Thistle and Twigg (18 page)

S
o far, the day’s events had not been pleasant. I returned home to sort things out in my mind. The mysterious letter I’d found the previous evening lay on my desk. I picked it up and read it again, still finding it hard to believe that a woman I’d never met and who had passed away over a year earlier, long before I even considered moving to this house, had written it to me. This is what Miss Ina Genevieve Hardwick had to say:

“Hello, Jane. Or is it Jean? My hearing isn’t what it used to be. Boo will have helped you find this. Forgive the histrionics but I’m afraid someone else will find it and throw it away. I suppose I’m also concerned that if you simply found this note in an ordinary manner, you’d dismiss it and think I was crazy like most folks around here do. It hasn’t ever worried me because I knew no one understood.

“You do, otherwise Boo (whose real name is John but he seems to like his nickname better) wouldn’t have let you find it. He’s a wonderful boy He won’t ever bother you. He’s shy and only wants to help. I’m putting the newspaper article about his death in this envelope so you’ll know”

I unfolded the yellowed clipping. What Phoebe said had been true. This was the boy who had found the missing girl’s doll, the boy who’d been shot in my front room by the fireplace.

“Around here,” the letter continued, “they said Boo wasn’t right in the head. I’ll tell you this, he’s right in the heart. There’s never been a more loving, gentle person on this earth. You’ll think so, too, before long.

“He stays in the dining room mostly, or in the attic. It’s full of old family things up there, though who knows if anything will be left for you to find. I hope there’s something left, for Boo’s sake. He loves being close to the old trunks up there. He also loves flowers so I’ve always kept something blooming by the bay window where he sits. He appreciates little things like that and will leave a gift for me every now and then.

“He never killed that girl. He couldn’t have. He loved children and would rather die himself than see any harm done to anyone, especially a child.

“I hope you’ll be happy here. I see very dangerous times ahead, but you’re strong and highly qualified. I understand that you’re going to take care of everything. That Cal can be stubborn. Good luck and all the best.”

I refolded the clipping inside the letter. She knew Cal well.

My resolve hardened. I could let nothing deter me, not even a stubborn old man who still held something back. If he wasn’t telling me something vital, and I let him keep his secret to the detriment of himself or his land, I would never be able to forgive myself. Cal must be made to trust me fully It was time for us to have a serious talk.

W
HEN I’D WALKED WITHIN SIGHT OF CAL’S HOUSE,
Homer trotted up from the other direction. He’d come through the meadow, for his legs and belly were covered in white dandelion seed fluff.

“Where’s Cal, boy? Are the two of you out playing?” Homer looked me straight in the eye, hopped a few steps toward the forest, then made an abrupt turn to see if I followed. “All right, love, I’m coming.”

Once past the meadow and across the stream near the spring house, he led me on a trail I had not been on as yet, east into the woods, then north and straight to Cal. He sat in a small clearing on a bed of evergreen straw underneath a pine tree. His back was turned to me as I approached. Across from him was a single boulder about three feet high. Homer and I weren’t particularly quiet, yet Cal sat motionless, whether not aware of us or not concerned, I couldn’t tell.

Homer went ahead to Cal’s left to lie at the foot of another tree. He made himself comfortable on a patch of bare ground. As I got closer, I could hear Cal speaking softly. A small plume of white smoke arose before him. I stopped several feet behind him. He was chanting a native song or poem in Cherokee. The smoke came from a shallow clay bowl about the size of a plate in which sage or some other herbal grass burned.

Still he hadn’t noticed me. His eyes remained closed as tears fell down each cheek. He had cleared the pine needles away in front of him and had drawn a circle in the dirt. On either side of the burning sage, Cal had drawn symbols, the meanings of which I couldn’t guess. One had a diamond shape, the other had squiggly lines around a circle, like the sun, with other starlike shapes surrounding them.

I was at a loss as to what to do. Should I leave him to what was so obviously private? Another thought came to me: Why would he be here performing a ritual when the great ceremonial hall was so near? It was only then I noticed that the boulder on the other side of the circle also had drawings. I stared, as entranced as Cal, at the ancient carvings of spirals and stick men that dotted the rock’s surface. Was there no end to the wonders of this place?

