Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1) (19 page)

Feeling hot breath on the back of her calf, Emma gasped in fear and froze. She knew it had to be the dog, but he had followed her so quietly that she did not even know he was behind her, until she was about to open the door.

Emma was afraid to move, but knew she could not just stand there forever. She was trespassing on the dog’s territory and he may take offense if she ignored him. Finally, after several deep breaths, Emma was calm enough to speak. “Hello, old fella,” Emma said softly, slowly turning to face him.

The dog wagged his tail and sat down in front of her as if he was waiting on her to do something or to say something else.

Emma slowly extended her hand toward his nose.

The dog sniffed her hand and then leaned his head into it. She rubbed the top of his head and murmured to him as she did. She did not even know what she was saying, but whatever it was, the dog seemed to be responding positively.

“Are you hungry, boy? I sure am,” Emma said as she turned her attention back toward the door.

When she took hold of the knob and turned it, the door opened. Emma entered the kitchen and held the screen door open, inviting the dog to follow her, but he stood up, walked to the swing, then hopped up onto the seat. She was glad he did, because he made her nervous. Emma did not fully trust dogs she did not know well.

A dog bit her when she was about eight years old. It had taken her several years and her daddy getting her a puppy for her to overcome most of her fear of dogs.

Emma went straight to the icebox, but when she opened it, it was virtually empty. All she saw was a boxed food plate from what looked like the diner in Wilmer, some catsup, mustard, and a couple of co colas. Emma took one of the bottles of co cola out and then searched through the cabinet drawers until she found a bottle opener.

After searching though the pantry, which was also empty except for coffee, sugar, and a loaf of moldy bread, Emma opened the icebox again and took out the food plate. “Whoever lives here, must not cook at all,” she muttered aloud. When she opened the lid, it smelt ok, but there was a half-inch layer of grease around the edges. She would have to warm it up before she could eat it. The stove was a wood stove. Emma knew how to use one, because her great-grandmother had one, but if she started a fire in it, someone might see the smoke from the chimney.

Emma was starving. She went back, opened the pantry again, and stood staring at its sparse contents. She reached for the loaf of bread, deciding she could make a catsup sandwich if the bread was not too old.

After lifting it off the shelf, Emma saw that the entire loaf was covered in green, powdery, mold. The thought of eating it was worse than the idea of eating the greasy food.

Emma retrieved a spoon from one of the drawers, walked out onto the porch, then scooped the grease off the food, and fed it to the dog.

She then went back inside and sat the plate in front of her at the table. There was a bottle of whiskey on the table and a short glass. Emma had never drunk hard liquor before, but most adults she knew did. She opened the bottle and smelt the whiskey. It did not smell the way she thought it would; it smelt better. She turned the bottle up and took a big swallow. It burned her throat and almost took her breath. The burning was not what Emma expected. She replaced the cap on the bottle, and then sat it back where it had been. She then turned her attention to the food.

The first few of bites were delicious, but as soon as they settled into her stomach, she felt sick. She tried taking a few more bites, figuring it was because she had been so long with food that her stomach was rejecting it.

After the second attempt, Emma pushed the plate away from her, and then took a swallow of the co cola. The nauseous feeling did not go away. Instead, her stomach felt as if it was bloating, swelling until she felt it would explode. She stood up and attempted to go to the bathroom. Before she could make it to the toilet, she vomited!

Emma tried to catch the vomit in her hands, but it was hopeless. The vomit flowed through her fingers and splashed onto the floor. When she looked down, she saw a sheriff’s uniform shirt on the floor of the bathroom.

The sight of the sheriff’s uniform was a relief to Emma, but at that moment, she was too sick to fully comprehend her good fortune. She sank to the floor and then crawled to the toilet. Emma vomited several more times before she lost consciousness.

As he collapsed to his knees, Joshua turned toward the side where he had felt the sharp burning pain.

Johnny Treble was still seated across the fire pit from where he and Tom were. In his hand, Joshua saw a 22-caliber pistol. He could not believe he had been so careless.

He should have realized that Johnny might potentially cause a problem when he arrested Tom, but Johnny was just a drunk. He never caused any trouble, just ran off at the mouth most of the time.

“Damnit, Johnny. What’d you do that for, I coulda took him.” he heard Tom say.

Joshua was trying to get his revolver out of its holster, when he felt a booted foot stomp his other hand. Looking up, he saw that Tom was now standing over him.

“I reckon the hell I’ll have to kill him now,” Tom said flatly, as if he would be putting an injured animal out of its misery.

“I didn’t want him ta take you in, Tom,” Johnny slurred and then hiccupped. “We cousins got to look out fer one another.” While they were preoccupied talking with one another, Joshua managed to get his gun out of its holster. He looked from Johnny to Tom. Tom was nearest, but Johnny was the one with the gun. Either way, he would be taking a chance; it was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t moment.

If he shot Tom, Johnny would shoot him and if he shot Johnny, Tom would stomp the gun out of his hand. If he did not get more air into his lungs, then he would die from that.

