Grave Undertaking (21 page)

“Going out of town with anyone we know?” asked Josh, and he winked at Carl.

“Just stick to your numbers. I’ll worry about how many people are in my jeep.”

They laughed. Meeting adjourned.

Libby Metcalf sat between the two caskets. Maynard and their twelve-year-old daughter, Alice, stood beside her. A line formed in front of them and stretched out our front door to the parking lot where arriving visitors waited in the frigid December air for the chance to express their sympathies.

The ordeal was grueling for everyone. Time would tell whether the parade of mourners would serve to further the family’s healing. Tonight, the extended hands of condolence lifted the burden more from the givers than the receivers.

I stood just inside the front door, ushering people along as space allowed. Coats stayed on because our furnace couldn’t keep up with the loss of heat. I knew many of the people had only a casual acquaintance with the Metcalfs, but the magnitude of their loss, the decimation of a family during the season when the sense of family was strongest, had touched the heart of our community.

I had worried about Libby’s first sight of her sons’ bodies. Wayne and I had labored over the boys, addressing not only their physical appearance, but also the lighting in the room. Libby had approached the caskets cautiously, supported by her husband and daughter. She had gone first to the older boy, Michael, and reached out a hand to touch his cold cheek. Then she let her fingers feel the nap of the new sweater. “He looks good,” she had whispered, and then cried and smiled at the same time.

She had then turned to Ned and said nothing. I had placed the top of the turtleneck high under his chin to cover the marks of his lacerations. For a moment, I was afraid she would adjust it lower. She had fumbled with her small purse and pulled out a comb. With a steady hand, she guided a few errant strands of her son’s brown hair off his forehead. Then she licked her fingers and patted the locks down in the same way she must have done countless times before his death.

My breath had caught painfully in my chest as I knew this final act symbolized the past, present, and future of a mother’s love for her child, locked in place with the gentle press of her hand. She had looked up at me but said nothing.

I had left them to Wayne’s care and busied myself where my own tears wouldn’t be noticed. Dealing with death doesn’t callous one to the loss of life. Libby Metcalf’s grief was neither maudlin nor exaggerated, but the sheer force of its honesty engulfed me. I could do wonders in mending the physical ravages an accident made upon the body, but I could do absolutely nothing to mend the gaping hole in a mother’s heart.

“This is really tough,” said Tommy Lee. He stepped across the threshold as one more visitor in what seemed an endless procession.

“You’re telling me. I’m by the door because I can’t handle it as well as my uncle. He’s with the family.”

“Patsy wanted to come, but I knew we’d be standing outside for awhile. She’s getting one of those colds that come from being in crowded shopping malls.”

“Everything will be a blur for the Metcalfs. You’re good to be here.”

He cleared his throat and whispered, “I picked up some information late this afternoon.”

“And?”

“Ewbanks and Claiborne have been contacted by Duncan Atkins’ attorney.”

“The contractor serving time?”

“He’s sniffing out a deal.”

“For Atkins?”

“Along the lines that for a reduced sentence Atkins will testify that Walt Miller talked about shooting Sammy.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why’d anyone believe Atkins now?”

“He’ll claim he didn’t realize Walt had actually done it until the body was discovered.”

“You get this from Bridges?”

“Yeah. Claiborne talked to Ewbanks but he doesn’t want to move on Walt till he sees Atkins’ signed statement. The attorney wants his client sprung for time served, which Claiborne doesn’t have authority to guarantee.”

“But that doesn’t explain Skeeter and Gentle,” I argued.

“Skeeter’s a suicide and Gentle’s not a problem. She’s my case.”

“When’s this going to break?”

“I don’t know. Right now it’s just a line of inquiry. Claiborne can’t broker a deal without help at the state level.”

“This will crush Susan.”

We reached the open archway to the viewing room. Tommy Lee pulled an envelope from his pocket.

“Here are directions to the hunt club and keys to the gate and cabin. Forget about all this for a few days. If something happens, I’ll call you. If you get a sudden insight, you call me.”

“Thanks, Tommy Lee.”

