Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (8 page)

The door swung open with the invitation and as Imogene stepped away, Lester turned to Billy Ray and lowered his voice, “Check all those out-buildings where the machinery is, the barn too.”

“What if Albert shows up?”

“Shoot him.”

“
What
?”

“Just
deal
with it
,
Billy Ray.
I’ll meet you back at the pickup.”

The interior of the Parker home was
like
a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting
. The
furniture
was
eerily similar to the television setting of Happy Day’s or Leave it to Beaver. Off to the right, Lester caught a glimpse of
a spotless
kitchen
. A
blue Formica table
with chrome legs and matching
vinyl chairs
filled most of the room
.
The living room had a hardwood floor with colorful throw rugs, a stone fireplace with a print of The Last Supper above the mantle, and an oversized easy chair—presumably Albert’s—in front of a
small screen
television.
A
sectional bookcase
sat at
the base of the staircase
, its
shelves packed with small statues of cats and dogs. An obviously well used copy of the Holy Bible, the open pages faded and worn, lay on a coffee table of polished walnut, directly in front of a flowered divan.
There was not a speck of dust in sight.

Melissa’s room was at the top of the stairs, first door on the left.
A hand-lettered sign taped to the door read
Private!
Inside,
warm
afternoon light filled the room.
Large colorful posters practically jumped from the thumb-tacked wall on the
right.
A smiling Justin Beiber, perfectly coifed, competed for attention with an image of Lady Gaga dressed in a flaming red body suit with matching
,
but wildly elevated
,
high heels. Oklahoma girl
Carrie Underwood
, her long blond hair complimenting a shimmering gold dress,
held the place of prominence above Melissa’s bed.
A stuffed Panda bear, at least three feet high, sat innocently in one corner of the room.
The bed was neatly made, sheets and spread pulled tight.

Taking in the scene,
Lester was puzzled
. “Mrs. Parker, maybe I misunderstood, but I thought your husband ransacked Melissa’s room, tossin’ out everything he believed to be unsuitable for teenagers. It’s as neat as a pin in here.
”

Imogene bowed her head as if to apologize.
“Yes, I’m afraid Albert did make quite a mess, but I cleaned it up right after breakfast this morning. I didn’t want Melissa to come home and see what a jumble her room was. She’s not like a lot of teens I hear about with their dirty clothes on the floor and wet towels hanging around on the furniture. Melissa keeps a tidy room. But then again, Albert is
very strict about such things.”

“Yes Ma’am. Now about that photo…”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.”

Lester watched the woman disappear through a doorway down the hall and quickly began opening dresser drawers, hoping for a diary or love letters.
Finding nothing but socks, underwear, t-shirts, and a pair of thermal long-johns, he tried the closet.
A pink soft-sided suitcase sat on the floor along with an open but empty duffel bag.
Several pair of
tennis
shoes,
some
flats,
as well as a single pair of snow
boots lay side by side, along the outer wall.
The mother
re-entered the room just as Lester closed the closet door.

“I hope this will do,” Imogene said.
She held a framed 5x7 photo of an attractive young girl with long, shoulder length hair, dark brown in color.
The girl in the image had a smiling oval face with dark eyes that twinkled with the exuberance of youth. The photo featured a fallen tree, the girl posed playfully across it in a quarter turn, one leg bent and resting on the trunk.
Lester had the impression that Melissa could easily pass as twenty-one or older. She had long
and shapely movie star
legs, not thin or gangly
like so many young girls in their teens
. And
it was impossible to ignore her well-developed breasts
that strained at the thin material of her tee shirt.

This girl could attract boys like
bees to a flower,
Lester thought to himself.
Or men who like ‘em young.

*****

Outside, and behind the Parker house, were two corrugated galvanized steel sheds commonly known as Quonset huts, and a
weathered
barn
—red
of course
—with
a hayloft
.
The
John Deere tractor with an enclosed cab
rested near the edge of a field
, it’s distinctive green and yellow colors catching the eye
.
Billy Ray decided to investigate the sheds first.
The nearest one, the biggest, had an assortment of the usual machinery found on most farms.
There was a chisel pl
ow
with four blades
—designed to hold down erosion—as
well as a front loader
especially
fitted for the front of the tractor. At the far end of the building
sat
a well-used workbench strewn with a variety of hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches. The majority of the hand tools could have qualified as antiques; wooden handles, rounded off tips on the screwdrivers,
most of them
absent of any brand names.
The workshop shared
many of
the same traits as the family living room,
aged
,
but clean and well organized.
If Albert Parker had a hob
by, there was no evidence of it
here.

The smaller shed held nothing of interest; sealed buckets of lubricating grease, a scoop shovel, and a couple of hayforks, both rusty from non
-
use.
Fan belts, large and small, dangled from nails driven into a two-by-four mounted
across the
wall. Plastic coffee cans separated an assortment of nuts and bolts.

