The Underground Lady (20 page)

"Did you get your little put-put fixed?" Rose teased.

"We did."

"I've made reservations for us all up at the Big Ball for tonight. It's time we did something different."

"I hate that place, Rose."

"Hebrone and Sunny haven't eaten there, and Shack's wife needs a break from the routine."

"Sorry, we have plans. Friends are coming over," Shack smiled.

"I'm going to check with your wife."

"I know, Rose, but it's the truth."

"Okay," Rose said, getting up to leave. "Pick us up at six thirty, Jay. You two wear them coats and ties."

***

There are no windows in a casino. No clocks or newspapers. It is hard to tell what city you are in. You could be in Las Vegas, or Reno, or Biloxi, and still find the same pastel-colored furniture and piped-in music, the same bottled water and strips of paper on the sterilized toilet seat. No pine trees or fresh cut hay. No smell at all. Dice tables, poker tables, and slot machines in all forms and coinages dominate the floor, with the only way to the check-in counter or restaurants leading through the maze.

Pushing the button for the elevator that would carry us up to the restaurant, I looked at Sunny Pfeiffer, and at that instant her eyes caught mine and flickered from my shoulders to my waist and again to my face. She followed Rose and Hebrone into the elevator decisively but gracefully, as though she had practiced the movement in front of a mirror. I followed her high, slim shoulders and tight-sheathed hips as she stepped inside. I envied the men who had warmed themselves, or been burned, by that secret electricity. When I was around her, I felt it was another way to describe being lost, without the impulse to remember where you came from. I wondered if her mother had been like her.

The elevator door opened onto the Galaxy Restaurant located inside the huge Golden Moon atop the casino with a three hundred and sixty-degree panoramic view of Neshoba and Newton County. It is one of the southeast's most unique dining experiences, but what keeps it from being rated "Five Star," in my opinion, are two simple things – noise and cigarette smoke. One has to remember, though, this place is first and foremost a gambling casino.

We were seated at a table that was half booth and half chairs, very plush with a spectacular view. The sun was just touching the horizon, and the air was clear, clean, and as crisp as frozen steel.

"Wow," Sunny said. "This is some view. And out in the middle of the southern woods. Who would have imagined?"

The fading light, caught perfectly on her face, framed an expression like a child's. She closed her eyes, and seemed to shudder, then she opened them, and for a moment she was coming back from a long way away. Then she smiled.

Rose said, "I once had a creative writing teacher who taught that one should never try to write about a sunset. It is an affront to God, and the writer is bound to fail. The most skillful arrangement of words is an embarrassment when compared to the actual event." She looked at me. "You should have been a writer, Jay. You possess all the characteristics of one – outsideness, displacement, and alienation."

Sunny laughed. "Boy, she's got you pegged."

Hebrone saved me from making an ass of myself. "Too bad Shack and his wife couldn't make it."

"Yes," Rose said. "They are good people, and good neighbors. I like him because what he does not understand, he suspects, and what he suspects, he fights."

"He could be compared to a shark. Zeros in on his target and attacks to the exclusion of all else," I said. Only Hebrone got the analogy.

"Kind of reminds me of Jay," Rose said.  "Strong, durable, trusted protection and discretion."

Sunny laughed. "I think she just compared you to a tampon."

We all laughed.

The sun set below the horizon and lights began to twinkle across the countryside. People filled the restaurant, and the noise increased. Our waiter showed as if biding time for the sun to go down, reminding me of Key West where the whole island pauses and then applauds that event.

Rose looked at the waiter and pointed at me. "He's the wine expert, so we will let him do the ordering for all of us."

I picked a bottle of champagne and an assortment of hors d'oeuvres, waiting to see who wanted what to eat before choosing the dinner wine.

"So, Sunny, why has some man not seriously tried to steal your heart?"

"There was one that came close, but he decided he didn't like me."

"Why didn't he like you?"

"He liked the way I looked," she said. "He mistook that for me."

"I'd have made the same mistake."

"Sure, you're a man."

Rose laughed. "She has you figured out, also."

Hebrone and Sunny ordered fish, Rose and I red meat, so I ordered a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Pomerol, both outstanding vintages at amazingly low prices for a restaurant. The food, wine, and company were excellent. The noise and cigarette smoke still a problem.

I sat for a moment enjoying the complex nose of the Pomerol, my mind drifting.

"What are you thinking, Mr. Leicester?" Sunny asked, with a slight condescending smile.

Laughing, I answered, “There was a Russian-born physicist by the name of George Gamow, who had developed theories of stellar evolution. His girlfriend asked him that same question one night. He answered, ‘I’m the only person in the world right now who knows how the sunshine works.' Well, I'm probably the only person in this 'Big Moon' who is wondering what happened to a woman named Hadley Welch twenty-five years ago."

"You want to know what I think?" Rose said. "I think there is a decline in this country's biological fitness. There is increased criminal behavior, a loosening of moral values and a consequent rise in venereal disease. Look at AIDS. Political and religious restlessness is increasing. Some congressman wanted to use the Koran to take the oath of office, for God's sake. No pun intended. Look at the huge outcry at the homosexual Senator and the Pages. Even the cause of the anti-abortion movement used zealots to blow up clinics. Then there is urban decay and industrial squalor. I fear for our biological fitness."

"You have a solution to this problem?"

"Maybe we should breed people like Shack does his cows?"

"Surely you don't suggest eugenics as a cure for your 'Biological' problem?"

"Maybe – within the framework of other things."

