Tin City Tinder (A Boone Childress Mystery) (14 page)

“But you said—“

“Look around. Stumpy may have left before he expected to, and a dismembered finger’s not something he’d pack.”

“I'm not going into his house. It smells like pig crap."
 

"You'll be fine out here." I opened the door. “Be right back.”

“Wait for me.” She tied Chigger’s leash to a post on the rickety porch and followed me inside.
 

The trailer smelled like Stumpy had been making soup with old shoes, and the air was thick with the scent of body odor and mold. Cedar pulled her shirt over her nose as I hit the lights.

“Ugh,” she said. “I’m not strong enough for this. My stomach can’t hack the stench.”

“Fish sticks,” I said as I opened the freezer door.

“So the freezer’s empty?”

“No.” I pulled out a package of cod fillets. “It’s a box of fish sticks.”
 

I shook the contents onto the counter, which also held several opened packets of ketchup, breadcrumbs, and an empty package of wieners. Three sticks fell out, followed by the finger.

Cedar gagged. “He put someone’s body part in with food? That’s just so wrong.”

“Yeah, it’s a terrible way to preserve evidence.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I slipped the frozen digit into an evidence bag. “At least he wrapped it in plastic.”

“Boone!”
 

 
“What?”

“You don’t think this is really, I don’t know, ghoulish? I mean, I’m okay with scientific inquiry and all of that, but the finger you just stuck in your pocket was once attached to somebody’s hand. How can you not be totally disgusted?”

“Abner raised me in his lab,” I said. “I’m used to it.”

It wasn’t that death didn’t bother me. It did. But it was the ending of a life that ate through my gut, not the corpse that was left behind. It was something you couldn’t explain in the middle of a deserted, completely trashed trailer.

Clothes were strewn everywhere. The closest had been tossed, the side table drawers emptied onto the floor. Broke glass lay at the edge of Stumpy’s favorite sleeping post, the couch. It was hard to tell because of Stumpy’s underwhelming housekeeping skills, but the more I looked around, the more I was convinced that someone else had helped Stumpy redecorate.

“They were looking for something,” I said.

“Who?”

I started down the paneled hallway. “The people who tossed this trailer. Look at this toilet.”

“How did we go from talking about human dignity to examining toilets?” She followed me to the bathroom. “Oh, that’s how.”

The toilet had been shattered. From the wood splinters on the floor, I suspected the instrument of destruction was a baseball bat. The cabinets above the toilet had been tossed, too. A bottle of bowl cleaner lay on its side, leaking blue liquid onto a stack of paper towels.

“Let’s check out the bedroom.”

“Let’s leave instead,” Cedar said.

She didn’t wait for my answer. I heard the door slam, followed by the sounds of Chigger’s bark.
 

Space in the bedroom was tight. The double bed took up most of the room, leaving space for only a narrow bedside table, which had also been dumped. The mattress was askew on the frame. From the marks on the ceiling, it had been lifted then dropped. A single, yellowed sheet lay rumpled on the floor in front of the closet. Inside the closet, there were no coats, no shirts, not even a coat hanger.

Empty.

This was no robbery.
 

I had decided to take a closer look for clues in the kitchen area when Chigger yapped a warning bark. Peeking through the blinds, I looked out a grimy window and saw Cedar a few yards away holding onto Chigger’s lease. It was stretched taut, and the dog was growling.
 

When I stepped outside onto the porch, I saw why.

A two-ton diesel truck drove across the overgrown yard toward the big barn. It was hauling a trench digger behind it, equipped with a scoop shovel. That answered his questions about what had made the holes.
 

When two men got out of the front of the truck, it also answered the question of who.

Early and Stuart, my favorite independent contractors specializing in fire site clean up and debris removal. What kind of debris where they removing this time?

“What business have you got being here, anyhow?” Stuart shouted as he approached, carrying a digging spade. “Hey, you're that boy who was with the bone doctor, ain’t you?”

"That's me," I said.

 
“You two are trespassing on private property,” Early stabbed the air with a meaty finger. “We ought to call the law. Have y’all arrested.”

