“I’ll do it, but I won’t be able to help him. I don’t speak dog. And speaking of dogs, you do know that Higginbottom’s new SUV is still sitting in front of my house?”
“Oh my, I forgot all about that. Charles and I drove you to the airport, didn’t we? Are you using it?”
“I don’t have a key. I’m not sure what’ll happen with it. I’m tempted to have it towed away, but something keeps me from doing that.”
“Are you hoping he’ll come back?” Sarah asked.
“Good grief, no!” Sophie bellowed. “I don’t want to ever see that man again. What an loser he turned out to be.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked gently.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was trying to make a silk purse out of the proverbial sow’s ear. That man was one sow’s ear for sure!” she added with a chuckle. “But it was fun dreaming. …”
Sarah had enjoyed seeing Sophie in her playful, flirtation mode and hoped she wouldn’t give up on the idea of having a man in her life. She clearly enjoyed the attention and being part of a couple.
“So, when are you coming home?” Sophie asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Soon. I hope soon.”
Charles had spent the morning at Mickelson 900B and was on his way back down the steep mountain road. He realized he was no closer to finding Richard Abernathy than he was when he arrived. He knew where the man had been working; he knew when he supposedly left the work site. But where did he go? Assuming, of course, he ever left. His meeting with Stevenson and the project manager went nowhere, but he had to admit that he was inclined to believe them. “He simply drove away,” Stevenson had said. “How would I know where he was headed?”
Charles drove directly to Beaver Creek sheriff’s office, introduced himself, and asked to see the deputy in charge. A few minutes later, a pudgy man in rumpled work clothes emerged from a back room and greeted Charles.
“What can we do for you, detective?” he said extending a grease-stained hand but didn’t offer his name. Noticing that Charles looked perplexed, he added, “Sorry about the attire. It’s my day off, but I’m in here trying to deal with a plumbing problem. You know anything about toilets?”
“Not much,” Charles responded, hoping to avoid having their meeting in the bathroom. “I’m looking for someone, and I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me.”
“Doing skip traces are you?”
“Not exactly. I’m looking for a man who left his worksite up at Mickelson’s and never arrived home. …”
The man frowned. “Mickelson’s, huh? Have you talked to them?”
Wanting to stay on this man’s good side, he refrained from pointing out that going to Mickelson had been an obvious first step. “Yes,” he said, “but they don’t know what happened once he left there. I was wondering if you could take a look at this picture and tell me if you’ve seen him around.”
“This is a driver’s license,” the nameless man responded. “The guy’s driving around without this?”
“Presumably. Have you seen him?”
The man continued to look at the picture with interest. “Well …” he responded without continuing. “It looks … hey, Marvin,” he called to the only other officer in the room. “Take a look at this. Does this guy look like that sketch we got from up in Bellmore?”
Deputy Marvin stood up from his desk and sauntered over. He stared at the picture for a few moments and finally spoke. “Yeah, he looks sort of like the guy. …”
“Find me the sketch. It’s not on the board.”
“Sure, boss.”
“And stop calling me boss. You aren’t working in the bottling plant anymore. Call me sheriff, or sir, or even Cooper, but not boss.”
When Marvin returned with the sketch, the three men hunched down over the desk and compared it to the picture on the license. “Could be the guy …” mumbled the man who Charles now assumed was the sheriff.
“Yeah,” Marvin added.
Charles remained quiet for a moment, then asked, “What’s he wanted for?”
Marvin went back to his desk and brought the file. “Looks like low level stuff. Robbery of convenience stores up around Bellmore. It don’t make a lot of sense, though, if he was headed for Tennessee. Bellmore’s a few miles north of here.”
“Who says he was headed home,” the sheriff said.
Charles continued to look at the picture. Why would Abernathy drive north and hold up a couple of convenience stores before heading home? This doesn’t make sense.
“Hold on,” Marvin said frowning as he tried to remember the details. “I had a call from Marshton, across the line in Ohio. They’re looking for someone with Tennessee tags who held up a small market in town. Could be the same guy.”
“Why are they calling us?” the sheriff responded gruffly.
“They were calling around in a fifty-mile radius. They want the guy. There was a scuffle and the owner got hurt. He’s also mayor of the town. He wants the guy punished.”
“Well, we don’t have him,” the sheriff grumbled. “Don’t know why people are always coming to us to solve their …” His voice trailed off as he walked out of the room.
“Thank you, Sheriff Cooper,” Charles called after him.
“Miles,” the man hollered from what was apparently the bathroom. “Sheriff Miles. Sheriff Cooper Miles. No one ever gets it right,” he grumbled as the toilet flushed. “Damn thing flooded again.”
Charles turned to leave but stopped and spoke to the deputy. “How do I get to this Marshton? I’d like to run this picture past the mayor.”
The officer gave him directions and, at Charles’ request, called ahead to arrange for him to meet the mayor. “He’ll be at the market this afternoon. You can get there is about forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks,” Charles said as he left.
