Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (21 page)

Billy Ray shook his head
.
“What time should I pick you up at the house?”

Lester thought about it.

“Needs to be good and dark.
We can park the Camaro in the far corner where it’s not likely we’d be recognized, especially if there’s a good number of cars in the lot. Let’s make it around nine o’clock.
We’ll stay to closing time unless something comes up.”

“Am I still working for fame and glory or do I get paid this time?”

“Boy, all you ever do is think about money.
Where’s your sense of pride in a job well done?”

“Pride doesn’t pay my bills Sheriff.
My
pay doesn’t come of your pocket does it? Why are you so darn tight-fisted with the county’s money anyway?”

“Thrifty is the proper term
,
Billy Ray.
I am thrifty with my employer’s
wealth
as any good servant of the fine state of Oklahoma should be.”

“You are so full of it I’m surprised you don’t smell like that pile of brown out there on the grass.”

“Tell you what,” Lester said. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, get a little sleep, and be
ready for duty tonight, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Would that make you happy?”

“Don’t know ‘bout happy but it might improve my attitude.”

Lester smiled, “Off with you then. Be gone. I’ll see you later.”

Having finished his business, Harley
watched the Camaro rumble down
Cimarron Avenue then caught an interesting aroma
coming from the base of a
nearby
telephone pole where another dog had recently passed and left mail.
But when Lester called out, there was great indecision, stay with the pole for a few more whiffs or…

“Dog, get your butt in the truck or walk home.”

The lab ran for the open door of the Ford.

“Harley my boy, I feel a hunger comin’ on.
How about we stop by the Dairy Queen for a burger?

The dog didn’t understand “Dairy Queen” but the word hunger sounded like hungry.
He knew what
that
meant and answered with an energetic tail wag.

Lester left the courthouse and headed east down Main Street in the direction of the DQ.
Boise City was typical of many small towns on a warm Saturday afternoon. Housewives were getting their hair done at the beauty parlor and catching up on the gossip.
A steady flow of customers filled the grocery store, buying supplies for the coming week.
Men stood in clusters of three or four outside the diner, chewing on toothpicks, their bellies full of chicken-fried steak and gravy, talking about weather, the economy, and that guy in the White House.
A few of the citizens were strolling through the Kingston Ford car lot, looking in the windows, perhaps in search of a more dependable vehicle for the oncoming winter, one that was projected to be severe.
A pair of boys
with skateboards
clattered
down the sidewalks, expertly jumping the board at every curb despite the handicap of pants hanging so low as to drag the concrete
.
Two inches or more of colorful boxer shorts
poked out from the top of the jeans.

The female voice
from
the drive-in speaker
had plenty of volume
but
was
garbled with distortion.

“Take your order please” is what she said but it sounded like “ak ord peas.”

Lester already knew what he wanted without looking at any menu.
“I’d like two large burgers.
Hold the onions on one of them and hold everything but the meat on the other one.”

The speaker was quiet for a time and then, “We have a regular Grillburger and a Flame Grillburger.”

“I guess a regular will do Miss.
I have no idea what a Flame
B
urger is but I bet it’s expensive.”

“So that’ll be two Grillburgers, hold the onions on both?”

“No, no, no.
Hold the onions on one and hold everything on the other.”

“Hold the lettuce and tomato then, how about cheese?”

“Let me be a little more specific.
I want a regular old hamburger with whatever you people usually put on a hamburger, but if one of those condiments happens to be an onion, leave it off. Omit it from the burger. Now if we have that order straight, let’s move on to the next burger. This will be very simple, even more simple than the previous burger we just discussed. I want this burger with no tomato, no onion, no lettuce, no cheese, and here comes the hard part, no bun, no bread of any kind.
In other words—and I don’t know to make this any easier for you—a plain ol’ hunk of meat. It’s for my dog here.
He’s hungry and I’m getting hungrier sitting here shooting the breeze with you.”

Lester glared at the speaker, silent except for the hum. Finally, “Would you like that second burger charbroiled?

“Lady this is Sheriff Lester P. Morrison and I’m about to arrest you for incompetence if you don’t have a couple burgers out here for me and my dog in about 60 seconds.”

“Drive through please. Have a nice day.”

The burgers-for-money transaction passed without comment and Lester leisurely drove to the city park where he found one empty picnic table among the three. A young girl and boy were grinning, moon-eyed at each other at one while the other was filled with chips and Cokes for a family of four, the kids squealing and laughing and begging their dad for a push on the swings while their mom relaxed with a book.

The squirrels were out in force, scampering across the grass, darting from one clump to another, sniffing, searching, and preparing for winter, their frantic activity not unnoticed by the lab.
But it was the smell from the sack that had Harley’s undivided attention at the moment, saliva pooling on the seat, as he repeatedly inhaled the aroma, this one even more enticing than the recent telephone pole.

Lester opened the bag, removed the contents, and shook his head.
“They got buns on both of them.
Dog, I swear, it’s hard to find good help these days.” Harley made a lunge for the Grillburger and disposed of it, buns and all, in approximately seven seconds.
After watching the man eat the remaining burger, Harley decided the free lunch was over and concentrated on the closest squirrel, a plump one, and a fine dessert if it would only sit still for a minute.

