Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight (8 page)

The truck’s owner, a bleached blond giant, hurried out the front door of his house, letting the door slam behind him. “Did somebody hit my truck? Is she all right?”

“This is yours?” Tony wanted to be sure he was talking to the owner.

“Sure is. Isn’t she a beauty?” The giant grinned and patted the tailgate like it was a pet. “Every dime I make goes into maintaining it.”

“And your name?” Wade turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

“Uh . . .” The man hesitated. “Everyone calls me L.L. It stands for Larry Lowell.”

Tony decided his expression said it all. For whatever reason, L.L. hated his given name. “Where do you work?”

“I, uh, I’m between jobs.” The giant looked puzzled. “Say, is there a problem?”

“Do you know Miles Curry?”

Shaggy eyebrows lowered, shielding his eyes. “Don’t believe so. He ever use a different name?”

“Okay, skip the name. What were you doing two nights ago?” Tony wouldn’t be surprised if none of the men had bothered to introduce themselves to one another.

“Two nights?” L.L. massaged his earlobe with a hand the size of a baseball glove. At length his eyes brightened, the eyebrows raised. “I had dinner over at The Okay, drove around a bit lookin’ to see if anyone I knew was out and about, you know, and come back and watched the tube, baseball mostly.”

Tony wasn’t sure what to believe. He was usually happier when people’s stories bore some relationship to each other—not the exact phrasing or word for word, because in most cases that meant they were working from a script—but he did like it when everyone was at least talking about events along the same lines. Tony was positive a minimum of one person was lying about the surfing incident. Lies made him think maybe it hadn’t been an accident and the two remaining parties were in collusion.

“Maybe we could ship off the shoes and check for matching prints.” Wade climbed onto one of the tires and leaned forward, moving his head to catch a different angle of light on the roof. “Spotless.”

The pristine condition of the paint and the damp spots near the tires made Tony think “just washed.”

“Say, Sheriff, are you thinking we done somethin’ illegal?” L.L. craned his neck, keeping a close eye on Wade. “News to me.”

“I’m sure it is illegal to let someone ride, standing or ‘surfing’ on your moving vehicle. And even more stupid than illegal, if it’s possible. I think I’d better consult Archie. Our prosecutor will want to be kept apprised of this one.”

Tony punched speed dial. He left a message with Archie’s overworked secretary, Clare. She was a force to be dealt with and didn’t believe in wasting time. Their conversation lasted less than ten seconds. Clare was approximately a hundred years old and weighed maybe a hundred pounds. Tony suspected she had no home. Why would she need one? She never seemed to leave the office. He’d bet she kept her wardrobe in one of the file drawers.

Tony didn’t even have his phone put away when Archie called him back.

“Sheriff, I’ve got to tell you it ought to be illegal to be that stupid. It’s bad enough, what I hear some of the things people will do in the so-called name of fun.” Archie sounded like he was jogging as he talked. “Standing on a moving car. That’s about the second dumbest thing I’ve heard of lately.”

Tony wasn’t sure he could handle hearing about number one, but asked anyway. “What’s one?”

“Ghost riding.” Now Archie’s breaths came in gusts.

“Are you running?” Tony couldn’t visualize Archie moving fast enough to muss his hair.

“Late for an appointment.” Archie wheezed. “I’m in Atlanta.”

“Just give me the short version of the dumbest. What is ghost riding?”

“Well, it’s the scariest for the rest of us anyway. The driver climbs out of his own car and onto the roof while it’s moving down the road.”

“No driver?” Tony remembered seeing something about this on the Internet. He’d chalked it up to stunt drivers.

“You know what they use to stop the car?” Archie’s voice was suddenly very loud and easy to understand, making Tony think he’d arrived at his destination.

Tony thought Archie sounded frightened. “A passenger?”

“Nope. It’s usually a ditch or a tree or another car.” Archie said. “Car surfing or ghost riding falls under the subsection of unlawful riding or towing, I think. Going back to your case, do you think the driver knew the rider was there? If so, everything would change.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause he’d be in charge of the vehicle and moving and steering it.” Archie started speaking so quickly, it sounded like one long word. “If he didn’t know someone was on the truck, the fault falls on the passenger. It wouldn’t be as effective a form of suicide as throwing yourself under a train, but . . . well, no matter how this comes out, I’m going to sum it up as criminally stupid.” He disconnected.

