Divine Justice (10 page)
“Listen to me, we can take care of ourselves. They can’t touch us. But if you turn yourself in to the cops, CIA will swoop in, scream national security, and your ass will disappear.”
“Let me worry about that. And I know it doesn’t do you justice, but thanks for everything.”
Reuben started to speak but Stone had already hung up, replacing the receiver with a smack of finality.
It’s like I just cut off my right arm. Good-bye, Reuben.
He glanced up to see the shopkeeper staring curiously at him. He had been speaking so low that there was no risk of being overheard.
“Call go through okay?” she said pleasantly.
“Just fine. Thanks.” She kept staring at him so he finally said, “You have some nice pieces.” Pointing to a painting on one wall, he added, “Who did that one?”
The woman’s face fell. “Oh, that would be Debby Randolph.”
“She’s talented.”
“Yes.” She added quickly, “I’m Wanda. Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I just got here. Came in late last night with Danny Riker.”
“Danny?” she said, startled. “Heard he’d left town.”
“Well, he’s back, but I think it’s just temporary. So how’s business?”
“Really good, especially on our Web site. Lot of folks like the Appalachian stuff. Takes ’em back to a simpler time, I suppose.”
“I think we could all use a bit of that. Well, thank you.”
“Hope you come back. Got a sale on black bear cubs sculpted from chunks of coal. Makes a right fine paperweight.”
“I’m sure.”
Stone walked out of the “feel-good” shop feeling like he was navigating the last few yards to his own death. He really was all alone again.
T
HE ASPHALT ROAD
gave way about a half mile out to macadam. Stone passed by a stone church that had a small steeple with a dry-stack stone wall encircling the property. Next to this house of worship was a graveyard. The former graveyard caretaker Stone took a moment to walk through the burial plots. The same family names kept popping up on the headstones. Stone saw the grave of Samuel Riker. He’d died five years ago at the age of forty-one.
There were many Tyrees also sprinkled around. One tombstone, darkened by age, was the resting place of Lincoln Q. Tyree. He’d died in 1901. Stone thought it must be a bit disconcerting to pass by a graveyard with a marker already bearing your name, but perhaps the good sheriff didn’t come this way often.
Two graves still had fresh flowers on them and the mounds of dirt looked new. Rory Peterson had died a week ago. The name on the other grave made Stone do a double take. Debby Randolph had gone to her Lord a day after Peterson had died. That’s apparently why the woman at the shop had acted a little strangely. Peterson was forty-eight while Debby had only been twenty-three.
Stone walked on, turning left at a fat oak with thick sprawling branches that resembled more Atlas holding up the world than a mere tree. Hanging from one of the branches was a sign that read “A Midsummer’s Farm” with an arrow pointing to the left. He went on for another hundred yards down a crushed gravel path until he came to the house, although that term clearly didn’t do it justice. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“Antebellum” was the first word that jumped to mind. It was large, constructed of white clapboard and sections of stone with black doors and shutters and no fewer than four stone chimneystacks. A broad front overhang supported by rows of elaborately milled columns offered up a fine porch with rocking chairs, sturdy tables, hanging plants and an upholstered swing anchoring one end. The landscaped yard stretched on and on with the perimeter bordered by stacked stone walls. In a cobblestone-paved motor court was parked a muddy pickup truck along with a Mini Cooper in racing green with a white top.
All this from the revenue produced by a restaurant with ten tables, eight barstools, two pool tables and a jukebox?
The work to be done was in the stables that were almost out of sight from the house. He spent the next several hours mucking out stalls and sorting bridles and reins and other equipment as several horses whinnied and stamped their hooves in other stalls.
Stone was rubbing his aching back when he heard the horse’s hooves pounding his way. The fifteen-hand-high chestnut drew up next to him and Danny jumped down. He pulled two beers from his jacket pocket and handed one to Stone. “Heard from Ma you were out here.”
He popped the can lid and a bit of the liquid spewed out. “Horse riding and beer delivery ain’t a good fit,” he said.