 
“Call the sheriff if you want,” Cedar said. “There aren’t any
No Trespassing
signs posted, and we have a legitimate reason to be here.”

Stuart spat tobacco on the ground. “What would that be?”

“We’re visiting a friend.”

“Stumpy Meeks,” I said. “Have you gentlemen seen him recently?”

“What do we look like, the missing person department?” Stuart said. “You’re wasting our time, so beat it.”

“Who would that be?” I asked.

“Who would
what
be?” Stuart said.

“The company paying you to clean up their mess. Who’s that?”

Stuart shook his head in wonder. “The man who owns it, dumb ass.”

“Does this man have a name?” I fought the temptation to add,
dumb ass
.

“Not one you’re getting from us.” Stuart said. “Beat it, before things get ugly.”

“Don’t threaten me,” I said. “It’s not a good idea.”

Stuart and Early chuckled. The thought of my taking them both out seemed absurd to them, but I was already figuring out how to separate the spade from Stuart’s hands.

“Let’s go, Boone.” Cedar looped an arm through mine. “We’ve got that thing in a half hour, and we don’t want to keep these guys from their work.”

“Better do like your lady says,” Stuart said.

For a few seconds, I stared hard at him. My meaning was clear. Next time we crossed paths, I was going to hurt him.

When we got in the car, I rolled down the window so that Chigger could stick his head out. Across the way, Stuart and Early were unloading the bobcat from its trailer. The bobcat was designed for moving a small amount of dirt very quickly. Not massive like a bulldozer or dresser, its lightweight and small relatively light bucket made it perfect for maneuvering through tight spaces.
 

Like the spaces that separated one grave from another.

 
“What a couple of assholes.” Cedar turned in a wide arc and slowly drove toward the highway. “You think they know something about Stumpy?”

“Yeah, and I know what they’re digging for, too.”
 

The flatbed truck held a pile of empty garment bags. One of the bags, however, was full. I suspected that it contained the object that had hit the side of Stumpy’s trailer.

An object that was missing a finger.

I smacked my forehead. “How dense could I be?”

“Pretty dense. What did you figure out?”

“From the size, shape, and pattern of the larger holes,” I said, “they’re looking for the same thing we are.”

“And that would be?”

“Body parts.”

5

“They are moving graves!” Cedar took a deep breath. “Illegally!”

She sat at the round oak table in our kitchen, next to me and across from Mom. Lamar leaned against the counters as Chigger lapped up a bowl of milk.

I had decided to let Cedar tell Mom the news. It would be more believable from her, since Mom considered Cedar far more levelheaded and trustworthy.

“Say that again,” Mom said, almost rising out of her chair.

Cedar repeated the whole story about Early and Stuart, though she left out the information about the finger in the fish sticks.
 

While she talked, I watched for Lamar’s reaction. He was listening, too, because he laughed when Cedar mentioned the part about me falling in the hole. But he kept a poker face the whole time and only moved when Chigger finished the milk. He picked up the bowl and rinsed it in the sink.

“The whole field is full of graves,” I said. “It’s not only a family plot, it’s an organized cemetery. From the pattern of the holes, the guys knew exactly where to dig.”

“The owners knew about the graves beforehand?” Mom asked.

“Wouldn’t testify to that in court,” I said, “but that’s what it looked like.”

“You’re sure?”

“The field looked like dominos.”

“What about—” Mom wiped a tear from her eye. “What about the headstones?”

“None,” I said. “We didn’t see a single one.”

“That’s outrageous!” Mom stood and threw her arms wide. “They have absolutely violated state law! They can’t do this!”

“Sounds like they already did,” Lamar said.

“Call the sheriff!” she told him. When Lamar didn’t move fast enough, she grabbed the handset from the wall. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Some help you are.”

The call connected, and Mom stepped out on the porch.

Lamar picked Chigger up and handed him to Cedar. “Did either one of these men threaten you?”

“They ordered us off the property,” Cedar said. “And we left.”