"I've got a thought for you – Hitler? The Nazis claimed that the Aryan was a distinct and superior form of humanity destined to rule over 'sub-humans.' You saw how that came out."

"But you get my point. We have a problem and it needs fixing."

Hebrone raised his glass. "You know what I think? Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is precious. More white wine, please."

Rose was right, the trip to the casino restaurant was a good diversion.

Dropping the three off, I waited in the driveway until Hebrone gave me a thumbs-up that everything was okay, then drove to the cottage. Stepping out of the car, I was at once enveloped by the dewy freshness of the moonlit night. It was beautiful with nothing evil on the horizon. It was just another fine southern night.

Chapter Sixteen

I woke to the sound of an engine running. It took me a moment to realize that it was a small airplane circling the cottage. Getting out of bed, I headed for the door only to become aware that I had no clothes on. Returning to the bedroom, I slipped into a pair of pants, grabbed the binoculars, and went out on the porch. The little airplane was disappearing over the trees to the north. It was high-winged and fixed geared, most likely a Cessna. Why would they be low, circling my place at seven a.m.? The Tax Assessor uses small aircraft to see if anyone has built new structures on their property in the county. Timber companies survey forest tracts with them. Some contractors use them to scout for building sites, and then there is the local sightseer, kind of like Hebrone and I were the other day when the oil cap blew.

Now, the airplane returned and circled low to the west over my back eighty. It was too far away to see the "N" number – A number used for identification required on all aircraft. In a few minutes, it went away.

After a shower, and while sipping my second cup of coffee, I called the airports in Philadelphia and Newton. Neither had any airplanes departing or landing this morning. No one answered at the Forest airport. Dialing the control tower in Meridian, I got Paul Bradford, the tower chief. He promised to check the logs and call me back.

Hebrone drove up with B.W. "Did you see the Cessna circling?"

"The Meridian tower chief is checking for us. I'm waiting on his call. Nothing at the other local airports."

"Rose said you needed to spend some time with this big boy, here."

"Thanks for bringing him," I said, while setting B.W. a bowl of his favorite tuna on the floor.

The phone rang.

"Okay, Paul. Thanks a lot. No, he didn't do anything illegal. We just wondered who it was, that's all."

Hanging up, I looked at Hebrone. "A Cessna 182, registered to Gerald VonHorner took off at six a.m., landed a few minutes ago. Radar showed the plane in our vicinity."

"Maybe we should ask him what he seeks?"

B.W. looked up from his tuna as if to say, “That's a good idea."

"I want to ride down to Decatur and have a talk with the sheriff. Get him started on the background checks on Collinswood, Pushkin, and Spruance. Why don't you take Pussy Galore to lunch, see what you can get out of her, use all that Opshinsky charm.

"Better take B.W. back to Rose. I don't want to find him hanging from the door. It would make you do insane things."

"Yes – insane. We'll meet up later this afternoon."

***

Sheriff John Quincy Adams was in his office. We made polite small talk, then I asked, “So you were 'in-country?'"

"Don't want to talk about it. I'll only say your boy, Opshinsky, has done okay for himself. A lot of guys who went through what we did ended up much worse. They turned to drugs and crime and died young and disillusioned."

"How'd you make it through unscathed?"

"Luck, my friend, and by the grace God, though I was far from unaffected."

"Someone poured water in the oil tank of my airplane. Hebrone and I escaped death by a few feet. I need you to run a background on four people with an eye for aviation mechanical knowledge."

"Water in the oil? Old trick we learned in service."

"Why does everyone know about this but me?"

John looked at me with steely eyes – a strange grin contorted one side of his face. "Consider yourself lucky you're not trained in all the ways to kill people, Jay. It can be a burden. I'll run the backgrounds for you, but it's not going to solve who poured water in your oil tank."

"One of these men, the one whose prints were on the note left along with the coyote hanging from my door, is at the head of the list."

"Henderson? Yeah, he's capable, but he's a hired hand, one of those tough, survivalist types with few brains, easily led. I'd be afraid of him, if I were you. Shack Runnels and him were tight when they were young. The difference in the two is Runnels was intelligent and married a smart woman."

"He's been a good friend to me over the years. Taught me things about the people and country. Kept me from making serious mistakes at times."

"You would be wise to let me handle Ralph Henderson if you get enough proof that he tried to kill you."

"I'll keep that in mind, John. Thanks for your time."

***

Sunny Pfeiffer was sitting in the glider playing with B.W. when I arrived back at the cottage from the visit with Sheriff John Quincy Adams. The weather had warmed into the sixties and it was a pleasant day.

"Where's Rose?" I asked, getting out of my truck.

"Philadelphia. She had some shopping to do. I hate that, so B.W. and I are waiting for you to take us to lunch, and to explain why you were off investigating the disappearance of my mother without me when you were specifically told that I wanted to be involved? Who is paying for your services?"

She said this with a non-condescending smile, and in such a pleasant manner, that I wasn't offended.

"I planned on a bowl of cereal with honey and a banana. You are welcome to share."

She laughed with such a deep, sexy sound that it made me stare. "Cereal for lunch, I would never have imagined. Do you feed B.W. the same thing?"

"He laps up the leftover honey-sweetened milk."

She chuckled again.

We sat at the table with our cereal bowls.

"Tell me where we are with finding my mother?"

Recapping, I started with her receiving the letter from the now deceased Avis Shaw, the warning to cease and desist with the coyote hanging from my door, the interviews with the men in her mother's life, the second threat left on my kitchen table, the same one we ate cereal on at the moment, and the sabotage of my airplane engine. "Our next step is finding Ralph Henderson and asking him a few questions."