Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Imagine that,” I said.

  “Yeah, imagine that,” she agreed. “By the time I got back to the room, the girl and her mother were gone.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said with some dismay.

  “I figure the mother forced her daughter to get dressed and they left. She might have helped her to the car, but…who knows? They left quickly. I never saw them again.”

  “They left both babies with you.”

  “Yep. I had to find a home for those children. But in the meantime, I had to care for them. I was a lot younger then; had more energy, but didn’t have more time, for sure. Still, precious life is precious life. So, I took the time to make sure that Conroy and I did the right thing by those kids. Fed them, clothed them, and kept them safe.”

  “And those two just left without paying you or even thanking you?” I asked.

  “No thanks, but they left some cash on the bed. A couple of twenties I seem to recall. Like that would do it, you know.”

  “How long did you help the twins?”

  “How long did I do all of this?”

  “Yes, how long were you responsible for their care?” I said.

  “Well, it took me about six months to find homes. You can imagine that I couldn’t go through the normal channels. Too many questions. That mother and daughter would have been in serious trouble if I had been more law abiding. But I wasn’t that concerned about them. I knew that if I went to the local authorities, those babies would have been thrown into the system. Good thing I’m a conniving type. You know, sneaky and deceitful.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I said.

  “Well, you’re seeing the mellowed-out version of me. Sixty-four years will do that. I did what I had to do for those babies back then. I found good homes for them.”

  “Plural,” I said.

  “I couldn’t find a soul that would take both. I got a friend of mine who worked at a hospital to forge birth certificates for them. That took some doin’. She found a doctor who was willing to sign off on it.”

  I frowned and shook my head in disbelief. “That’s risky stuff,” I said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “How’d you manage to get people to help you?”

  “Listen, honey, leverage is a powerful tool if used properly…or improperly, as the case may be. My friend, the woman, had leverage on the doctor. He would have lied in court to protect his good name. Like many of us, he had a weakness. Fortunately for me, his weakness was my friend.”

  “He was married but not to your friend,” I surmised.

  “Fast, are you? Anyhow, got the birth certificates for two different families, the Goodalls and the Glovers. There was no adoption papers because they weren’t adopted. That’s why I needed the birth certificates. The Goodalls and the Glovers simply took the children as their own. It was easier and faster to find a home for the little girl. The little boy took most of that six-month period.”

  “No questions asked?” I said.

  “I told them the story. They asked a few things, but neither family wanted to know who the young mother was. Some things are best kept hidden, I suspect.”

  “The babies grew up apart.”

  “The twins were actually separated after two months of my care. Like I told you, I placed the little girl first. I kept the boy for about four more months. And those two kids never suspected a thing, we thought, until middle school. Yeah, I believe it was either the seventh or the eighth grade that Candace started doing some research on her family. Never knew exactly what she found, but whatever it was, it caused her to stop working on her assignment.”

  “The Glovers moved to Johnson City the next year and she finished school there. Went to the university in town, I think. And the Goodalls moved to Erwin a little later on, I think it was. I heard that the boy, Jeffrey, moved down to a small town in North Carolina after he finished high school. Lost track of both of them.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news for you, since you have some vested interest in them,” I said.

  “Oh, I figured as much. You used the past tense when you referred to them initially. I knew whatever you knew was not going to be good. That, and the fact that you are a private detective looking for answers. Plus, well, I always did have a bad feeling about those kids. Ever think that maybe some folks are born under a bad sign or something like that?”

  “It might seem that way sometimes. I see all kinds of people in my work. And I learn bad things about folks. It’s not necessarily wholesome stuff I’m involved in. Not sure about being born under a bad sign or even a dark cloud. We make our own way. Some of us survive, some of us do not.”

  “I suppose so, Clancy Evans. I suppose so.”

  “Do you want to know what I know, Mattie?” I said.

  She took a deep breath and looked at me for at least two minutes, maybe more, before she spoke. I gave her time. We just sat there and let our eyes look inside each other. No threat. No promise. Just looking.

  “Closure is sometimes necessary, but not good. Still, it is somehow essential for me. Must be the way I’m wired. Yeah, tell me what happened to them.”

  I knew that my short chapter on Candace and Jeffrey was going to be heavy with sadness for this kind lady. I told her. The sadness fell hard on her.

  Chapter 21

  I decided to stay one more night with Mattie at the Laurel Fancy Motel outside of Elizabethton, Tennessee. It was the middle of the week and I was the singular patron at her establishment. I felt the need to reciprocate the delicious breakfast she had lavished upon me by taking her out to a restaurant in Elizabethton. I insisted that she choose our poison for the evening out.

  She thought a hearty steak would be the thing, so she guided me to a steakhouse and we dined sumptuously on prime rib. Since I’m such a stickler for trimming the fat off beef, I carved out all of the marbled portions, slid them over to my empty bread plate, and the proceeded to delve into my entrée delight.

  “You must think that God pays close attention to what I ask for,” she said, smiling at me.

  Her words caught me off balance.