He gripped my shoulder. “And don’t let someone who matters get away from you.” He looked back at the line still coming through the door. “You of all people know how short life can be.”

I couldn’t imagine a sadder Thursday. We gathered under a pale blue sky as Reverend Lester Pace read the words of interment over the twin caskets. The cemetery at Hickory Nut Falls Methodist Church had never held so many for a burial. Pace lifted his head and voice to reach those standing behind gravestones at the far edges. After the Lord’s Prayer, Libby Metcalf rose from her chair and spread her arms to touch both caskets.

Somewhere near Knoxville, Tennessee, a third casket was being lowered into the ground. How many mourners were standing beside Gentle Deal’s grandmother as she watched her loved one laid to rest?

And how many more senseless deaths would I have to witness? At least the deal with Hoffman Enterprises meant after three years I would be free. As I stared at the mother weeping between twin caskets, I made my decision that I wanted out of this madness.

Chapter 21

Susan was late. I sat in my jeep in her parking lot, half listening to Christmas music and checking my watch with every change of song. We were supposed to leave at one. Tommy Lee had warned me that the road to the hunt club was little more than an abandoned logging trail. He’d advised me to travel it by daylight or risk winding up in a ravine. At one-twenty-five, I called her on her cell phone.

“I’m sorry,” said Susan. “There were complications in surgery. Where are you?”

“Where do you think?” I snapped. “Sitting outside your condo. Are you ready?”

“My overnight case is packed. I was going to stop and pick up a few things.”

“Just get here. We can do that on our way.”

“I said I was sorry, Barry. Back off.”

I mumbled an apology and hung up. The waiting had aggravated more than my irritation at Susan’s delay. Carl and Josh had been right and I’d refused to face it. The stress on me was coming from all directions, and now I was so enmeshed that I couldn’t separate Dad’s condition from the personal threat of the murderer or from Susan’s lies or from the horror of burying two boys for whom life was just beginning. Intellectually, I knew what was happening to me; emotionally, I was so vulnerable that even the prospect of a weekend away left me feeling miserable. The problems and a killer would all be waiting for me Monday morning.

If I ever extricated myself from the Calhoun mess, I saw the funeral home solution clearly. I’d convince Mom and Uncle Wayne to take the Hoffman deal, I’d work out my contractual obligation, and then turn a new page. Whether Susan was part of that story, or its setting was even in these hills, remained to be seen. I just wanted a fresh start.

At twenty to two, Susan’s Subaru sped into her parking space. She jumped from the vehicle and hurried inside without giving me as much as a glance. Two minutes later, she came out, carrying a large brown backpack. I pulled the remote release on the rear hatch and she tossed in her weekend belongings.

She climbed in the passenger’s seat and slammed the door. “Let’s go,” she said, snapping the seatbelt buckle for emphasis.

“You can change clothes if you want.”

“I grabbed an extra pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and then dumped everything out of my valise into that camping gear. I’ll change when we get there.”

“What do you want from the store?”

“Almonds, and maybe fresh lemons if they’re available. You said there was a stocked pond, and trout almondine came to mind.”

“I’ve already brought groceries and a cooler with steaks and frozen vegetables. The pond’s probably iced over anyway.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Everything seems to be iced over.”

The sharp edge in her voice was a cue for me to give an apology for my curt behavior, but I said nothing. We rode in silence out of town.

When we were still a few miles from the turnoff, I pulled into a convenience store for gas. While I charged my fill-up at the pump, Susan went inside for spare flashlight batteries and coffee. When she came back, she handed me a Snickers.

“Maybe this will sweeten you up.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Something needs to.”

“I’m willing to listen.”

“And I’m willing to talk. But let’s get up to the cabin. There’s nothing like a mountaintop to help you look down on your problems.”

The road snaked back and forth with switchbacks more like U-turns. There were no guardrails, no caution signs, and no room to pull over should we have met another vehicle. The bare hardwoods revealed the increasing elevation, and I forced the jeep tighter against the mountainside with each breathtaking, hairpin turn.