Tony stared at his cell phone but wasn’t really focused on it. This was a mess, and he suspected it was not going to disappear.

Tony was startled when Wade tapped on the door frame. “Come in.”

“I’ve been checking on Not Bob.” Wade’s expression was serious. “They airlifted him to Knoxville. His condition is considered grave.”

Tony felt his eyebrows lift. “Which means?”

“According to Grace, it means he can still go either way. Evidently his blood loss was extraordinary, and there is no way he would have survived if Sheila had arrived a minute later or ran after the assailant. If he lives, she saved his life.”

Remembering the condition of the victim, his home, and Sheila, Tony was a bit surprised the man had any blood left in him at all. “And if he lives? Are there likely to be lasting issues?”

“Very possibly not.” Wade came into the office and sat down. “Grace says they’ll know a lot more in the next few hours. I understand the gash in his neck was closed surgically but will take a while to heal completely.”

“I’d like to talk to him, of course.” Tony relaxed a bit. “And see what Not Bob might be able to tell us so we can protect Bob.”

“If there is a Bob.” Wade didn’t look convinced. “I think Bob’s a figment of the attacker’s imagination.”

Tony found himself hoping there was a Bob and, if so, maybe he could point them toward Not Bob’s attacker.

Dammit and Daisy made a stunning canine couple. The enormous bloodhound cavorting with the oversized golden retriever threatened to demolish the inside of the Abernathy house. Wrestling and pouncing on each other, Theo thought they had no idea how huge they were and how much damage they could do to the house just running into things. In their world, they were just two little puppies having fun.

Theo opened the kitchen door and sent them down the steps, barking and leaping into the yard. She forgot Alvin was working back there and the sight of the massive dogs charging toward him made him stand up and freeze, an expression of alarm on his face.

Seconds later he was laughing. The canine clowns were putting on quite a display, and except for their passage through the new flowerbed, where they scattered the newly turned earth, there was nothing they could harm.

Alvin waved to attract Theo’s attention. “I’m leaving for plant camp in just a few minutes. My ride is picking me up here so is there any special chore you want me to get done first?”

“It looks so much better than it did with all those overgrown vines and shrubs removed.” Theo joined him, admiring the changes he’d already made.

“They will take over if you don’t stay on top of them.” Alvin clipped a few more pieces off the honeysuckle vine and dropped them in a bag. “I’ve seen small trees choked to death by these things.”

“What goes there?” Theo studied a large square wire cage next to their new vegetable garden bed. The raised bed contained soil now but no plants yet. It was well past the normal time to start a garden but they’d be ready for next summer. “Tomatoes?”

“Nope. Compost.” Alvin launched into his explanation. “It will turn your food scraps and dry leaves into free plant food. As they decay, they’ll give off some heat.”

“We’ve never composted before.” Theo studied the cage. “I can put everything in here?”

“Well,” Alvin’s smile was full of mischief. “Your husband’s pretty big, but I guess if it gets hot enough you could dispose of a body. Personally I don’t put meat or bones in my compost. Some people do.”

“Thank you.” Theo laughed as she handed Alvin his pay. “When will you be back from camp?”

“Not for two weeks. I’ve arranged for a friend to mow your yard while I’m away.”

“Thank you. Be sure to have some fun.” Theo called the dogs back into the house so Alvin could finish what he was doing without being knocked over or have the dogs leave massive paw prints in his work.

Tony was awakened in the night by Dammit. Mike’s bloodhound was sitting near the window, baying like he’d treed a possum. “Shut up dog,” Tony mumbled. As he climbed out of bed, he glanced at the clock. Midnight. The oversized dog stood up, glancing toward Tony before looking back out the bedroom’s front window, the one overlooking the park. “Where’s Daisy?” The last thing Tony wanted to do in the dark was to trip over his own dog.

