Morgan James - Promise McNeal 02 - Quiet Killing (32 page)

My goat girls are smarter than Daniel’s cows. They bedded down in their house by dark on the first snow night, and there they stayed, assured I would hike out
in the cold to bring grain and fresh water. The charred rubble-mound of the hay barn, now covered by clean fluffy snow, reminded me I needed to hire a contractor to rebuild, but with the weather and all the drama of the past two weeks, I was too exhausted to deal with the challenge. It could wait until spring returned. For the next few days, I was content to stay near the fireplace as much as I could, cuddle my two cats, and listen to Alfie’s life story. He is good company and I was glad he’d stayed.

Sometime during the three days we were snowbound, Pokey and Nan Fantell ran a stop sign in Pickens, South Carolina and were arrested on three outstanding warrants. The first warrant was issued in Perry County for breaking into Mrs. Allen’s house; the second, also from Perry County, was for assaulting Mrs. Allen; the third was a federal warrant for child trafficking. It seems the orphanage, Alba’s home for the past eight years, and the Hungarian government took an aggressive European search international after they learned the child was seen leaving the playgrounds with a couple identified as American circus performers.

On day four of the big snow, I met Susan at the entrance to the Perry County Hospital. I quizzed her as we moved through the automatic glass doors to the lobby. “So what did you find out from Mac? What will happen to Missy, I mean Alba? Will she go back to the orphanage?”

“Probably. We were over at MaMa’s last night and Mac said the Hungarian Embassy in DC is waiting for a person from the orphanage to come over. Course MaMa was crying the whole time Mac was talking.

“Then a woman from the orphanage called the house and talked to Alba. They were speaking Hungarian so I don’t know what was said, but when she hung up, oh Lord, you should have seen the look on the child’s face. All smiles. She went over to MaMa and hugged her, and then she said, “Da. Home. Thank you.” The child looked
so
happy. MaMa cried about a gallon bucket full of tears. I know her heart was breaking, but once she saw Alba wanted to go home she didn’t say anything else about fighting to keep her.

“Sweet old MaMa. When she was cried out she said to me, ‘Honey, it’s like I say, a family is who takes care of you. If she’s happier over in Hungary, then so be it.’ But on the other hand, I got to tell you, I worry about what might happen when Alba gets to DC.”

“What do you mean?”

Susan smiled. “What if she changes her mind and decides she wants to stay with MaMa? If they try to take her away, she might burn the Embassy down. I mean, what if she starts throwing those fireball things at the Hungarian Ambassador? We could have ourselves another world war.”

“I know you’re trying to be funny, but come on, we don’t know if Alba has any fireballs things or not. It could have been plain old kitchen matches up there in the cave.”

“Yeah, maybe, but do you really think a box of matches would stay dry if you left them in a cave for days? And you said yourself that she didn’t have pockets in her pajamas to carry them up there the morning she ran. And what size box would it take to make a
fireball that big? No, I’m telling you Alba knows a way to make fire.”

“Umm. I don’t know. Maybe a circus magic trick. It is peculiar.”

“I’m going to ask her.”

“Okay, ask her. Can’t hurt,” I said to Susan, though I didn’t really think Alba would tell. “Come on. Let’s go visit before they bring lunch. I don’t want to be in the room when Fletcher pitches a fit about the food.”

He looked smaller, swallowed by the half-raised hospital bed. Left leg in a cast and hanging from some sort of pulley suspended above the white, blanketed surface of the bed. Neck brace. Right arm resting in a sling against his body. I wouldn’t say my neighbor was thrilled to see us, but he was polite.

“Daughter’s been coming regular. Worrying the fool out of me with all her hovering and yakking. I don’t need nothing but to get the hell out of here.”

I took his comment as a hint that our visit should be short, and got to the point. “We just want you to know we are thinking about you, and grateful you’re going to be all right.”

“Yeah, I’m old but too mean to kill. Mac stopped by yesterday. Reckon the Goddard twins will be cooling their heels in jail for a while. No loss to Perry County, that’s for sure. They’ve been sorry pieces of humanity since they took their first step. I even heard tell when they owned the place you bought, they was selling homegrown marijuana from the store.”

Susan and I shared a knowing smile. “Yes, I think I heard that somewhere myself. By the way, I’m selling
Granny’s Store to Susan and Daniel. They’re opening up a restaurant.”

Fletcher thought about that idea for a few seconds. His injuries must’ve impaired his ability to lob critical bombs at me, because he replied almost approvingly, “That a fact? Sounds like a humdinger idea to me. Gonna make some respectable North Carolina barbecue?”

Susan replied, “You bet. Gotta have good barbecue.” There was a pause while she stood up and took a couple of steps closer to the bed. Fletcher recoiled into the bedcovers; maybe worried that Susan was going to hug him. I’m sure she knew better. “Mr. Enloe, I’m real sorry about The Red Bird. I know your heart must be broken about it being so torn up and all.”

Fletcher bristled and let out a derisive snort. “Ain’t nothing gonna stay broke, little girl. I done got her hauled over to Tucker’s Body Shop. That boy’s daddy used to work with me and my brothers back in the day. He’s a good’un. Knows his stuff. He’ll do right by Bird. She’ll be rebuilt better than me.”

“No kidding? That is really good news. I’ll look forward to seeing you driving her in the parade again this year. Listen, I hope you get well fast so you can go home. I’m going to wait out in the hall for Miz P. You take care.”

