Deep Down (I) (24 page)

“I’ll let the sheriff know what you said. You should tell Seth you admire the Seminoles and Cherokees.”

“I hate to admit it, but I’m a little afraid of him. He has a terrible temper he hides under that supposedly stoic nature. One other thing.” He shifted his feet as if he needed to get going. “I don’t want to get Emmy in trouble, either, but I told her she needs to let the sheriff know she did tell me about that weird photo the New York photographer took—just today at lunch. She was worried about me since I need to go back into the general area where she thought it was taken.”

“I wanted to tell you about that, especially when you mentioned all those Bigfoot-type-legends, but we don’t want rumors getting out.”

“Mum’s the word with me. I don’t really believe in the Florida Swamp Ape, either, or we’d have photos or bones.
The thing is, I think I have proof Vern could be behind that photo—be in that photo. Have you taken a look at his upstairs museum recently?” he asked, with a roll of his eyes.

“No, but I’m supposed to help get it ready for Tyler Finch to take pictures there.”

“I know it’s kind of a joke around here, but just for the heck of it, I went through it last time I was here. He’s got a mannequin wearing a costume from some kind of Siberian ginseng hunter. It looks a lot like what Emmy described in the photo. It’s a big, fierce-looking thing.”

“A Siberian ginseng hunter?” Hadn’t Peter mentioned something about that yesterday, she thought.

“I know it sounds far-fetched, but maybe there’s some connection, like Vern wore the costume to scare off poachers or got caught by your mother in it—I don’t know. Listen, I got to get back to work.”

“Ryan, thanks.”

“Sure. But I’d appreciate it if you don’t get me in trouble with Vern. He’s big man about town around here, so I hesitated to say anything. Got to go.”

The minute the door closed, Jessie decided to go see that display in the museum. How could a man who had deserted his daughter be as decent as Ryan Buford seemed? She’d outright ask him next time, but her mother’s murder investigation took precedence over Pearl’s paternity right now.

Jessie wasn’t sure whether to lock the front door or not. She could always tell Vern that business was slow and she decided to take a look at the museum.

But the door opened again, and two of Emmy Enloe’s brothers came in, though she wasn’t certain of their first names. Taking a look at something as far out as a Siberian ginseng hunter costume would have to wait.

24

D rew surveyed the irregularly shaped clearing that was obviously Junior’s hideout. No wonder he’d bivouacked here. Not only was there a fairly heavy tree canopy for protection from the elements, but a deer hunter’s blind huddled in some berry bushes, making an even better shelter from the wind, rain or cold.

But on second glance, it was obvious from Junior’s wet sleeping bag that he was not using the small, square, roofed canvas shelter. Sheriff Akers had said Junior had almost gone nuts when they put him in his cell. If he was claustrophobic, was it so bad that he’d choose to stay out in the open despite all the rain they’d had?

And where was he?

His skin crawled as if he were being watched. Slowly, carefully, looking all around, his shotgun cocked and locked, Drew held his ground. Junior’s rifle leaned against the hunter’s blind. Had he heard him coming and laid a trap, so that if Drew went into the clearing to get the gun, Junior would shoot him with another?

But, no, Junior walked out from behind the trees, hiking up and zipping his jeans. Nature’s call, that’s all. But before Junior got to that gun, it was now or never.

About thirty feet away, Drew stepped into full view, racked his shotgun and commanded, “Police! Don’t move!”

Mouth and eyes wide, Junior raised his hands as if to give up, then shouted, “You’re gonna have to shoot me in the back, boy. Then you just explain that, ’cause I ain’t goin’ in again, no way.”

“Don’t move!” Drew repeated, keeping the shotgun trained on him and coming closer.

Damn the man, he spun away and ran.

Pointing his shotgun up instead of at Junior, Drew vaulted into the clearing and pursued. Once they were past the hunting blind, the terrain got rough and uneven, and the wily bastard obviously knew it better than he did. But he was in much better shape than the older guy, and maybe just as desperate. Something had to break to lead him to Mariah and Beth Brazzo’s killer.

As Junior darted down a small incline toward where Drew could hear a stream, he dropped his shotgun and leaped off the elevated terrain. He hit hard into Junior. They went down, rolled, clipped one tree—Junior took the brunt of that—then slid into a thicket.

The thorns scratched and dropped rainwater so thick at first Drew almost couldn’t see. Junior flailed away, landed one good blow on his jaw, but he had him now. Amazed at Junior’s strength, Drew straddled him, pinned him and flipped him facedown, as he had the last time they’d fought. Would the guy never learn? Damn, Junior was desperate. Drew yanked his prisoner’s hands behind his back and cuffed him.