  Mattie pointed to the fat on my bread plate.

  “Oh, that. I try to be careful and not take in too much…oh, you mean Sam,” I said when it finally dawned on me what she meant.

  “We can take it back and I can freeze it for you. I have some to contribute. You never know, Clancy. That dog might just show up any time now.”

  I nodded as if I agreed, but my heart wasn’t in agreement with her sentiment.

  After we returned, I said my adieus, returned to my room, and called Wineski. I shared most of the information I had gleaned from Mattie May earlier that day. I decided Wineski didn’t need to know everything she had divulged. Protect my source.

  “Since these twins were raised by surrogate families and the families no longer live here in Elizabethton, you want me to find the families?” I asked him.

  “That’s not really your task, you know. More my responsibility.”

  “I uncovered the story. I’m closer than you are. I’ll ask some more questions and do a little more leg work while I’m here if you don’t mind.”

  “Sounds like some kind of closure for you too, Clancy,” Wineski said.

  “Call it what you will. My motel hostess was also my historian. Luck of the draw for me to run into her. But that’s about all I will tell you. Ask me no questions and I’ll…you know the rest. Water over the dam as far as I can tell.”

  “No questions. Do what you need to do and get back here. McGrady is doing little more than taking up space at his desk.”

  “Tell him some of what I have discovered. I don’t think he needs to know the whole story. Just enough to know that Candace and Jeffrey were brother and sister. If that doesn’t whet his investigative juices, there’s little hope for him.”

  “His investigative juices dried up years ago. I doubt there is anything you could possibly do for him to sharpen them,” Wineski said.

&nb
sp; “I’ll call you if something comes up worth telling.”

  The next morning, I walked a few miles, showered, and stopped off at Mattie’s office to say goodbye and settle up.

  “You have any clue regarding the whereabouts of the two surrogate families?” I said.

  “You’re trying to finish up that next of kin notification thing, right?”

  “That’s exactly what I would like to do.”

  “I suppose, then, there is something I need to confess to you,” Mattie said.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re a serial killer.”

  She laughed. “Hardly. I’ve had a few clients here at the motel through the years that I wanted to strangle, bludgeon, and bury the bodies; however, I never allowed my red-headed temper to get the better of me. Alas, I have killed no one. You need to look elsewhere for those who move beyond desire.”

  “I’ll sleep better knowing that. So, confess away,” I said.

  “I haven’t told you my married name.”

  “Not May, huh?”

  “No, that was my good mother giving me that traditional Southern double name, Mattie May. My married name is Mattie May Glover.”

  “Oh, my. Well, I’m hooked. Now you can finish the story.”

  “Yeah, I thought you might like to hear the postlude. My daughter was married to a jerk at the time those babies came into the world. She had the mistaken notion that a child would change him into a good person. I knew better, of course, but I’m only a mother. What do I know? She wouldn’t listen to me. She insisted that I give her the baby. She begged and pleaded. I finally relented. She took baby Candace and a year later, the jerk moved out. My daughter, Melanie, became a single mother almost instantly. I offered some help, but she did it all. Working two jobs outside the home, keeping her place clean, and taking Candace to soccer and softball practices every week – as far back as I can remember. My daughter was a wonderful mother.”

  “And she dropped her married name and went back to being a Glover,” I said.

  “Yeah. She wanted to break all ties with that jerk, Sammy Wagoner. She got a divorce and changed her name back legally, and the baby was named Candace Glover.”

  “She’ll be heartbroken to learn what happened to her daughter.”

  “She won’t ever know. She died of cervical cancer two years ago. Merciful death, even if I do say so now. I hated to lose her, but this would have surely killed her if she was still here.”

  “And you’re the…grandmother. Imagine that.”

  “Yeah. I got to be a granny for a couple of decades. Good work if you can get it. Sometimes painful, sometimes not so much. But I will tell you one thing, Clancy Evans.”

  She paused and gently smiled at me. I waited for her one thing to come.

  “It’s worth the price of admission into this old hell of a world. Believe that. Believe me. I’d do it all again, despite the pain, despite the loss.”

  “And the Goodall family – you know anything about them?”

  “No. Can’t help you there, except for some rumors that surfaced a year or two back, maybe less. Someone told me they moved away from Bakersville, North Carolina after their home burned down. Said it was because Mister Goodall had an affair with a married woman and the irate husband of said married woman burned down their house. Don’t know the validity of that tale, but I simply pass it on to you for what it’s worth. Could be nothing more than idle gossip,” she concluded.

  “Or gospel.”

  “Well, it’s a mile or two away from what I call gospel,” she smiled.

  “I hope our paths cross again, Mattie,” I said.

  “Me, too. Hope your wounds heal quickly. Keep the faith about your dog. He’ll come back to you. I’d bet my life on it. I have good instincts about people, and some folks are worth going long distances for.”

  I smiled and thanked her for her confidence. I also thanked her for telling me what she knew. She hugged me and held onto me longer than I was used to. I didn’t mind. She had received some heart-rending news from me. The least I could do would be to hug her or let her hug me. The least.

