Murder Takes to the Hills (27 page)

“Now I’m not about to arrest you ladies today. I know the case is a little wobbly in spots. They will be cleared up shortly, however. And I am telling you: do not leave town. I mean it. You will not get a hundred miles. And I assure you, you are much more comfortable here than in our little jail. Good-day, ladies, I’ll be in touch.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

We sat and looked silently at each other for a few minutes. Then Cindy snapped into cleaning mode.

“Throw those terrible drinks out—they are poisonous—and put the glasses in the dishwasher. And wash those ashtrays.”
 
She, in the meantime, was scrubbing the white pine kitchen table as if she were removing the Ebola virus. I tried the vacuum in the living room, but it was far from a total success. Professionals would indeed be needed. As I finished—or gave up—she came in, plumped and straightened the sofa pillows and plopped onto it.

“Well, Mr. Moto missed a big fat clue that would have yanked the filthy rug out from under our calm night’s sleep story.”

“What’s that?” I felt drained and groggy.

“When he came into the living room this morning, the sofa was a mess, where the three of us had tried to sleep on it, and the bed in our room was neat as a pin, where I had made it… yesterday morning.”

“So it was. I just had my mind on getting the gun out of his way.”

“Yes. You know, this whole plot of Johnson’s would have me thinking I was living in a sequel to
Weekend at Bernie’s
, if it weren’t so serious. Changing clothes, running up and down the trail dragging and carrying a body that’s not a body, going back for the rock. It’s
Keystone Kops
all the way.”

I wasn’t so sure. There was a dull ache in the back of
my
head where certain little ideas were trying to take shape. If I were absolutely sure we would not be arrested I might have simply crossed them all off. A bad, dangerous man was dead, frankly that bothered me not at all. But if I did nothing there was bound to be publicity of a type that would tie Cindy to Ken and certainly damage his political ambitions and, to a lesser extent, not do Sonny any good either. Cindy and I, of course, would have our fifteen minutes in the spotlight—and not in a flattering manner.

In all probability, we would eventually be released for lack of evidence. Of course, that was not proof of innocence. It was just that nothing criminal could be proven.
 
Or, if it went to trial, a good defense lawyer, whom I knew Ken would provide, could probably make a fool out of the local prosecutor. On the other hand, however, juries were fickle. A good solid Baptist jury might not be too anxious to believe two interfering
furriners
—and lesbians to boot.

I had some serious thoughts about one piece of evidence, but had trouble letting my mind even drift in that direction. It was painful and seemed somehow unfair.

Cindy was staring at me. “You were a million miles away.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No, I think I’m just overtired.”

“Gee, I wonder why?” She gave me her gamin grin. “All that running up and down the mountain lugging a body along…I never knew you had it in you. But if you are okay, I’m going to go call Ken. I don’t want him to hear this in some public way.”

“Good idea. I think when you’re finished, I’d better call Sonny. I don’t think he can do anything, but he should know
what’s happening and why we are not going to get home on time.”

Returning to the living room, Cindy looked white and worn out. But she was smiling. “Ken is livid that we have even been on
Jeffie’s
short list. He says don’t let him back in the house, that there’s a shotgun if you need it. I didn’t tell him the shape it’s in. And he’s going to call my parents—I told him I didn’t have the nerve. And he says he’ll be here by noon tomorrow.”

“Maybe I’ll clean it for him later. It’s the least I can do for all the grief we’ve given him.
 
Well, let me go call big bro. I don’t look forward to this.”

Actually Sonny proved understanding and comforting, until he said, “You know I’ll have to tell Mom.” That brought the first tears I had shed over this mess, and brought fast replies and fast goodbyes from my brother who couldn’t stand weeping women. “I won’t alarm her, don’t worry, everything will be fine, I will see you sometime tomorrow. Don’t panic. So long.” Click.

Sonny certainly had no legal authority in Tennessee, but God, I was glad he was coming down. Cassie would probably fly him. If she couldn’t, he had sounded like he might turn to the Air National Guard. He could frequently be a know-it-all big brother—but from the time since I had been old enough to yell for help, he had never, ever let me down.

With our numbers about to grow, we made up the bed for Ken in the master bedroom, one for Sonny in the guest room and the two twins in little Frances
Jr.’s
frilly pink room for us. I would feel like an oversized Cinderella, but hopefully we wouldn’t occupy it for long. Next we put out towels and assorted toiletries. We were glad of something to do.

When we finished, we realized the sun was low, and the deck too chilly to be comfortable. I made a fire in the fireplace while Cindy took the last
filets mignon
out of the freezer and cut up a salad for later. I set the dining table. We were being determinedly normal.

I heard steps on the deck and squared my shoulders to turn the sheriff away.
 
But instead of a beer-belly man in a sloppy uniform, I saw a rather handsome young man in a light gray suit, a black vest and a backward collar. Probably a matter of car trouble and he needed a phone. Cells worked intermittently here, and land lines were still much in demand.

I opened the door. “Hello, Father, can we be of assistance?”

“Hello. I’m Vicar Alan Reed Hampton of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Elizabethton…but please call me Alan, and you must be Alex.”

“Ah—yes, yes, I’m Alex Peres. But how did you know?”