“Your mama’s wound up, that’s for sure,” Lamar said. “But if the rightful owner asked them to do the work, nothing can be done. It’s not illegal to move bodies in this state, just to do it without permission. Since those old boys let y’all walk around without a fuss, they’re not too worried about getting caught.”

“But there are people in the graves,” Cedar said. “They can’t just, just
move
them.”

Lamar scrubbed his head. “Human remains are property like a house or land. They belong to the heirs of the deceased. That’s the law.”

Cedar looked at me, asking if Lamar was right. I could only shrug that, yes, he probably was.

“It’s time for me to head home,” Cedar said. “Can I use the little girl’s room first?”

I gave her directions.

“Those men did threaten you, Boone.” he said.
 

It wasn’t a question.

“Mild threats," I admitted. "Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“If you were alone, maybe.” Lamar glanced down the hallway. “Follow Cedar back home, just to be sure. Folks around here are acting funny. It’s smart to be careful.”

“Funny how?”

“Some migrant workers ended up in the emergency room last weekend, all beat up. They wouldn’t say what happened.”

“Dewayne and Eugene Loach happened.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“I do.”

"It ain't that easy, Boone."

"Being right never is."

“Ready,” Cedar said when she returned.
 

I walked her out to the car and kissed her goodnight. When she was out of the driveway, I’d get in my truck and follow her home. Lamar was right about being safe, but Cedar wouldn’t like me white knighting her.

“Before I go,” she said, “remember we’re meeting with Dr. K tomorrow. Time to put the final touches on my Olympiad project.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Doesn’t matter what day it is.” She gave a kiss on the cheek. “You made a promise, and you’re sticking to it.”

6

It was well after dark when Cedar turned down her driveway. I pulled onto the shoulder until she went inside, and the porch light came on.

Ten seconds later, my cell rang.

“Hey, Cedar. I was just think—“

“I’m safe. You can go home now.”

“What are you—?”

“Don’t play dumb. The headlights of a ’72 Ford truck are distinct. Plus your left lamp is dimmer than the right. You should get that checked.”

“Hope you’re not mad.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “But it’s nice knowing you care.”

“I do. A lot.”

“Get some sleep. Big day of data collection tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The porch light went out.

I dialed Abner and got voicemail. “Hey Doc, Boone. Need to reschedule our thing tomorrow. Call me back.”

I pulled onto Highway Twelve and pushed the speedometer to sixty-five. There were no streetlights in this part of the county, which was still farmland due to frequent flooding, making the night even darker.
 

It was so dark that I missed seeing a huge branch in the middle of the lane.

Whump
!

The branch slammed against the undercarriage, and there was a metallic clank, followed by a clacking noise. On the dash, the oil pressure needle dropped like the second hand on a watch.

“Don’t do this to me, girl.”

 
I pulled back on the highway toward Galax, praying some place would still be open. By my estimate, the truck had less than a quart of oil left. I wasn’t going to win the race. Then I remembered a small store on the left somewhere ahead. After four years in the Navy, my bearings were off, so I wasn’t sure if the store was just around the corner or miles away.

 
After cresting a hill, I stuck the transmission in neutral and shut the engine off to keep it from seizing. I rolled through a stop sign without stopping and rounded a bend.

A light shone ahead above a small, hand lettered sign.

“Yes!”

I guided the wounded truck into the store’s gravel lot. After parking, I opened the hood to let light in and the peered underneath the engine. The branch had punctured the line, and oil was dripping from the hole.

Nothing a little duct tape couldn’t fix.

Entering the store was like stepping into a time capsule: It was crowded with an assortment of dry goods, hunting supplies, hardware, clothes, cleaning supplies, and groceries. They had the usual bread and milk, along with a cooler in the corner and a display of cigarettes behind the cashier.

A cardboard sign was taped to the register:
No Spanish Spoke Here
,
Amigo
.

The guy at the counter looked up from the comics. He was leaning on his elbows to read, lips moving with the words, and laughing at every joke. His shirt hung loosely on his concave chest, and his pimple-dotted cheeks looked like they had seen a razor only once or twice in his life.