An hour later Charles found himself on the outskirts of a small mountain town. The houses appeared to be built in the 1800s and opened right onto the street, which was probably wider now than when it was a dirt wagon trail. At the first corner, he spotted Brown’s Market & Feed Store. He pulled around the corner, parked, and stretched as he got out of the car. I’m getting too old for this, he grunted as he flexed his arms.
“You that city detective?” the man said as Charles entered. “I’m Brown. That’s Mayor Brown,” he added, obviously proud of his position in the small town.
“Glad to meet you, Mayor. I’m Charles Parker; call me Charles. And I’m no city detective. I’ve been retired for some time now.”
“So why are you working this case?”
“I’m not actually working the case, mayor. I’m helping a friend find a missing family member. The guy was working up north of Beaver Creek and he’s gone missing. I just wanted to show you his picture and rule out the possibility that he’s gotten into some illegal activities.”
“Illegal activities? Walking in here and demanding my money is more than illegal activities. He’ll rot in jail for this!” Mayor Brown’s face became flushed and his voice became louder as he ranted. “He could’ve knocked me down when he pushed past me that way, you know?”
Charles pulled out the picture and laid it on the counter. “This the man?” he asked.
“Yeah. That’s him,” he responded frowning. “That’s the man.” He picked up the license and adjusted his glasses. “At least it could be … sure looks like him. Brown straggly hair and weak eyes.”
“Weak eyes?”
“Yeah, you know … green. I never trusted a man with green eyes.”
Charles’ mind flashed to Baby Girl’s big emerald green eyes. What has happened to this guy? Why would he do this? Charles shook his head and thanked the man. As he left, he wondered what he should tell Sarah. He knew he needed to pursue this, but it was going to break Sarah’s heart.
He drove back to Beaver Creek and signed back into his motel room saying he’d probably stay a few days. “Where can a guy get a decent meal
?” he asked the clerk.
She directed him up the street to an all-night café. “Cops eat there all the time,” she added. Do I still look like a cop? he wondered as he headed toward the room.
He knew he had to call Sarah, but decided to put it off until after he ate. He was feeling a little woozy, and his eyes weren’t focusing too well. I need sleep, he told himself. He laid across the bed and slept until his cell phone rang in the middle of the night. He put the phone to his ear, but didn’t say anything.
“Charles?”
“Who’s this?” he mumbled. “Sarah?”
“Of course, it’s Sarah. What happened to you? I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m …” He looked around the room trying to connect with his environment. Where am I? Things slowly came into focus and he realized he was in the motel room. “I’m so sorry, hon. I just laid down for a minute, but I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?” His curtain was still open; it was dark out, but the lights from the parking lot flooded his room.
“It’s 2:30 in the morning, Charles. I’ve been beside myself with worry. The last time I heard from you, you were getting ready to go into Mickelson’s. I had no idea what happened to you after that, but my imagination has been going crazy.”
“I’m so sorry, hon. I have no excuse. I really don’t know what happened. I was going to call after I ate. …” Thinking back, he added, “I guess I never ate either.”
“I’m worried about you, Charles. Are you feeling okay?”
“Sure, honey. I’m just a little tired. Maybe I should come on back, but I might be on to something. Maybe I should stay up here. I don’t know. …” He realized he was having trouble thinking straight. “I’m not sure. …”
“Charles, go back to sleep. Get a good night’s sleep. Get some breakfast in the morning and then call me. You’ll feel better in the morning, I’m sure.” But she wasn’t so sure. She’d never heard him expressing confusion or being hesitant to make a decision. “Call me after breakfast, okay?”
“Okay.” He hung the phone up and turned over on his side to get away from the blinding lights in the parking lot. He wondered if he had said goodbye. He wondered if he should. … He drifted back into a very deep sleep.
“Good morning, my love. Have you forgiven me?” He sounded rested and chipper.
“Of course, Charles. I wasn’t angry; I was just scared. I didn’t know what had happened to you, and I played back all the stuff Slocum told me. I was afraid of what might have happened to you at the mine.”
Charles chuckled, but immediately apologized. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to laugh, but you make this sound so cloak and dagger. I interviewed the guys again, and I believe them, more or less.”
“More or less?”
“Okay. I could be wrong, but they sound like they’re on the up and up.”
“You said you have some other leads?”
“Nothing really concrete. Just a few things I’m checking out. I’ll fill you in when I get a little farther along.”
Sarah remained quiet. There’s something he doesn’t want to tell me. She decided to trust his judgment and not push. But for the children’s sake, she hoped it wasn’t bad news. “Okay,” she said finally. “Please tell me when you know more. It’s hard being here and not knowing what’s happening. I wish I had gone with you. …”
“The children need you there.” Changing the subject, he added, “What have you and the kids been doing?”
“Addie May and I are having a great time,” she responded with renewed enthusiasm. “She pulled her mother’s sewing machine out of the attic, and I brought a few pieces of fabric and thread. We started a little quilt for Baby Girl.”
“Baby Girl,” Charles repeated. “I wish she had a real name.”
“The children and I talked about that. They had a wonderful idea that we’ll present to their father when he comes home.”
“Are you allowed to tell me?”
“I think I can. They want to name her Clara for her mother. They all agreed.”
“Even Tommy?”