Daisy must have heard her name because he heard a soft “woof” from the direction of the boys’ room. It was her normal spot to sleep if she wasn’t downstairs on the sofa in the parlor. Dammit had grudgingly decided he could sleep in his and Theo’s room. At least for a while. Tony made his way to the window and pushed Dammit away, shushing him. Seemingly satisfied by Tony’s presence and wide-awake condition, the dog flopped back down on the rug.

Through the open window Tony realized he could hear hushed voices. He climbed out the window and onto the small balcony built long ago by an early one of his wife’s relatives. Now he not only heard soft human voices but he could see lights flickering in the park. At first, he thought they looked like fireflies, but then he was able to discern the reflection of light on human faces. Candles? He tried to judge the size of the group. Between the park’s lights and the ones being carried, the illusion formed was almost like watching moonlight and ships’ running lights reflected on a choppy sea.

He dragged some clothes on, found his cell phone and flashlight, and removed his gun from the safe. Even as he headed out the door he was in contact with dispatch. Wade’s sister, Karen, was on duty. “Have you received any calls about activity in the park?”

Karen said, “Not exactly. I did get a call from a woman claiming there was a coven of witches having a meeting tonight. She did not specify a location before she hung up.”

Oh good, Tony thought. “Witches?”

“Yessir, she said they were chanting spells outside her bedroom window and trying to lure her into joining them outside. I recognized her voice.”

Tony was pretty sure he could guess who made the call. “Mrs. Fairfield?”

“Yessir.” Karen laughed. “She was most insistent so I sent J.B. over to check it out. He’s calling in now.” She flipped the switch allowing Tony to listen in.

J.B. preferred working the night shift. Amusement threaded his voice as he said, “There’s a group of twenty young adults having an impromptu memorial service for their recently deceased surfing friend, Miles Curry.”

“Do you foresee any problems?” Tony walked briskly through the park, following the group.

“No sir. Some of them have been drinking but they are being well behaved and there’s several sober ones as well. I don’t think what happened to Mr. Curry is going to create any copycats.”

Tony was now fairly close to the group. They were singing softly and several of the young women were crying. His girlfriend was surrounded by friends, standing near the tiny pond. Several picnic tables had been moved closer together. While Tony watched, the mourners formed a line, and one at a time each launched a small, paper boat onto the still water and touched it with the candle to light it on fire. For just a couple of seconds, the pond seemed filled with fireflies.

There seemed to be no reason to interfere with their memorial so he went home and back to bed.

After an interrupted night’s sleep, the last person Tony wanted to see at the Law Enforcement Center was Orvan Lundy.

Tony hadn’t even sorted through the mail on his desk when Ruth Ann appeared in his doorway. “Mr. Lundy has something he wants to confess.”

“Really?” Tony felt acid drip into his stomach as he wondered what he had done to deserve having the old sinner enjoy confessing to him on a regular basis. He might feel differently about it if Orvan would tell him what he really wanted to know. Tony was sure the old guy had killed a number of people, maybe forty years ago, but there was no time limit on murder. “Did he give you any hints?” He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head.

“He looks terrible,” Ruth Ann whispered.

“Okay, let’s get this done.” Tony called Wade on his radio. “Orvan’s here.” He headed for the greenhouse, their interview room, nicknamed for the impressive humidity level achieved by more than two people speaking for any length of time. The tiles and drain in the center only augmented the title but they made it easy to clean.

While Tony waited with Orvan for Wade to arrive and for Ruth Ann to return with some water, Tony studied the old man. Ruth Ann was right. Orvan looked even older than his considerable age, whatever it was, and sort of gray and pasty. Normally he dressed “formally” for his interrogation and confession, clean overalls, the collar on his best long-sleeved flannel shirt buttoned, fresh shoe polish on the top of his snowy hair. Today Or-van was dressed in his work overalls and a ragged shirt with no discernible buttons. His white hair bore signs of staining from various polishes but nothing fresh.

“Everything all right, Orvan?” Tony might not really like the man but he certainly didn’t hate him.

Orvan leaned forward and held his head with both hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Not feelin’ so good.”

“Do you need a doctor?” Tony thought Dr. Grace, as she had become known, would make an office call. He glanced up at Wade who had just arrived.

Wade pulled out his cell phone, waiting for guidance. “Should I call Grace?”