knew that. What happened is not on you. I know that now. He chose this path, and he walked it decidedly and with courage.”
“From what I’ve seen and heard, your father was one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”
She nodded. “More than you can imagine.” She stood up and handed me one of the envelopes.
I opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Star,
I had hoped to hand these to you in person. Since that was not possible, I’m asking Imajean to do it for me. Please get these to the proper folks. I don’t want Imajean to do that, because I don’t want her more involved than she already is. She was a child when all this went down, and I guess we always see our kids as kids, not adults able to handle our affairs.
Don’t touch them. I’m sure they’ve been handled, and I’m hoping they will bear the appropriate fingerprints. If so, they will be all the evidence you need to blow this all wide open.
I’m sorry about what happened to your grandmother and father. If my father and I could have stopped it, we would have. But we didn’t act quickly enough in light of the poison that has soiled this entire town. I hope you will forgive us. And I hope you will finally bring the healing to Pineville that it’s needed for more than three generations.
God bless you.
Roscoe Carver
I folded the paper slowly and returned it to the envelope. I looked at Imajean and nodded. “What’s in the bag?”
She picked up the bag and stood, setting it on the end of my bed with the opening toward her. The weight of it pressed down on the mattress, and I shifted my feet away from it. She reached in and slid out a wooden box about fifteen inches square and six inches deep. She brought it up and rested it on my lap, my eyes widening as it pressed hard on my thighs. It had to weigh close to twenty pounds. She nodded at me, and I slipped the latch open and lifted the top.
Time stopped. So did my heart. I stared, captured by the exquisite craftsmanship … and the overpowering impact of what we had. Fear speared through me in a way that almost froze me to the bed. Finally, I blinked and closed the lid slowly. I latched it and looked at Imajean’s face. My first words were hoarse, choked, and I had to stop to clear my throat.
“Have you … have you looked in this box?”
She nodded.
I pushed it toward her. “Please take this, now, without stopping, to the sheriff’s office in Carterton. Don’t stop. Just get there as fast as you can. I will text Mike and tell him it’s coming.”
She lifted the box and slid it back in the bag. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. You cannot keep it now that you know what it is. We certainly cannot leave it here. Don’t say anything about it except that you found it in your father’s stuff after he died. Don’t let them press you for more information.”
She scowled. “I don’t have any other information.”
“I know. They don’t.”
Understanding cleared her eyes. “Ah.” She picked up the tote bag. “Now?”
“Now. We’ll talk about the other boxes later.”
She left, and I sent Mike a frantic text, then a second one to Darius. The replies snapped back almost immediately. On it, from Mike. Will call sheriff back, from Darius.
“Back?” I whispered, then smiled. Darius, always skilled at sending two messages in one. I put my phone on the tray table, and my door opened again.
“Halloo? I come bearing good food and good company!” Gran stuck her head around the edge of the door.
“Come in! I could use some of both.”
She pushed the door, then faced me, skidding to a halt as she saw my face. Her mouth dropped open.
“I know I must not look very pretty …” Neither Mike nor Imajean had such a reaction to my appearance.
“Pretty?” she whispered. “Half your face is purple. Both your eyes are black.”
“That probably explains the headache.”
“Oh, Star …”
I held up a hand. “Gran, please don’t. You’ve seen me looking worse.�
�
“Not since Tony.”
“No. Don’t go there.”
Gran sniffed, then set an oversized Laura Ashley bag on the chair. “So what else hurts?”
“Mostly my head. They hit me on the back of it, and I landed on my face. That’s why I’m half purple.”
“Mostly. Right.” Gran pulled a small slow cooker from the bag, placed it in the center of the bedside table, and plugged it in. “It’s only been unplugged an hour, so it should heat up quickly.” She returned to the bag and pulled a small leather case out and held it toward me.
This time it was my mouth that dropped. I snatched the bag from her grip. “Gran! What are you doing? How did you even get in here with this?”
She waved away my concern. “This isn’t some big urban medical center. The only metal detector is in the ER.”
“I’m in the hospital just for tonight. I don’t need my gun.”
“If you’d had your gun, you might not be in the hospital.”
“Or I might be dead.”
“This is why you need someone to take care of you.”
“Not anytime soon. I’m too stubborn and independent.”
“Which is why you need the gun.”
This was definitely going nowhere. I tucked the case under my thigh. I’d find someplace to hide it later. “I thought you said God would take care of me.”
She lowered her head, her eyes narrow. “Don’t make light of God’s protection. He doesn’t keep you from making foolish choices. But he does help you get through them.” Gran pulled bowls and spoons from the bag, put them next to the slow cooker, then shoved the bag under the bed.
I suddenly pictured a tuxedo cat picking its way through dead leaves. Thank you, Lord, for your help. “Sometimes he even sends a cat.”
Gran stilled. “A cat?” As I told her about the odd appearance of the tuxedo cat in the woods, she pulled the chair close to the bed, sat, and reached for my hand. “I knew there was a reason for that weird gift you have with cats.”
Burying Daisy Doe Page 23