Lester turned his back to the picnic table, rested his elbows on it, and watched the lab watch the squirrels.
The dog trembled in anticipation of a chase.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lester said. He closed his eyes and thought
back to the short visit with Mrs. Sanchez
. He
wondered about the four cars in the drive and the lack of males in the house.

I should have taken their license plates down, just in case there’s a connection. Maybe the boy met Melissa that night and took her to his home.
Hell, she could be in there right now for all I know. Damn it, there’s so many possibilities.

“Dog, get in the truck. I’m going back to that house.”

As the pickup moved away from the park and the squirrels, Harley thought about jumping out of the window but didn’t
. A faint
whine of protest went unnoticed
by the human
.

Approaching the Sanchez home, the full impact of his possible mistake hit Lester with a thud; three of the four cars were gone. Only the Jeep remained.

“Harley, we screwed up boy.
Next time though, I’ll bring someone with me that can speak the Espanola.”

The lab did not respond.
Harley was asleep and dreaming of rodents with large bushy tails.

*****

For the third time that
afternoon
, Billy Ray Ledbetter dialed the same number, only to get the familiar recording, “You lucky devil, you have reached the phone of Jason Woods. Leave a message. I might even call you back.”

“Hey Dick Head, I thought we were gonna ride bikes today.
Where you at?”

Billy Ray shook his head. A cell phone was a waste of money for Jason.
Most days, either the battery was dead or he hadn’t bothered to turn it on.
Not that it mattered much. By the time Jason could get it together, the day would be gone.
Another opportunity to go out and enjoy the
warm
weather—while it lasted—was slipping away.

The apartment was depressing, the clutter and all, especially on a nice sunny day such as this.
Might as well clean up the joint,
he thought, and started with the clothes and towels strewn around the floor and over the divan.
Jana would never have put up with this
.
Thinking of her brought back memories, mostly the good ones.
Be nice to hear her voice again.
The last call hadn’t gone so well.
She’d been polite but definitely cool, and had cut the conversation short with some kind of mumbled excuse about being busy.
Calls to her parents home had gone unreturned. He picked up his cell and scrolled to Jana’s cell number, his finger hovering over the call button.

Screw it!

He threw the phone to the divan, watched it bounce, do a flip, and bang on the hardwood floor.
Oh, that was smart Ledbetter.
Break your phone why don’t you?
You got money to burn for a new one, right?

The day had been screwed up ever since the call from the Sheriff and had gone downhill from there.
He plopped on the divan, stretched out with his boots on (something Jana would have given him hell for), and stared at the ceiling. What was Jana doing tonight anyway? Probably had a date lined up if she wasn’t working. Good looking woman like her
probably
doesn’t spend many Saturday nights at home. By now, she’s sure to be seeing some doctor with big bucks and driving a Cadillac or a Corvette, buying her dinners at the best spots in San Antonio.
Then taking her to his fancy-ass home afterward for a glass of expensive wine, and then…to bed. Why not? Was she whispering sweet words of love in his ear like she’d done with him that night in Las Vegas?

Billy Ray shook the scene from his head and closed his eyes. A nap would feel good, especially since Lester wanted him on stakeout later on.
He didn’t relish sitting in a
car
for hour after hour on a Saturday night with no clear purpose other than seeing what kind of people go in and out of a roadside bar.
It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, but how the hell is sitting in a parking lot half the night going to help find Melissa Parker?
Still, the Sheriff ha
d
a feel for these things
. He knows how people think, what questions to ask, and how to read their reactions.
Maybe we’ll get lucky
.

His own concerns about Melissa were growing. Like the Sheriff, he now believed something must have happened to her; not necessarily a kidnapping, more like a hit and run, injured
(or dead)
, and lying in the weeds somewhere? Country road at night, hard to see, driver might have been drinking, maybe drinking at the Pirate’s Den. They should get some volunteers, walk the
highway
for a few more miles, east and west of the bar, then the gravel road
down from
the Parker place. He’d suggest that to the Sheriff tonight.

He rousted himself from the divan long enough to check his cell phone for damage, got dial tone, but immediately disconnected and resumed his position. Sleep came quickly. His dreams were of a girl, not a teenager named Melissa, but one called Jana.

Chapter 17

The storm cellar was as warm as it had been all day, almost pleasant actually. With a small amount of imagination, Melissa could see herself as a little kid again, her and her friends using this place as a secret cave
(girls only of course)
or to fix up as a spook house for Halloween.
Oh yeah, it would be perfect for that.
Becky could
hide
at the back, ready to jump out and laugh like a witch at any kid brave enough to venture down the steps. They could hang dangly things from the ceiling to feel like snakes.
And spider webs, got to have spider webs, the kind you buy in a spray can.
Oh, this could be a fun Halloween place all right.
But the fantasy quickly faded.
The Spook House was real, a House of Horrors, not a little girl’s fun place at all.
This was a place she might
die
in.

All morning long, she sat at the top of the steps, listening for cars and trucks on the road.
At the first sound, she would push the broken leg of the lawn chair beneath the crack of the door and frantically wave the aluminum shaft; a movement, a glint of sun, anything to catch the attention of a passing farmer, a delivery van, or possibly someone searching for her.
After the second failed attempt of the day, she had the idea of using a strip of chair webbing, a pennant of sorts, to make her signal more visible.
But only one set of wheels had gone by since then, and they never so much as slowed down.