Cal’s chanting changed into a more poetic rhythm, slowing between phrases. He whispered the wonderful musical words that mixed with the burning sage in the air. It felt like more than a recitation, almost a creation, for the words seemed to rise and blend with the smoke as if they were something physical that moved into the wisps, as much a part of this place as a leaf floating in its last dance to rest on the forest floor.

His eyes cleared but he said nothing, only stared. Homer got up and walked quietly to us. He lay down at my feet, his paws extended across the circle drawn in the dirt so that he lay half in and half out. Cal’s shoulders shook with the wheezing of shallow breaths.

I squatted beside Homer. Cal couldn’t be comfortable. “Do you need to stand? What can I do to help you?”

His voice was so weak I could hardly hear. He looked stunned to see me. “It’s you. It can’t be you. I didn’t believe them.” He sat staring at me, then at Homer who scooted farther inside the dirt circle so that his front paws touched Cal’s leg, his face intent on sending comfort through a steady gaze to his master. “And you, too, friend?” Cal rested a hand on Homer’s back as he looked up. More tears followed.

“Did you get the money?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.

“No,” I said. His face fell. He covered it with his thin, mottled hands, listening as I told him of the problems with the bank and the bank manager’s sudden odd behavior.

Cal shook his head, wiped his eyes. “They’ve got to him somehow.”

“Who, Cal?” He didn’t answer. “Someone is threatening you,” I said. His look told me I was right. “Someone who might have had these.” I reached in my pocket and brought out the shell casings I’d picked up.

“You went to their camp?” he said, his weak voice a mix of pain, a bit of anger, and defeat.

“Whose camp? Cal, tell me what’s happening. Let me help you.”

“Can’t help without the money” I assured him I had it without the bank’s assistance and would arrange to get it in cash. This seemed to calm him a bit. “It needs to be quick,” he said heavily. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to asking anybody for anything.” His voice weakened to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled himself together, sighed, and told me what happened. “A man came to me. He wanted to use part of my land for a couple of weeks, offered me good money, and promised I wouldn’t know he’d ever been there, that he’d clean up good. It was for a training camp, like. What did he call it? Survival skills for yuppie types.

“I said no at first, but then got to thinking I’d need the money for the doctor. He came back with an even better offer so I took it. At the end of the two weeks, I went to see if they were cleaning up right and their equipment was still all over the place. I told the guy he’d have to get his things out quick. He…,” Cal choked a little. “He had other ideas.”

They wouldn’t leave. First, they told Cal they’d like to extend their survival classes for another week. When they didn’t pay him, he went armed with his shotgun to run them off. Poor Cal. That had always been enough. This man and three others with him were heavily armed.

They disarmed Cal and surely taunted him, though Cal didn’t say so. They knew he was old, sick, and alone, and knew he could do nothing to harm them. Cal was told if he alerted the authorities, they would kill him. To them, that was the ultimate threat. Not so for Cal. He would be more afraid of what would happen to his land if he died before it was safe and in good hands.

“They said they knew I had money. That if I gave them fifty thousand dollars, they’d go.”

“I see.” Had he no one to help him? Found no one to trust as he trusted me? Not in all these years? I wondered if it were only when he got so sick that the truth of his mortality hit him. “We must call Detective Waters at once.”

He protested, insisting that was the wrong thing to do. “Please,” he said. “Trust me on this. You can’t call him.”

The man was exasperating. “All right. You’ve trusted me and I will trust you, though I do so with much reserve.”

“It’s going to be all right. See about getting the money. That will put an end to it all. Then they’ll go. And I can die in peace.”

I agreed to call about a money transfer straightaway, provided he would go home and rest for the remainder of the day.

I left Cal and Homer at the split in the road, they on their way to Cal’s house and I to mine. I’d tried again to convince him to let me call the police, but he was even more angry and determined that I should not.

