Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (42 page)

God, could you give me a sign? Show me the way?

But there was no omen, no unusual sounds, no ethereal vision, no shining light from above, only the tick of the old clock from down the hall
and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the lacy curtains on a quiet September day.

A few hours earlier, she prepared herself by taking a long bath in the tub and putting on clean underwear.
She owned only two going-to-church dresses that sh
e alternated every other Sunday
. She
chose her newest, the one with blue and white trim, and plucked it from the hanger. It had been her favorite ever since the preacher had commented on it and told her how nice she looked. At the mirror, she held the dress in front of her, considering.

She shook her head. “No, no sense ruining a perfectly good dress,” she said aloud and returned
it
to the closet. This time she opted for her old blue bathrobe, worn and tattered at the cuffs and hem, but comfortable, and slipped it on.
She made a couple passes through her hair with a brush and took one more look in the mirror. She noticed that two buttons at the top were undone and showed a bit of cleavage.
She quickly took care of
that.

Back in the kitchen, Imogene double-checked her work, her final chore, one that she’d begun just after sunrise. The shotgun was in place, reloaded, and lashed to the table legs with a couple of dust rags. The double barrels were at an angle from the floor, pointed up and in the general direction of the top of the refrigerator. The hammers were pulled back and cocked. A broom handle with the end squared off—via Albert’s trim saw—lay on the chair. The act of pushing the trigger with the broom wouldn’t take but a second or two, that wasn’t the concern. She would easily have the time to do it if someone should come by and try to stop her. It was the thought (the sin?) of her suicide keeping her out of Heaven. That was the real worry. Was that in the Bible? She couldn’t remember reading anything about it and was pretty sure the preacher hadn’t mentioned it. By now, the Sheriff would be on his way. Decision time.

She took a long look around the room. Everything was as it should be. The dishes were done and the sink was clean. The flowers in the window were watered, the floor swept. She sighed and then sat in the chair and leaned forward until the cold barrels of the shotgun touched her throat, the shortened broomstick in her lap. Once again, Imogene closed her eyes and asked for forgiveness, praying for absolution before Sheriff Morrison came bursting through her front door. She decided she would stay in the kitchen chair, just as she was, and pray until she received a sign from above…or the Sheriff arrived, one or the other.

*****

Red and blue lights reflected briefly off the Pirate’s Den as
the Sheriff’s pickup
screamed past, siren blaring.
Billy Ray
braked hard
at the road
to the Parker farm and fishtailed the pickup as it hit loose gravel.
He
killed the flashing lights and siren
,
flicked the headlights to high
beam, caught a red reflector on the Parker mailbox,
and turned in
. A single light shown from the kitchen window
on the east side of the house
.

“Slow and easy
,
Billy Ray,” Lester said as they trotted to the
portico
.
Billy Ray rapped lightly on the door.

A quivering voice came back, “Who is it?”

“It’s me Mrs. Parker, Sheriff Morrison. Okay if I come in?”

Imogene used both hands on the broom handle pushed against one trigger of the old Belgian shotgun. The movement of the trigger released the firing pin which then hit the primer. The primer made a spark that ignited the main powder and in a fraction of a second, converted it to gas. The expanding gas pushed the wadding behind the buckshot down the barrel of the gun at roughly 1200 feet per second, more than enough force to decapitate Imogene Parker. The roar caught the lawmen by surprise and they flattened themselves against the side of the house on either side of the front door. Billy Ray pulled his gun. Lester waited a moment, slowly turned the knob, pushed on the door, and quickly stepped back. With no more shots fired, both men peeked in at the same time.

“Good Lord,” Lester said. Billy Ray had seen his share of blood in the Army but this was mind-numbing and while Lester had dealt with death a number of times, traffic accidents, charred victims of a fire (or crispy critters as one heartless cop called them) a headless corpse from a shotgun blast was a horrible first. It took the Sheriff several moments for the shock of the gruesome scene to subside and his brain to function again. A siren in the distance broke his trance.

“Ambulance,” Billy Ray said.

Lester nodded. “You talk to
‘
em. I’ll check the rest of the house. Billy Ray stepped outside and took a deep breath of air, trying to get his stomach under control. Lester took one more glace at Imogene’s remains and the blood spattered wall before racing up the stairs to Melissa’s bedroom, his heart pounding from exertion and the fear of what he might see. He flipped the ceiling light on; the bed was made, the room in order. Nothing had changed.

Back on the main floor, he went down the hall and pushed on the first door he came to. The odor hit Lester like a two by four.
The room light revealed a mass of tattered flesh and dark blood saturating the bed. Albert stunk like a dead catfish lying in the
hot
sun. Lester
felt for
his blue bandana from his back pocket, covered his mouth and nose, and did a quick look-see from both sides of the bed, then wished he hadn’t.
It was a preview of nightmares to come.

Lester joined Billy Ray in the front yard where he was talking to the ambulance crew. It was the same pair that had worked the Sanchez wreck. Lester remembered the cute EMT with the short and spiky red hair.

“Albert?” Billy Ray asked.

“Yep, he’s in there.
Bedroom. Dead.”

“Melissa?”

“No.”

The red-haired girl spoke. “The deputy filled us in. We’ve never worked anything like this before. Most of our calls are little old ladies that have fallen down and can’t get up. We get cuts from chain saws and broken bones when the man of the house falls off a ladder. Not that many wrecks either but this, jeez.
Okay to go inside or do you need to preserve the scene?”