Joshua pointed his gun toward Tom and squeezed the trigger just as he heard Johnny yell, “Watch out Tom!”

He saw a blackened hole form in Tom’s shirt. The hole was just below his left shirt pocket. Suddenly, the area around the hole turn red with blood.

Joshua swung his pistol toward Johnny Treble, but Johnny Treble had tried to stand up. In his attempt, he fell backwards over the chair and the pistol he was holding went flying across the yard.

Joshua turned his attention back to Tom. Tom had stumbled backward and collapsed into the chair he had been sitting in. Joshua could see the disbelief on Tom’s face. For a moment, Joshua thought Tom was going to jump back upright, but when he tried, he was unable to stand. With each beat of Tom’s cold heart, Joshua saw blood spurt out the hole in his shirt.

Tom looked at Joshua, their eyes locked. Tom sneered, then opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but before he could speak, death swept in.

Tom’s face contorted in the reapers firm grip. Joshua watched as the blood stopped spurting out the hole in Tom’s shirt and slowed to a dribble. The life force that was Tom Stringer departed this world.

Joshua could almost envision the hounds of hell that come to drag Tom’s soul into its fiery depths.

He knew he should feel something, compassion, pity maybe, but he only felt contempt.

No one who could take an innocent man and woman’s life, just because their pride had been bruised, deserved any sympathy at all as far as he was concerned.

Johnny Treble had gotten to his feet and now was staggering over to where Tom was, but Joshua had no doubts that Tom was dead. Death comes quick to some. Joshua wished it had taken a little longer with Tom.

He did not deserve an easy death.

From the amount of blood in Roy McGregor’s house, Cassie Bohannon and Joe Dyas had probably suffered awhile before death greeted them. Joshua had not gotten the chance to ask Tom Stringer why he dumped Cassie’s body in the lake, but left Joe’s body in Roy’s house. That information died with him.

Joshua tied to stand, but could not get to his feet. He was struggling to get air into his lungs. On his hands and knees, he began crawling toward his patrol car.

Joshua knew if he could make it there, he could radio for help. Before he could make it to his car, he heard a woman begin moaning loudly. Tom’s wife had come from the trailer. She was on her knees in front of Tom and had her arms wrapped around him, rocking him back and forth. Joshua took it all in but continued toward his car.

After he reached his car, Joshua used the steering wheel to pull himself into the driver’s seat, then he reached for the microphone. He keyed up and called for help. When the dispatcher asked the address, he did not know the street number. All he could tell them was “Tom Stringers.”

Once seated, Joshua’s breathing came a little easier. He decided that the wind had been knocked out of him.

He reached around with his left hand and felt his right side. It stung and felt sticky. His bloodied hand let him know that the bullet had hit him. It was just not as bad as it had felt at first.

Taking as deep a breath as he could, Joshua sucked much needed air into his lungs, but it was not without pain.

Joshua looked back over to where Tom, Johnny, and Tom’s wife were. Joshua did not know her name, but he did know that she had three or four younguns from a previous marriage and he thought she and Tom shared one or two. She was still crying and rocking Tom. Johnny Treble was sitting on the ground, looking defeated.

Joshua reached for his smokes. He took one out, stuck it into his mouth, and lit it. The first draw made him cough, but the next went down a little easier.

He wanted to crank up and drive home, but he knew he could not do that. As he sat there smoking, he heard sirens in the distance. Before he had finished his cigarette, Deputies Cook and Davis skidded into the yard. Both jumped from their patrol cars and ran to his side.

“Are you alright, Sheriff?” Cook asked, breathlessly.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I need y’all to place Johnny Treble under arrest. We’re going to need the coroner for Tom Stringer, he’s dead.”

“Damn, Johnny killed Tom; what for?” Cook asked.

“No, I was placing Tom under arrest for the murders of Cassie Bohannon and Joe Dyas, that’s when Johnny shot me. I went down from the impact; Tom was going to finish me off. He attacked me while I was down on the ground. I managed to get my weapon unholstered and shot him.”

“Joe Dyas… who, when, I thought it was Roy McGregor who was killed.” Cook was mumbling, trying to figure out what had happened at Roy’s house.

“You was shot!” Jim Davis exclaimed.

“I think it’s just a graze,” Joshua replied, adjusting himself in the seat.

“Tom Stringer killed them; how in the hell did you figure all of that out, Sheriff?”

“It’s called investigating, Cookie. What do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

“Sorry, Sheriff; I was-well, I just wasn’t thinking,” Cook said, looking embarrassed. Deputy Davis had already gone to his patrol car and was on the radio.

“Cookie, there is a 22-caliber pistol laying on the ground over there by that sweet gum tree. You need to get it and bag it while Davis places Johnny Treble under arrest. Be careful. I don’t know anything about Tom’s wife, she might cause a problem.”

“Do you think we need to wait for back up?” Cook asked. Joshua knew his concern, but thought they should be capable on their own.