“Especially Tommy!” she responded. “He’s spending more time with me now and is actually talking once in a while. Just yesterday, he said, ‘I like soup,’ ” Sarah announced with a glimmer in her voice, which he knew from experience corresponded to a glimmer in her eyes. “So what are your plans for today?” she asked.
“I’m thinking about hanging around here for a day or two. I want to talk to a few people, maybe find out where he’d been staying. You never know where the leads will come from.” He felt bad about stretching the truth, but he didn’t want to mention the possibility that Abernathy may have gotten himself into trouble. He hoped that talking to some of the shopkeepers could put him on the man’s trail. “Somewhere there’s someone who knows something, and I’m going to try to find that person. I’m heading over to the sheriff’s office now.”
“You have reason to believe the sheriff will know something?” she asked, now suspicious.
Oops. I said too much. I forget how astute this woman is. “Of course,” he said jokingly. “We cops know everything!”
He drove across town to the Beaver Creek sheriff’s office and asked for Sheriff Miles. “Not in today,” Marvin announced. “It’s hunting season. He’ll be back in a couple of days. Anything I can do for you?”
“I’ve been wondering if you have any reports about other holdups.”
“Just in our jurisdiction. We don’t communicate much state to state on these little things. Missing children, now, that’s another story. And kidnappings. Do you suppose your guy was kidnapped?”
“No, I doubt that. Could you tell me where some of the holdups occurred in your jurisdiction?”
“Sure.” Marvin pulled out a stack of papers from his inbox and walked over to the wall map. “Grab them pushpins over there,” he said to Charles. Scanning through the papers he said, “Okay, there was one here, just to the east of us, and another over here near the state line.”
“That’s Virginia over there?”
“No, that’s Kentucky. On down here, that’s Virginia. We’ve got four states meeting within fifty miles of us … lots of jurisdictions to deal with and since he hit Ohio, I’m thinking he’s probably traveling around.”
“Do you folks share information?”
“Yes, on the big stuff, but these are triflin’ things—a few dollars here and there, ma and pa places, no one hurt. We just hope we catch them in the act, but we don’t go searching that much. We definitely don’t fax reports across jurisdictions for this kind of stuff,” he admitted.
“I’d like to find out if it’s my guy,” Charles said.
“So I suggest you check out these two places in our jurisdiction first. It seems like he struck around here for a while. Might still be here.”
Charles took the addresses, fed them into his GPS, and headed for the first town on Marvin’s list. It was another mountain town but this time more urban than Mayor Brown’s town. He pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and saw they had meter parking. He pulled a few quarters out of his pocket, deposited them, and headed inside. He asked to see the deputy in charge of the string of robberies that had occurred recently. A young man with a crew cut, wearing a crisp uniform and freshly polished shoes, appeared and led him to an inner office.
“I don’t know if I’d call it a string,” the deputy said as he brought out a few files for Charles to look at. Pulling out the various witness descriptions and looking at the picture Charles had, the deputy remarked, “Could be your guy. The description fits. The car … well, one guy said it was blue, another saw black, but that happens. Several witnesses saw Tennessee tags but no one saw the number. That happens too, but I don’t know how. You either see it or you don’t, ya know what I mean?”
Charles nodded his head in agreement, carefully reading the details of the robberies. “He never got much, a few dollars here and there. Just enough, I guess, to keep going.”
�
��Yeah,” the officer agreed. “Gas money and a meal here and there. He’s probably living in his car. I imagine the guy’s starting to feel a little desperate, not desperate enough to hurt anyone though.”
“Well, there’s a guy over in Ohio claims to have been injured, but it’s doubtful.”
“Nah. This guy isn’t dangerous. Just getting along best he can. But the shopkeepers want it solved.”
“I’d like to talk to these shopkeepers if that’s okay.”
“Sure. Help yourself. Just let me know if you learn anything new.”
“Agreed.
“By the way,” the officer said as Charles was leaving. “You say he’d been working up near Beaver Creek?”
“Yeah. Strip mine.”
“Not Mickelson’s, I hope.”
Charles stopped in his tracks. “Yes, Mickelson’s. Why?”
“They’re bad news. Had a couple of disappearances up there a year or two ago. Never solved as far as I know. It was before my time.”
Charles gave a deep sigh as he slumped into the driver’s seat of his rental car. “Damn,” he mouthed under his breath. “Now what?”
After thinking it over, Charles headed for a fast-food restaurant with only two cars outside. He figured he could get coffee and some privacy. He chose a booth toward the back and dialed his son in Denver.
“John, it’s Dad.” They chatted awhile, but Charles quickly got to the point. “I won’t go into all the details now, but I’m tracking a man who’s gone off the radar up in West Virginia. …”
“You’re in West Virginia?” John exclaimed.
“I’ll get to that. Anyway, this guy was working for a strip-mining outfit that I’ve heard some bad stuff about. For one, there are rumors about some unresolved disappearances at the mine. I’m wondering if your FBI friend might be able to find out what’s going on up there. I’m afraid my guy might have gotten caught up in something bad.”
Moon Over the Mountain Page 12