Lester thought about it. “No, it’s pretty cut and dried what’s happened here. We got a call from the woman a while ago, confession and all that. But give my deputy a chance to take some photos before you remove the bodies.”
Billy Ray nodded, “Camera still in the console?”

“It is.”

Lester took his hat off, lowered the tailgate on the pickup, and hopped his butt on it. A slight breeze felt good as he watched the first stars of the night make their positions known. Occasionally the flash from the digital camera shot through the windows of the farmhouse. After a few minutes, Billy Ray came out and held the rear of the camera where Lester could see it and scrolled through the photos on the LCD.

“Yeah, that should do it,” Lester said. And then, “Ain’t this a son of a bitch
,
Billy Ray? My God!
Two murders and a suicide!
And in Cimarron County, quiet, peaceful place with good folks, well, except for Albert. I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Not the first time for a crime like this,” Billy Ray said. “It happens.”

“Yeah, I know but…”

The EMT’s
,
having a problem finding room in the ambulance for the second body
,
were doing some rearranging of their gear when Lester said, “See if you can reach the OSBI with that cell phone of yours
,
B.R. Do you have the number?” The deputy nodded, punched the buttons, then handed Lester the phone. “It’s ringing.”

Lester listened. “Goddamn menus. Yes, it’s an emergency you lifeless bitch and I don’t want to call 911. I am 911. Give me a live body.” Lester mashed the zero.

A male voice said “OSBI, Agent Anderson.”

“This is Sheriff Lester P. Morrison, Cimarron County Oklahoma. Get agent Metcalf on the line.”

“Agent Metcalf is not on duty sir. May I help you?”

“Not unless you’re smarter than agent Metcalf.”

“Sir?”

“I called you boys a few days ago when I had a missing girl out here
,
but agent Met-calf (Lester drew out the name) told me to piss up a rope, more or less. Now, I got three dead people, two murders and a suicide. The girl will be one of the bodies but so far, I haven’t found her and I haven’t got the manpower to search all over this end of the friggin’ Oklahoma Panhandle to find the poor little soul. So, how about you and agent Met-calf haul your asses out here with all your fancy gear and your dogs and help me and my deputy look for her? Or would that not be convenient for you?”

“Slow down, slow down. I need more information and
hold the attitude,
Sheriff. You’re talking to the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation now. Don’t start getting edgy with
me.

“Edgy? Oh, you ain’t heard edgy, not yet, you…”

“Sheriff?” Billy Ray interrupted, “Why don’t you let me talk to them?”

Lester tossed the cell. “Go ahead and give ‘em the details before I bite that damn phone in two.” Lester stomped off, kicking dirt clods with the toe of his boot, walking angry circles around the pickup. After a few minutes Billy Ray
ended the phone conversation and joined Lester at the truck.
“The man promised they’d be here tomorrow morning. Said we wasn’t to touch anything inside and to tape everything off. Said we should post somebody here until they arrive.”

The
female EMT
walked up, shaking her head, and said, “I thought I could handle about anything, but that…whew. She took another look at the house and sighed. “Al
l
right, I guess we’re out of here. Anything else?”

“Well, I hate to tell you this,” Lester said, “But we suspect there’s another body somewhere on the property, their daughter. Chances are you’ll be getting another call from us soon, maybe tomorrow.”

“Their daughter? My God, what the hell happened here?”

“We’re still working on that
,
Ma’am.”

“Oh
,
Jesus,” she said, dropping her head. When she looked up, her eyes glistened with tears.
She dabbed at her face with the back of her sleeve, turned away, and climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance.
The emergency lights went dark and both lawmen watched as the vehicle made the turn onto the road.

Billy Ray said, “Who gets first watch?”

“That would be you
,
B.R.”

“Figured as much.”

“You up for it?”

“Sheriff, I was in the army, remember?”

“All right then,” Lester said and got in the truck. He rolled the window down and added, “If you want, I can call the city police, see if they got someone they can send out here and keep you company.”

“Not necessary, I’ll be fine.”

Lester looked his deputy in the eye.
This lad has grit
. “I’ll be back come sunup and wait for the OSBI boys to show up.”

“That’ll work.”

As Lester drove away, Billy Ray went in the kitchen, found a chair with no blood on it, and carried it to the front porch. He leaned back with the front legs off the floor
and
the back of the chair against the house and tried to get comfortable.
He dialed the number for Jason Woods. There was no answer.

One by one, night sounds rose and drifted with the breeze. From somewhere far away, a dog barked. There was the buzz of insects in their manic flight around the yard light. Just as Billy Ray’s eyes closed, a Great-horned owl sounded off from a copse of trees behind the barn;
who cooks for yoooouuu?
To Imogene Parker, the call of the owl might have been the omen she was looking for.

Chapter 34

A good quarter mile before the Sheriff’s pickup appeared in the driveway, Harley was on his feet, his tail wagging furiously. The dog loped across the dark lawn as Lester wearily slid from the seat, jumped up and put both front paws on Lester’s belly. Lester ignored the dirty footprints, gave him a vigorous rub, and smiled.

“Harley dog, outside of seeing how well the Sanchez boy was doing, you are the bright spot of my day.”

Harley followed his owner to the side of the house where Lester emptied the bug polluted water bowl and filled it from the tap. Harley ignored the drink— having dog food in mind—and tagged along with Lester to the kitchen where the good stuff was. The Sheriff popped the top on a can claiming to contain beef, bacon, and cheese, dumped the entire contents in the dog bowl, and then sprinkled a cup of kibbles on top of that. Harley was a happy dog.