“No. The quicker you get the situation under control, the better.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cook replied excitedly, and for a split second, Joshua thought Cook was going to salute him.

He leaned back in the seat stretching his shoulder around to ease the discomfort in his ribcage. Damn, that’s
two
close calls in a short amount of time
,
thought Joshua as he took one last drag off his smoke before smashing it into the ashtray. “What the hell is next?” he mumbled aloud.

Emma awoke; her head and one arm hanging over the toilet bowl. The sour smell of vomit almost caused her to vomit again. She reached up, flushed the toilet, and then used the toilet bowl to hang onto and raise herself to her knees. She felt far weaker than she had before she ate the food. Now, not only was she weak, she was sick too.

It was near dark in the small bathroom, which had no window. Emma turned toward the door, but from where she was, she could only see into the hallway.

She reached over and took hold of the bathtub. She removed her soiled clothes, crawled into the tub, placed the stopper, and then turned on the hot water.

After several minutes, she had to add cold water to the tub. Once the tub was full, Emma lay back.

Soaking in the hot steaming water felt good on her sore aching body, lulling her to sleep.

It was very dark and the water was cool when Emma woke. She thought she was back in the river, and fear gripped her heart, but then she realized she was in the bathtub. Emma leaned forward, pulled the stopper, and let out most of the water. She then refilled the tub and bathed the remaining grime from her body.

The darkness, her friend at first, was beginning to spook her. She swore she saw shadows moving in and out of the room. The limited amount of lighting, came from moonlight that filtered into the hallway from somewhere in the house.

Emma let the water out, and then got out of the tub and felt around the doorway for a light switch. In the mirror above the sink, all she could see was her eyes, nose, and the top of her head. She raised her hand and looked at it. It was shriveled up and as wrinkled as a prune.

Emma turned on the water and used her hand as a dipper to fill her mouth with water. She swirled it around in her mouth, then spat it out; she repeated this several times and before the sour taste was gone. Her finger and a little toothpaste served as a toothbrush.

Emma was tempted to eat the toothpaste, but knew it would probably make her sick.

She wrapped a towel around her and stepped toward the door. To the right was the kitchen; to the left were several doorways. She went to the first one, reached in and turned on the light. The unmade bed looked inviting.

There was men’s clothing scattered around the room and hung over a chair. Emma turned the light off and went to the next room.

There was a smaller bed in this room; the closet door stood ajar. Emma went to the closet and opened the door. There were some clothes hanging there, but she could tell that the clothes had been there a very long time. There was a layer of dust atop them and the hangers. In the closet was a wooden trunk. Emma dragged it out of the closet and raised the lid. Inside, it smelled of mothballs and cedar. To her surprise, the clothes were women’s clothes.

She pulled each piece of clothing out of the trunk one by one until she found a floral print shift dress. Emma pulled the dress over her head. It fit loosely and the material was thick enough to hide her nakedness. A light woven shawl lay beneath the dress, she pulled it out and gathered it around her shoulders.

Emma decided to try the kitchen again. The first time she was so desperate for something to eat, she might have overlooked something. She turned off the light as she left the room, more out of habit than anything.

In the kitchen, she once again opened the cabinet doors and the refrigerator looking for food. When she turned toward the back door she noticed, what she thought was a closet door at the back of the room. Emma opened the door and discovered that it was a cellar, not a closet.

Just inside the door was a light switch. Emma flipped the switch, but nothing happened. She looked down into the dark room, wondering, what if there was food down there, “I won’t be able to see it” she mumbled sadly, and after her last encounter with a cellar, she was afraid to go down.

Turning back into the kitchen, Emma glimpsed headlights flash across the tops of trees out in the yard. She scrambled to find the light switch and turn off the kitchen light. In the darkness, she made her way down the hall. She heard a car pull into the front yard.

Suddenly, Emma remembered the clothes she had removed in the bathroom, she ran in there, flipped the light switch on long enough to grab the soiled clothes, including the uniform shirt that was covered in vomit. She wadded them up and tucked them under her arm. Then switched off the light and made her way to the rear bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Emma sat down on the bed and waited. She was not going to let her presence known until she knew for sure whose house it was, and who was there.

After a few minutes, whoever had driven into the yard still had not come inside. Emma wondered if maybe it was someone stopping by for an unannounced visit and not the person who lived there.

Emma was holding her breath, listening intently, when she heard a whisper. The whispered breath, when it came again, sounded near. Emma inhaled sharply. The voice scared her, and she began to tremble.

“Can you hear the call,” whispered the voice, this time right in her ear. Emma wanted to scream. The voice reminded her of her captors whispering to her in the dark dungeon; but common sense took control. Emma knew if she screamed, she would be discovered.

Placing an index finger in each ear to block out the voice, Emma closed her eyes and waited.

What call, was the voice referring to, Emma wondered, squeezing her eyes tighter and poking her fingers deeper into her ear canals. Then, she realized that with her fingers in her ears and her eyes closed, she would not be able to hear as well nor see if someone turned on the lights in the house…