Drew crawled out of the thicket backward, scratched and snagged, dragging Junior behind him. Ignoring the babbling and curses, he patted him down and relieved him of a jack
knife, a cigarette lighter, a can opener and set of keys. As Drew stuffed the items in his own jacket pockets, he gasped in deep breaths while Junior whined and hyperventilated.

“Just let me drown in that stream, Sheriff—don’t take me back, don’t lock me up.”

“Then tell me what I need to know.” Drew stood, retrieved his shotgun, hauled Junior to his feet and shoved him up the incline toward his camp. He held on to Junior with one hand and his shotgun with the other. “For starters, where did you get those varmint sticks you had around your sang patch?”

“Bought them from a cat’logue.”

“Looks like I’m gonna have to question your wife to back that up. Besides, you’ve obviously had an accomplice to stay on the run like this.”

“Leave her be!”

“Let’s try this question before I haul you into my nice little jail in Deep Down—smaller jail, smaller cells than Highboro. Is Peter Sung paying you for more than just sang? You two have some other deal going?”

“Leave me be. Can’t you just leave me be?”

“Get real, Junior. At the least, you’ve endangered lives, including mine. You’ve jumped bail. Now we’ve got two unsolved homicides and an arson in town, and you could have committed all three.”

“What? Who else but Mariah’s dead? I ain’t got nothing to do with murders or arson!”

“Then we can make some sort of deal, reduced cell time for information. What’s the name of the company you bought the varmint sticks from? I’ll check on that, for starters, then trace—”

To Drew’s surprise, Junior dropped to his knees, pulling
him off balance. Though his hands were tied behind his back, he rolled toward his hunting rifle still on the ground.

“Just let me shoot myself!” he shouted as Drew stepped on the rifle and dragged him away from it. “Rolled me in a rug till I couldn’t breathe! Can’t do that no more!”

“Who did that?” Drew gritted out as he hauled him to his feet again.

“My brothers, when I was little. Over and over when Ma wasn’t looking. I can’t—can’t—breathe!”

Once he assured himself that Junior wasn’t having a heart attack, and half hating himself for what he was about to do, Drew shoved the berserk man toward the small, enclosed canvas blind. “I’m in a big hurry to get back to town, but I think you’re almost in the mood to answer my questions.”

“Don’t put me in there!” he shouted, bucking backward.

“We’ll just call this our little interrogation room,” Drew said, yanking open the back flap and shoving the cuffed man into the small space. He saw a pile of dry clothes and some cans of food and soda pop inside, a storage room that could have made a cozy bedroom in the wilds. He pushed Junior to his knees, then tied his ankles together with the sleeves of a sweatshirt. Drew kicked the cans and piles of clothes outside, then tied Junior’s hands and feet to the opposite poles that held the canvas sides erect. He’d blindfold him if he had to, but he didn’t think it would be necessary to get the guy to talk.

“I’ve got things to do in town, Junior, so I’m only going to be outside here for a few minutes before I leave you. You answer my questions, I drive you into Highboro, get you help in dealing with your problems—both the legal ones and the claustrophobia. You don’t answer my questions, I’ll
be back to get you tomorrow, or whenever. Nice of you to pick a place so deserted.”

He slapped the flap back down, then checked through Junior’s stash of food and clothing while the old man cursed and shouted. Nothing unusual in the clothes or cans, except that the shirts looked pressed and the cache of food wasn’t meant to last for long before it was replenished. The guy must have been back and forth to his house, only he hadn’t visited during Drew’s stakeout. Nothing was working out in this investigation. He just needed one little break—and breaking Junior might be it.

“Pearl, let’s go in now!” Cassie yelled.

The child had been playing quietly in the garden with Teddy and a doll her friend Sarah had loaned her while Cassie squeezed rainwater out of her moss on the line, just like she was wringing out clothes. If they hadn’t spent last night with Jessie, she’d have been here to get these inside before they got all soaked. No way the florists in Highboro or Lexington wanted sopping wet moss.

“Pearl!”

No answer. The girl had been real standoffish since she’d been sick, but then she’d been scolded bad for taking those herbs that had made her sick. Magic caves and magic writing, baloney! Sure, little girls had to have some fancies growing up, but one thing Cassie intended her daughter to learn was that the world was not the place you might wish it to be. But then again, she thought, recalling Tyler’s sweet words and kisses, maybe there were some happy-ever-after endings.

Wiping her muddy hands on her apron, Cassie rounded the corner where Pearl had been playing. No Pearl. She
must have gone into the house to the bathroom or to get something to eat.

Cassie went inside. “Pearl? You in there? You sing out now. If this is a game, it’s not a bit funny, so you get right out here, my girl!”

No answer, no sound.

Cassie tore through the house, even looking in the forbidden closet. One thing Pearl never did was wander off. Not into the woods or out of the holler. But after that unwelcome visitor yesterday, she should have had another chat with her about not talking to strangers. She shouldn’t have passed the child’s father off as a salesman. She should have told Pearl there might be some sort of bear—a beast—loose in the forest, though she still wasn’t sure she believed Tyler’s scary photo one bit.