“Knee looks to be okay,” Stone noted.
“I’m a fast healer. What are you doing?”
“Mucking stalls among other things.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You sure?”
“Got nothing else to do right now.”
They went into the stables and Danny grabbed a shovel after tethering his horse to an iron ring stuck in cement in the ground.
Stone eyed a bruise on the side of the man’s face. “It was the other side that fellow nailed on the train, wasn’t it?”
“Duke was too fast for me in the stall this morning. Clocked me in the face when I was trying to bridle him. Damn horse.”
“But a beautiful one.”
“You ride?”
“Not if I can help it. You call this place a hellhole? Which part—the pool, the mansion or the cool car parked in front?”
“I’m the exaggerating type.”
“Seriously, why would you want to leave something like this?”
“It’s hers, not mine.” Danny slung horse manure into a wheelbarrow.
“You’re her son. You’ll inherit someday.”
Danny stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, muscled physique. “Who says I want it?”
“Okay, fair enough. You an only child?”
“That’s right.”
“I saw your father’s grave coming up here.”
“That’s why we got all this stuff.”
“How so?”
“Lawsuit against the damn coal company that killed my old man. See, coal companies almost always win those things, or else settle for pennies on the dollar ’cause they got all the good lawyers wrapped around their little finger. But Mom held on, proved her case. Coal company appealed but in the end she kicked their ass, they caved and she got her blood money. And the only thing it cost us was her husband and my dad.” Danny tipped another shovelful of horse manure into a large wheelbarrow and banged his tool against the metal side as if in exclamation.
“And your mom still runs the restaurant?”
“She likes to keep busy, and people need to eat.”
“The whole town looks pretty prosperous.”
“Coal prices highest in decades and there ain’t enough miners to do the job. When demand’s higher than supply, wages go up. About doubled in fact over the last five years. High wages, low cost of living equals prosperity for the common man. Simple.”
“You sound like an economics major.”
“Nah, just a dumb ex-jock, but I got eyes, ears and a little bit of common sense. Where you bunking tonight?”
“Must be a motel or something around here?”
“Back in town, couple blocks from my ma’s place and around the corner from the courthouse, there’s a place that has rooms to let. Cheap but clean. Bernie Sandusky runs it.” He laughed. “Tell old Bernie that Danny sent you.”
“Why, that’ll get me a reduced rate?”
“Nope, more likely get your butt kicked out the door.”
“Why’s that?”
“Bernie has a real cute granddaughter named Dottie. Few years ago he caught me and Dottie in one of his rooms working on our
biology
homework.” He laughed and pitched a big load of manure into the wheelbarrow. “Okay, I’m done shoveling shit. You’re on your own, dude.”
Stone watched until Danny and his ride disappeared from sight. He finished his work and later idly followed a path that wound around a small hill covered with scrub pines. Abby’s property seemed to have no end. He reached another gravel road that headed back out another way. As his eye followed its path he reckoned it would go back out to the main road at some point, on the other side from where he’d come to the farm.
A few minutes later Stone followed a dirt path that was worn black and finally led to an old barn that looked close to falling down. Inside was an old gray pickup truck, bales of rotted hay, and rusted tractors and other farm equipment.
He perched on the bumper of the pickup and counted his meager cash. An act of kindness on his part to help Danny had really cost him. The train ticket hadn’t been cheap and the bus ride just to the vicinity of Divine had cost him still more precious dollars. Danny had offered to pay but Stone had refused. And he still had to rent a room in town. He prayed that rich Abby would be generous with her payment for the day’s work so he could move on.
Yet should he even still be thinking of escape? Maybe when he’d jumped off the damn cliff, he should have just sucked in a chest of water and ended it. What did he have to live for anyway?
What do I have to live for?
He heard a vehicle skid to a stop outside. He hopped off the bumper and walked outside in time to see Abby step from the truck cab.
“Taking a stroll around the place?” she said, not smiling.
“I finished up at the stables. Beautiful property you have here.”