“From your Aunt Mae. She is concerned that you and Cindy have been beaten and thrown into some old Confederate dungeon, eating moldy corn pone and drinking water with tadpoles in it.” He was trying to look serious, but his dark brown eyes danced, and his lips twitched.

I laughed aloud. “That’s Aunt Mae, all right. But I only spoke with my brother about an hour ago. How did she get hold of you so soon?”

“Through the Bishop of East Tennessee. She apparently doesn’t start at the bottom.”

“Oh, good grief!” I stood aside. “Do come in, Alan. I hope you haven’t been put to a lot of trouble. And here’s Cindy Hart—Cindy meet Vicar Alan Reed Hampton. Alan has been sent from Aunt Mae, via the bishop of this area, to check on our welfare—or lack thereof.”

Cindy shook her head. “That woman could penetrate the Kremlin if she set her mind to it. Bless her heart, she really is a love. We were just about to have a glass of wine. Will you join us? White or red?”

“White if it’s handy, red if it isn’t. But, seriously, are you two all right? Why on earth is Johnson thinking of you two as suspects?”

We told him, and when we finished he was leaned back in his chair wiping his eyes and laughing aloud. Finally he sobered.

“I hate to laugh at a man’s death. Even such a one as this McCurry. But this sounds more like a marathon than a murder! Your dragging a body up a mountainside and then having it come to life and walk partway down. Then you casually carry the corpse again
down
the mountain and go up one more time to get a rock!
 
I run five miles a day and I tell you, I could not do all that if I had to. I cannot believe this tale will ever come to court!”

“That’s what Ken says,” Cindy added.

“That’s also what my brother says, he’s a cop back home. He and Ken will both be here tomorrow, by the way.
 
Look, Alan, we are about to have a dividend of wine and a little dinner. Won’t you join us? You’ve been so kind to come out here, and we really do appreciate it.”

“It has been my pleasure, but I must get back for Evensong. I know you have both been going through a terrible time. This is when faith grows faint, but try not to lose it. God hasn’t gone away, he’s just a little dim behind the cloud of human ignorance and meanness.
 
He is with you. Be of good cheer. I’ll report to Aunt Mae later tonight.” He shook hands with both of us and started out. “Let me know if I can be of help…of any variety.“

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I offered.

“Why, thank you.”

As soon as we were out of earshot from Cindy, I cleared my throat. “Ah, Alan, I need to talk to you in, uh, your professional position. Can you promise this will go no further?”

“We’ll consider it a confessional, so my lips are sealed. What’s troubling you? What have you gone and done?”

“It’s more what I haven’t done than what I have,” I answered. “I know some things and am pretty sure I know some others that would wreak havoc on
Jeffie’s
theory of how this killing went down. And to reveal part of it seems criminal in itself; remember the book
To Kill a Mockingbird?”

“Yes, very well. Do you want to tell me what mockingbird you feel you would be killing?”

I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He looked around guiltily and then took it.

“Okay,” I said. “It’s like this.” And I told him. When I finished, his face looked grave and pained.

“Lord, Alex, what a burden you’ve been carrying! I don’t know much about criminal law, so remember that my advice to you will be based on some laws I do know about.
 
Since you have not shared these facts and possibilities with Cindy, if you keep quiet about all this, she has no vote in what you do—although she is equally suspect in Johnson’s mind. You place her in jeopardy, when she might not wish to be there, especially since she is suspected of delivering the fatal blow to McCurry’s head.
 
You and she would be tried, technically by your peers, but actually by people who are very different from you.”

I
fieldstripped
my cigarette and tucked the filter in my pocket.

“I thought of that. I just figured it was so ludicrous we’d never be convicted.”

“But you
would
be tried. Think what that would put you both through…not only your presumed actions against McCurry, but your personal lives as well. Any trial makes the tried look bad. Would your clients continue to trust you with their personal problems? Would Cindy’s clients trust her not simply to put them in the investments that gave her the largest commission?”

We reached his car and he jabbed the cigarette in the ashtray. He sat in the driver’s seat with the door open. I leaned against the door.

“Your families are already suffering,” he pointed out, “But let’s cast a wider net. The people you are protecting may know or guess you covered for them. This would make them feel indebted to you…for life! Although they could never thank you. And they would always wonder if someday you might tell the truth. And they would grow to hate you, because they were desperately afraid of you.”
 

“Oh, hell, Alan!” I hit my fist on the top of the car. “I certainly don’t want to risk Cindy. I love her very much. But Mickey was such a bastard, it just seemed unfair to rat on someone who was trying to keep Mickey from killing somebody even if he was an angel with kind of dirty wings...oh, you know what I mean. And the other person, I strongly believe, was honestly trying to help Mickey survive.”

“You can make those feelings quite plain to the police and to the defense lawyers, Alex. This is a bit more serious than catching me at age twelve having a cigarette behind the gym and not telling the teacher. And when you take the oath on the Bible, to tell the truth, the
whole
truth and nothing but the truth…you won’t have to cross your fingers.” He smiled.

He reached out and took my hand. “Don’t answer me, Alex. You may need to think about this, but ask yourself: Am I doing this because it is right…or because it seems noble, and I will feel good about myself? Now, I really don’t mean to rush, but I am running very late. God bless you.”