Cassie ran outside, shading her eyes from the midafternoon sun. “Pearl! Pearl!”

Panic made her heart thump harder than her exertions did. She ran this way, then that, all the way around the house. She looked in the cab and bed of the parked truck. She looked under the truck. “Pearl! Pear-r-r-l-l!”

She almost collapsed with relief when she saw her, coming out of the forest, the doll and Teddy still in her arms. Cassie’s first instinct was to shake her and scream at her for scaring her to death, but the child had the strangest look on her face. Dazzled? Puzzled?

Breathless, Cassie ran to her and simply asked, “What?”

“I heard you calling, but…but that salesman was back. He whispered to me, but I told him to go away for you. I knew you were busy so I listened to him.”

Cassie’s strength gave out; she fell to her knees, hugging Pearl hard. “What did he say—do?”

“He said he’s not a salesman, that you were wrong. That he’s my friend, and he’s got a big surprise coming for me and you, too—Paris visits.”

“What?” Cassie cried, setting Pearl back and gripping her shoulders so hard the child flinched.

“He says tell you he’s going to get Paris visits to Florida for me where Disneyland is. But is Florida close to Paris?”

Cassie glared at the forest, then stood and dragged Pearl so fast into the house that her feet almost left the ground. Inside, she bolted the door, then knelt before Pearl again. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” she asked.

“No—he’s really nice. Handsome, too, like a prince. He said I should ask you his name and who he really is.”

The liar was so good at seduction, Cassie thought. Women, even little girls. So why did she have the icy-cold feeling he really hated women rather than loved them?

She stood and ran into the back room, opened the old trunk, and dug under Big Bear for something else she’d locked up there. Her Daddy’s hunting rifle and—oh, yeah—a box of cartridges. Would this old thing even shoot? It smelled of mothballs as bad as the bearskin.

“You call Sarah and ask her if you can come over for a while,” Cassie shouted to Pearl. “You remember her number. Hurry up now.”

“But who is he?” she called from the other room. “He said he’s not magic and not an ogre or troll that lives in the forest.”

Cassie whispered to herself, “He’s the big, bad wolf. Oh, Pearl, I’ve done such a bad job with you.” Then she said louder, “I’ll tell you later, honey. You just call Sarah’s house right now.”

Whatever that traitor’s game was, Cassie thought as she shoved Big Bear back in place, at least she could translate
his message Pearl had garbled. He might not have told the child he was her father in so many words, but he’d promised he was going to get “parent’s visits.” There was no way she’d allow that. He was deliberately tormenting her and threatening her. He’d tempted her when he was here last time, and she’d willingly given in. Now he was daring her to stop him at any cost. She’d had to give up a plan to poison him, but no way was he going to poison Pearl with his sweet-talking ways.

Cassie wrapped the rifle and cartridges in an old hook rug and slammed the trunk on Big Bear’s wide-eyed stare.

As soon as Jessie had concluded her first deal to buy Deep Down sang from Emmy’s brothers, Clint and Amos, and they trekked out the door and drove off, she flipped the front window Open sign over to Closed. The Enloe brothers had said they liked Ryan Buford well enough, even though he was more worldly than their “little” sister. She’d gotten that endorsement out of them as well as a fair price, she thought. Since the Enloe boys thought Ryan was, as they’d put it, a straight shooter, that meant what he’d told her about Vern was probably the truth. Besides, she’d had the feeling from the first that Vern had lied about not arguing with her mother over her rejecting his marriage proposal. The way he’d looked so emotional at the wake and funeral might suggest a guilty soul.

As she hurried up the narrow wooden stairs under the Deep Down Museum sign, she realized she should have visited Vern’s displays long ago. But she knew people who had lived within sight of the Statue of Liberty who had never taken the ferry out to see it or Ellis Island, either.

The stairs creaked. She hoped Vern was taking his time
buying sang from the Widow McGillan. Crazy Creek was a ways out of town, on twisting, washboard roads, but she’d still have to hurry.

She passed the closed door to what must be Peter Sung’s room when he stayed here, no doubt a huge step down from his Lexington home. Maybe she’d have time to search there, too, but only after checking with Drew. She was tempted to try the door to see if it was locked, but she wanted to check out the Siberian sang hunting costume Ryan had mentioned.

The museum door stood open. She turned on the only power switch; the lights clicked on loudly in sequence, from nearest to farthest. The two rooms were quite bright, a good thing, because most items had typed cards with information about the displays. Although the glass cases and wooden floorboards looked clean, she sneezed twice. The place smelled of sang, maybe mold, age—and, somehow, danger.