The cabin sat in the saddle of a ridge. The structure was utilitarian, not picturesque. Instead of logs, the siding was weather-worn plywood painted battleship gray. A tin roof had become a mottled pattern of black tree sap and brown rust. The open foundation consisted of stones mixed with cinderblocks. Remodeling would require a stick of dynamite.

But the cabin wasn’t meant to be a showplace. Any architectural creation would have been wasted against nature’s spectacular panorama. The ridge top afforded twin vistas to the east and west, sunrise and sunset occurring behind the ripple of the Blue Ridge mountain range that stretched like waves to each horizon.

“I like it,” said Susan.

“It’s primitive.”

We got out of the jeep and carried our first load inside. The layout resembled a bunkhouse. A small kitchen was at one end of the rectangular room. A stained sink had a hand pump for a faucet, and a two-burner propane stove served as the source for cooking and hot water.

A stone fireplace stretched eight feet along one wall and its rough-hewn mantel held an assortment of kerosene lamps and lanterns.

“No electricity,” observed Susan. “Guess you don’t run lines up here for one cabin.”

“No.” I turned around and looked at the mishmash of furniture. A sofa faced the fireplace. Given its condition, it should have been burning in the fireplace. A few folding chairs were set up, and others leaned against a card table in the corner. Poker was clearly the indoor activity of choice. A few chips were scattered on the floor.

Two doors broke the wall opposite the fireplace. One led into separate sleeping quarters where three sets of bunk beds and an army cot tossed Tommy Lee’s description of “romantic retreat” out the cobweb-laced window.

The second door hid the bathroom. The word was a euphemism for a modified commode and steel washbasin. The top of the toilet’s tank had been removed so that a hand pump could replenish the water before each flush. Cautiously, I lifted the seat lid. The porcelain bowl had been scrubbed sometime during World War II.

“I guess the Jacuzzi won’t be installed till spring,” I said.

“Where’s your pioneer spirit?” chided Susan.

“You’re asking a guy who owns a vehicle with heated seats?”

We brought in the cooler and set it in front of the stove.

“There’s no refrigerator,” I said.

“Yes, there is. It’s this attractive side porch with the chicken wire to keep the animals from getting the food. The freezer’s the part closest to the outside, the fridge is closest to the warmth of the kitchen.”

While Susan took charge of organizing our provisions, I busied myself building a fire. As the flames began to pop sparks against the fireplace screen, I felt maybe there was something to this pioneer spirit.

“The real fire is in the sky,” said Susan. “Come watch.” She held out a glass of red wine, as if her smile wasn’t enticing enough.

A bare patch of rock jutted from the edge of the ridge. Someone had hauled up an old park bench and anchored it to the mossy surface. We sat close together, bundled in our jackets. The swollen sun fell rapidly, slipping beneath the wisps of clouds that created the perfect canvas for yellow, pink, and magenta streaks to play across the western sky. I lifted my glass and twirled it, watching the rays refract through the liquid prism, scattering light in a wide arc.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ve let myself turn into a whiner.”

“Better a whiner than a wino,” she teased, trying to defuse the tension. “You’ve had a lot on your shoulders.”

“But that’s no excuse to make life difficult for others. Especially you.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “I dumped some of the burden on you. You had every right to be angry.”

She nestled her soft hair against my neck. The curve of her ear lay cold against my skin.

“No more lies,” I said.

“No more lies. Let’s ship them all out to that sun and let it carry them away. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Only the top half of the sinking orb could now be seen. The rim of the mountain range blazed in the final seconds of dying light. I raised my glass to eye level.

“To a new day,” I said. The wine glowed blood-red for an instant, and then dulled as the ridges swallowed the last sliver of fire.

“If there are no more lies, then all we’re left with is the truth,” she said. “May as well start now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Down at the gas station, I said I’d be willing to listen, but I need you to listen to me first.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

She jerked her head up. “Don’t say that, Barry!”

The anger in her voice startled me.

“Don’t let me keep something bottled inside that needs to come out. I can’t have it festering between us.”

I stared at the horizon. The sky deepened into gold and purple. A lone hawk spiraled against the backlit clouds, searching the ground for his evening meal.