I made him promise to let me accompany him when he gave the militia men his money. Deep down, however, I knew I couldn’t let it come to that, not without the help of the police. Cal was desperate and not thinking clearly. I could understand that he wanted things taken care of quickly and easily. I had to think of some other way, or else these criminals would be back again and again. That I couldn’t allow.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want Detective Waters involved. Their skirmish at the police station when Cal was questioned surely wasn’t enough to make Cal put that nonsense before such a serious threat to himself and his property. The only other thing might be if Cal suspected Waters was somehow involved with the militia men. Being new here, perhaps my instincts were off, but I didn’t think so. Whatever the reason, I had to believe Cal knew best so I would respect his wish. For now. In the meantime, perhaps Phoebe’s friend, Bernard, could be of help. I might need another able-bodied man, one who was also a trained shooter.

A
fter Jane and I got back to my house from the lawyer’s office, she had things to do at home. I worked in my closets, about the only place the smoke hadn’t gotten in and ruined everything. It was something I’d been meaning to do for a long time anyway. It took me all day to separate out things to give to the church second-hand store. It’s not that I’m a packrat but I do have a hard time letting go of clothes. Once I decided what to give and what to keep, I put the giveaways in my car and dropped them off at the laundry. By that time, it was three o’clock and I still had two more things on my to-do list.

First, I went by Jerry Nell Gillispie’s to pick up my new rifle. I almost cried when I saw it. I couldn’t wait to show Jane. Once I locked it in my trunk, I set out to take care of the next piece of business on my list: Suspect surveillance.

I drove out the 43 Bypass where the new nursing home was being built. Nobody was walking around out front that I could see. I changed lanes and turned left. I circled the block, going as slowly as I could. Not a soul could be seen. Construction people must quit work earlier than other folks.

Just when I thought everyone had already gone home, I saw a curly blond head pop out of the construction office trailer door. I wasn’t surprised to watch Treenie Dodd walk out, looking around like she didn’t want anyone to see her.

She carried a thick plastic bag but was holding it underneath, not by the handle, like it was heavy. She opened her trunk, put the bag in it, and drove out the dirt road onto the main drag. She was up to something. I knew it before I saw where she was headed.

She went straight to The Pool Cue and parked at the side of the building. It didn’t surprise me a bit when she sat there waiting, and guess who came strolling out to meet her. That crew-cut Marine-looking boy, the one I pegged as the leader of those no-account pool players, walked around from the back of the building and up to her car.

I looked at my watch. The second hand was sweeping across the twelve. Exactly five after three. I flipped open my Thomas Kinkade notepad of inspirational cottages and wrote it down. Fifteen hundred and 05 hours. Or was that zero three hundred and 05 hours? I can never remember which is AM and which is PM. On a separate sheet of notepad paper, I jotted, “Buy military watch.”

Treenie smiled but he didn’t. This was strictly biz. I suddenly remembered I had a throwaway camera in the glove box left over from my last trip to Gulf Shores. I had been meaning to finish up the roll but kept forgetting about it.

I clicked a few shots, scooted way down in my seat, and thought how proud Jane and the police would be when they saw these pictures. Jarhead took the bag out of Treenie’s trunk when she popped it open. The bag ripped at the bottom and he almost lost it. The box inside slipped out halfway enough for me to read “Danger” and a picture of the lit end of a bundle of sticks.

Bingo!
I clicked one more picture and felt downright proud of myself. I threw the camera back in my glove box as the two of them walked toward the back door. I hurried inside the front so they would think I was already there.

Inside, the party was in full swing. It wasn’t quite as crowded at this time of day but that didn’t seem to keep the ones there from having a good time.

Sure enough, two of his boys were playing pool. I ordered a Coke and had only taken one sip when the leader went to talk to them. They put their cues up. The leader said, “Take the van. Hank, you drive.”

I turned to see the leader tossing a set of keys. Hank had pretty blue eyes and a dark beard and moustache. He raised his hand and caught the key ring. Too bad he had a big ugly snake tattoo on his arm. Otherwise he’d have been downright cute.