Fletcher nodded and Susan left, closing the door. We really hadn’t planned for her to leave me alone with Fletcher, but I was glad to have a few minutes with him. “So the twins found your ruby mine,” I said as soon as she left.

He stared at me with those Enloe electric- blue eyes, probably gauging whether he was going to tell
me the rest of the story or not. I waited. After several moments, I won the silent treatment game and he spoke. “It won’t the rubies worth a pretty piece. I ain’t found much of them over the years.” He paused, reached for the glass of water from the bedside table. After sipping through a straw, he continued. “Hit’s them chunky green stones that are worth the digging. Green garnets. Worth a lot more per carat than any local ruby. The way I figure it, the Goddard boys didn’t notice the green rocks. They was looking for red rubies. Course, I can’t know that for sure till I get back up to the mine and see what all they stole. I understand those ignorant, no-count twins shot off a couple of rounds in there and left me with a fallen down ceiling and few tons of rocks to sift though.” He smirked. “Course, might’ve done me a favor and blown out a bigger vein than the one I was working.”

We sat quietly, each waiting for the other to get around to the heavier subject. He finally danced up to it. “I figure you found the other room.”

I nodded. “Yes, we did.”

“Shoulda known. Can’t leave nothing alone, can you?”

“I guess not. Is that where you found my great grandmother’s and the baby’s bones?”

“Yeah, I found them early on after I bought the land from old man Sorley. They were together on that stone ledge. Used up, old yellow candles sitting around, and
Ezekiel 37
scratched on the wall above them. Don’t know what the hell that was all about, but I buried them near the cabin along side where old January was buried.”

“Who buried January?”

“Don’t know for certain. Maybe one of the Sorleys. They got the land back once January died. I reckon maybe cause your granddaddy was still a child. I figure none of them ever knew about Reba and the child being in the cave, or I reckon they would’ve buried them back in the Methodist cemetery.”

“Is there a marker for the graves?”

“Of course there is a marker. You don’t think I’d just dump them in the ground without a way for folks to remember them and say a prayer now and again, do you? If you look beside that big old forsythia bush up there, you’ll see a flat piece of granite put down to mark all three McNeals. When I found Reba and the baby, somebody had cut a wooden cross from a rowan tree to mark January’s grave. It’s long gone, but the granite is still there. I’m sorry you came up on the cave. I’d never taken you back in there. I was meaning to show you the graves, but never the cave.”

“Did you say a rowan tree?”

“That’s right. Two or three up there on top. Pretty red berries in the fall.”

“Aren’t rowan trees said to keep away evil spirits?”

Fletcher frowned “I don’t know nothing about that foolishness. You’d have to ask Honoree Allen about that. She’s the one keeps up with all those old wives tales. Talking about spirits singing little songs and moving about up on Fire, a lot of caca-noodle, if you ask me. She’s a sweet lady, and her tea tree soap is the best in the state, but my stars she does come up with some tall tales.”

29

I left Fletcher’s room to join Susan and found her at the end of the hall, her back to me. I walked in her direction and as she turned aside, I saw she was talking with none other than the Rev. Kolb, and her new friend, Sam. Being the gentleman, Rev. Kolb rose to his feet as I approached. “Good afternoon, Ms. McNeal. How delightful to see you. The Rev. Quinn and I were sharing a few interdenominational observations, following our respective shut-in visits. And whom should we meet, but the lovely Susan Allen. I understand she and Rev. Quinn are newly acquainted.”

Susan looked sheepish and muttered to me, “Don’t look so shocked. I told you Sam had a day job. Didn’t I?”

How interesting. Why was Susan so flustered? Was she uneasy because her new friend was a pastor? Not like Susan to be intimidated. I raised an eyebrow to Susan and took Rev. Kolb’s outstretched hand. “Nice to see you, Rev. Kolb. Please sit down.” He shook my hand politely and sat. I offered my hand to Rev. Quinn.
She took it and closed a small, but determined, hand around mine. “Rev. Quinn? Is that correct?’ She nodded yes and smiled, more at Susan I think, than at me. “I’m Promise McNeal. I’m pleased to meet you. Are you affiliated with one of the local churches?”

Susan gave me one of her you-are-being-nosy-again looks. Rev. Quinn tilted her head, ever so slightly, and kept her easy, comforting smile. “No ma’am,” she answered pleasantly, “I’m visiting a parishioner who became ill over here. I’m with St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Asheville. Assistant Rector. Please call me Sam, everyone does.”

We sat with the reverends for a few minutes chatting about the weather, the efficiency of the Perry County Hospital, and the high price of gasoline in North Carolina, until Rev. Kolb excused himself for a luncheon meeting at First Methodist. The conversation drifted over to how I came to leave my Atlanta counseling practice and move to Western North Carolina, Sam’s pottery hobby, and Susan’s banjo playing abilities. The easy banter between the two young women told me they were better acquainted than Susan had admitted. How interesting that Susan would be almost secretive about her friendship with Rev. Quinn. I considered again that Susan was uncomfortable with Sam Quinn being an Episcopal priest. Somehow that didn’t ring true. Not at all like Susan.

There was a lull in the conversation before Sam remarked, “Susan tells me you are an Episcopalian.”

“Lapsed,” I replied, perhaps too quickly.