“All right,” I said. “Then why did you lie to me?” I could feel the pent-up hurt rising in my throat. “Why did you continue to lie even after I asked point-blank for the truth?”

“I couldn’t help it. I hated myself for those words, but continuing to lie kept me safe in my cocoon, protected in my image of little Miss Perfect.”

“I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

“But I do,” she said bitterly. “I always have. Since Stevie died.”

Her last sentence opened the window into the soul of a girl watching the perfect brother die in a ditch along a mountain road.

“I wanted him to be so proud. To look down and say that’s my—” a sob strangled her words— “that’s my little sister.”

“Susan, he is proud of you, you know he is.”

“I didn’t want there to be any doubt. I was a straight A student, the class president, and summa cum laude graduate from college. I couldn’t accept anything less, and somewhere along the way, I believed others couldn’t accept anything less of me. Then I met Sammy.”

“He certainly wasn’t perfect.”

“No, but I’d never met anyone like him. He forced me out of that goody-two-shoes straitjacket. Took me into the backstreet bars of New York and into the lives of people I’d never met before. I mean I wasn’t suddenly into drugs and orgies, but I realized I could experience life without having to master every aspect of it.”

“Sounds like he was good for you.”

“That’s what I told myself. It provided the rationale for my new outlook on the world. Then, I realized Sammy was manipulating me, using our relationship to get more work from Cassie. And I discovered he used his undercover roles for personal advantage, playing his employer and target against one another. Revealing and concealing information depending upon the highest bidder. When I finished med school, I left Sammy and that other Susan behind and retreated into the illusion of being perfect again.”

I shifted on the bench. The clouds had gone gray in the gathering dusk. The hawk had glided to more favorable hunting grounds. The cold seeped through my clothes, but I wasn’t about to shut down the most important conversation Susan and I had ever had.

“Then Sammy showed up in Asheville.”

“Yes. Cassie had taken the producer’s job at the station. Sammy came here looking for a meal ticket when his game was up in New York. I don’t know why my aunt hired him. She said he promised to stay away from me, and then he broke the big story about the bid-rigging, and everybody came up a winner. That’s when he had the audacity to re-enter my life, and I guess I had a hunger for a taste of those New York days. We were on again and off again, just like I told you. It came to a head when he showed up at the hospital impersonating Stevie. Perfect Susan couldn’t tolerate that, and I had a meltdown culminating in a shouting, threatening confrontation at The Last Resort, witnessed by the entire bar.”

“You could have told me that,” I said. “I would have understood.”

“But you don’t understand, even now. You were the reason I had to stay perfect. After Sammy disappeared, I immersed myself in that persona deeper than ever. And then this guy shows up. A former policeman who took the oath to serve and protect. And he sacrificed his career for his ailing father and to keep a business going that comforts people when they’re most vulnerable. And for some reason, he likes me.”

Her tears flowed freely. I reached down and grabbed her hand with a gentle squeeze.

“And then this wonderful man digs up the imperfections of my past. Literally. I was terrified I would lose you. You were Stevie,” she said. “The kind of person my brother would have become. And last year, you laid your life on the line to bring a killer to justice. How could I admit to being less than perfect when I had found the perfect companion?”

“Oh, Susan,” I whispered. “You’re so wrong. I have such feet of clay that if it rained now, I’d sink to my knees. Don’t do this to me. If I were perfect, I would have understood. Can’t you see that?”

She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and nodded. Before she could answer, I sealed her lips with mine.

If Susan had cooked on my scout camping trips, I’m sure I would have risen beyond the rank of Tenderfoot. The steaks were grilled to perfection, and she had managed to discover enough ingredients in the convenience store to create a fantastic sauce and intriguing salad.

Over dinner, I set aside any discussion of the murders and I tried to forget that Tommy Lee sent me to the cabin for safety. So I told Susan about the funeral home offer and how I had to make a decision that meant a life change for Mom and Dad and a new employer for me. Just talking it through lifted my spirits, as her confession on the mountain ledge had lifted the shadow of Sammy Calhoun from both of us.