  Some days this is hard work just because it is.

  Chapter 22

  I was close enough to Bakersville that I decided to go and check out the rumor that Mattie had heard about the Goodall family. If they were still alive, any of them, and still around, they had a right to know about their son, Jeffrey.

  I followed Mattie’s directions over Roan Mountain and traveled the back roads into Bakersville. I passed a feed store as I was coming into the town and decided to see if the guys inside might know something of the Goodalls. I grew up in the southern part of Virginia, so I was familiar with some of the traditions of the local feed store. Listen, chew, spit, and grunt now and then whenever one of the old boys was telling something worth telling. Or offering up a really good lie. Either way, stories were swapped and news in the form of gossip was repeated.

  I doubt if few women frequent the feed store in Bakersville. I don’t mean that to be a sexist comment, but more observation from my heritage in greater Clancyville as well as my one-time experience of having visited the feed store in Bakersville. That, and the fact that I’m a woman.

  I know for certain that women of my height with flaming red hair and penetrating green eyes that Mattie noted do not frequent said establishment. I know this because all of the men who greeted me that day said as much. I think it was the only time in my life that everyone in the room stood when I entered. I was a little honored, but also taken aback by this gesture. I think they were in shock that a female would actually enter their sacred space. I know I was.

  I smiled and curtsied. It seemed like the thing to do. I silently wished that Sam were standing by my side.

  “You lost, lady?” the man in a dirty white apron said to me after the curtsy.

  I figured him to be the owner of the feed store.

  “Not yet,” I said. “Need some information. This has to be the place where a person can find out just about anything.”

  All the men sat back down. Three of them were sitting around a wobbly card table playing poker. There was a pile of coins as well as some scattered dollar bills in the middle of the table. Each man was holding five cards. Shrewd detectives can figure stuff out like that.

  The other men didn’t really sit as much as they returned to their leaning positions by the counter and over by the feed sacks.

  They all smiled at my comment, my compliment concerning their knowledge on most subjects. I was not flattering them. A person could find out just about anything in this setting. I didn’t say that it had to be the gospel.

  “What do you want to know?” the dirty apron said.

  “Any truth to the story about the Goodall family and their house burning down.”

  The men playing cards stopped and looked in my direction. I scanned the room quickly enough to notice that all the patrons were now staring at me. I must’ve said something noteworthy.

  “Depends,” the dirty apron said.

  “On the story I heard, right?”

  “You got that right, lady. What’s the tale that’s out there?”

  “Husband Goodall had an affair with a married woman, husband of the married woman burned down the Goodall house.”

  I figured it would be best to cut to the chase and not be too casual with these fierce looking Democrats. I surmised their affiliation instantly after I had entered. There was a row of photographs behind the man with the dirty apron beginning with JFK on the far left, followed by LBJ, and then rather out of place was FDR. Jimmy Carter was the last one on the right. Enough said.

  “The affair happened alright,” the dirty apron said, “but that last part was never proven in court.”

  His comment led me to consider that he might have been closer to the story than I was. Sometimes it is better to allow sleeping dogs to lie, but then again, sometimes I just plow right on through until I get to the end of the row. I decided that I could probably take on all of
them in a ruckus, even without my fierce fighting canine. They all out-aged me by at least ten years, maybe more. Least I could have done was to outrun them.

  “Anyone know anything about what happened to the family after the house was gone?” I continued.

  My question was met with serious silence. The ebb and flow of our conversation had ceased.

  “You mean that Goodall family,” the apron guy finally said.

  “I do.”

  “Why do you need to know this?”

  “I promised someone that I would notify the Goodall family that their son was dead,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “Damn,” one of the men at the card game said it.

  “He was fairly young, wasn’t he?” the man leaning against some feed sacks asked the question.

  “Yeah,” I said, “early thirties.”

  “Pretty young to us old geezers, you know. How’d he die?” the feed sack leaner said.

  “He was jogging, and someone attacked him. Stabbed him to death. Didn’t really have a chance.”

  “Lousy way to go,” another of the card players expressed.

  I waited, hoping that they would run out of opinions about the death and get back to my query.

  “Missus Goodall divorced her husband. He left town and went to Boone, I think. That’s what I heard,” the dirty apron said. “She’s dead. Shot herself with a thirty-eight. Didn’t hear no reason why. Maybe she loved that old scoundrel who betrayed her. Maybe not. Could’ve been loading the gun to go find him and had an accident. That’s about all we know, right guys?”

  Several voices chimed in after he posed the question. Heads nodded and the card game resumed. It was my invitation to leave. I try to stay up to date with body language as well as conversations when they end.

  I headed out the door.

  “You gotta nerve coming in here, being a woman and all,” a voice from behind said. It wasn’t the voice of the man with the dirty apron. That was all I could ascertain.

  I stopped and turned to glance back at my endearing crowd. They were all staring, watching me leave their space. I surely wished that Sam was with me at that moment. Missed that dog something fierce.