The barn was of a decent size but
with a
design that had not been popular since the 1920’s.
It had a sharply pitched roof with animal stalls on either side.
Two Jersey milk cows, seeking shade, occupied one of the stalls. Both stared at Billy Ray
—as
only cows can do
—until
he was out of sight. Inside were granaries, both left and right, and there was a haymow above that with stacks of baled hay. Billy Ray looked in each of the grain bins, most of them empty, but it was dark and hard to see all the way to the back.
He needed the flashlight from the pickup to make a thorough search, but decided to check the haymow first.
At the back of the barn was a ladder of sorts, made of two by fours, and nailed to the studs.
Billy Ray used it to climb up to the loft.

“Melissa?” he called to the darkness. “You up here?
Sheriff’s department.”
He listened for a moment, heard nothing, couldn’t see a lick, and decided he definitely needed a flashlight.
Lester would be all over him for not taking one with him in the first place.
At the bottom of the ladder, one foot on the floor, an angry voice called out.

“Stop right there you son of a bitch.
Don’t move or I’ll blow you in half.”

The deputy inched his head around for a look.
Albert Parker, outlined in the doorway, had a shotgun steadied against one shoulder and was looking down the length of two barrels. His feet were spread and balanced, like a hunter waiting for a hidden covey of quail to erupt from the brush.

“Don’t shoot
,
Mr. Parker, I’m a deputy sheriff.
I was here this mornin
’
, remember?
I’m
gonna
turn around now so you can see me.” Billy Ray stepped off the ladder and did a slow turn with his arms out to the side, his gun
hand
slightly lower than the other. “
Do you recognize me now
,
Mr. Parker
?”

The shotgun never wavered.
“Well, it’s awfully dark back there.
I think what I
see
is an intruder, a thief maybe.
Someone tryin
’
to steal some tools or somethin
’
.
Looks like he has a gun too.
I might have to defend myself.”

Billy Ray went over his options, his Army training kicking in. The Glock at his side had a magazine full of forty caliber bullets, but there was the matter of
clearing
the holster, jacking a round in the chamber, aiming
,
and firing before
this
psycho could pull
the
trigger and
kill him
.
He could drop and roll, and hope to evade fire until he could get his gun out.
It wouldn’t take long, three…four seconds at the most.
The dim light would help but the pattern from the shotgun covered a lot of area. Fifty-fifty
chance
of pulling it off sounded about right, not good, but better than doing nothing.
Suddenly, the odds improved.

The man with the shotgun
was more than a little surprised when
something cold and hard
touched
his left temple.
He was pretty sure he knew what it was.

“Lay it down
,
Albert or I’ll drop you and butcher you like a
fat
pig.”

The pressure on his skull from the stainless steel Colt revolver made Albert Parker’s
next
decision an easy one. The
stout
little man lowered the twelve-gauge to the straw-covered floor and turned to face his adversary.

“Billy Ray,” Lester said, his voice as calm as if he were having a conversation over a glass of iced tea, “Come get this idiot’s shotgun and then search him, see if he’s
got
any other weapons.
Jesus Christ
,
Albert, what were you thinkin’?”

The deputy un-holstered his Glock, racked it, sprinted toward the other men, and yelled at the farmer.

“Get your hands up asshole, get ‘em up. Move to the wall.”
Albert complied, head down, no argument.

“Hands on the wall, high…higher. Spread your legs.” The overalls had several pockets to search but Billy Ray went through them in a matter of moments. “Turn around, take a seat on the floor. You got your handcuffs
,
Sheriff?”

“Yes I do, not like my young deputy that thinks they’re too cumbersome to wear on his belt, but we’re not gonna cuff him.”

Billy Ray’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
“What? You gotta be shittin’ me.
He was about to
shoot
me.”

“No he wasn’t. Check the scattergun. The hammers are down, un-cocked.
Bet you a dollar there’s no shells in it either.”

Billy Ray retrieved the old twelve-gauge and broke it open, the barrels dipped toward the floor, exposing the chambers. Empty.

Lester glared at the farmer. “What we have here is a Class-A bully, a half-wit that loves to throw his weight around and intimidate everyone he comes in contact with, especially his wife and daughter because they’re so handy. It makes you feel like a big man, doesn’t it Albert?” Parker said nothing.

“Low-life’s like old Albert here are
only
tryin’ to cover their inadequacies and cowardice, using aggression against people who can’t or won’t fight back. You bit off a little more than you can chew this time didn’t you, Albert?”

Parker
remained silent
and continued to sit flat on the floor, legs extended,
arms folded across his lap.

“I knew we should have brought the
sedan
,” Bill Ray said. “I don’t think all of us can get in the front seat of the pickup.”

“Oh, we’re not takin’ him in
,” Lester said.
“
Albert’s not a criminal, not really.
He’s just a pathetic fool that tried to play
big man
once too often and with the wrong people.
Probably been years since anyone has stood up to him.
Thing is, if we charge him and put him in jail, the county would have to feed him until the trial
unless someone comes up with bail money, not much chance of that
.
He might end up in McAlester State Prison—Big Mac—for a year or
two, that’s possible, threatening
an officer
of the law
with a weapon like he did.
His poor wife would have to give up the farm, probably go on welfare, and no tellin’ what would happen with their daughter.”