“Okay,” she said, her features unreadable.
“Doesn’t look like this place gets much use anymore,” he said, looking toward the barn.
“This was my momma and daddy’s place for fifty years. They ran it as a farm, but we haven’t done any farming here for thirty years. Their house was just down there,” she said, pointing to the left. “Burned down a long time ago. Only thing left is the chimneystack. I oughta just knock it down, but I can’t do it. I mean, it’s really the only thing I have left of them.”
“I can understand that.”
“You can, huh?”
“The past is hard to let go of, particularly when the future is a little uncertain.”
“You’re wasting your talents mucking stalls, Ben. You ought to be a philosophy teacher.”
“I was just heading back to town.”
“I need to pay you. Why don’t you ride with me back to the house? You can get some supper and your money.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t.” Her tone did not seem to invite dissent.
A few minutes later they pulled into the driveway.
“Beautiful house.”
“Came at a damn steep price.”
“Danny told me a little about that.”
“Expect you want to take a shower and change your clothes. Mucking stalls isn’t the cleanest job in the world.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
She slammed the truck door behind her and headed up the steps.
Stone slowly got out and trudged after her.
He could have landed in any town in the country. And it had to be Divine, Virginia.
Damn, I can really pick ’em.
K
NOX COLLARED
Annabelle Conroy as she was leaving her hotel. He flashed his creds and asked her to go with him.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Those creds could be faked and you could be a rapist. Go call a cop and I’ll go with both of you if he’s satisfied you are who you say you are. But until then, get the hell away from me.”
“How about a cup of coffee in the restaurant over there? If I put my hand up your skirt, you can start screaming and kick me in the balls.”
“Just so you know, I kick really hard.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Will this take long? I’m sort of busy.”
“As long or as short as you want to make it.”
Over two cups of strong coffee Knox explained what he wanted.
“I don’t know where Oliver is,” she said truthfully. “We became friends, and I stayed at his cottage, but now he’s gone and he didn’t tell anybody where he was going.”
“How did you become friends and why were you staying at his cottage?”
“Simple enough. He helped me with a problem I had and after he left I wanted to keep his home going for him in case he came back.”
“So your problem was with Jerry Bagger, now deceased?”
“I see you do your homework.”
“Wasn’t that hard actually. What exactly was your beef with Bagger, Ms. Hunter?” Knox didn’t believe for a moment that that was her name but he was willing to play along, for now.
“What’s it to you?”
“Humor me.”
“Why the hell should I?”
He pointed to the cup she was holding. “How about I take the prints off that and run them through a database. Would I pull up the name Susan Hunter?”
“There’s no law against changing your name.”
“Right, but the
reason
for changing your name, now that might be illegal.”
“Bagger hurt someone I cared about and I wanted to nail him for it and I did.”
“With Alex Ford and Oliver Stone’s help?”
“Yeah. Bagger was a crook and a sociopath. The FBI and Justice Department had been after him for a long time. He got what he deserved. So what’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t really give a crap about Jerry Bagger. I want Oliver Stone. Or John Carr. I don’t know which name you refer to him as.”
“I only know him as Oliver Stone. I have no idea who John Carr is.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“About six months ago.”
“You heard about Carter Gray’s and Senator Simpson’s murders?”
“I watch the news.”
“Stone had a relationship with Gray.”
“Didn’t know that.”
“Alex Ford never bothered to tell you? Because he knew all about it.”
“We’re just friends, and friends don’t share everything.”
“Why’d you leave the cottage?”
“Got tired of living with dead people.”
“You wouldn’t have happened to have heard from Stone? Maybe he told you to take it underground?”
“Why would he do that?”
“You tell me.”
“How can I tell you about something that didn’t happen?”
“I think your buddy’s on the run.”
“From what?”
Knox stood. “Okay, my BS alarm is clanging so hard it’s hurting my ears. So like I told your friend, Ford, I’ll be in touch. And don’t try to leave the city. That would not make me happy.” He walked off.