When Blood Cries: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 6) Read online

  “That’s a good dog. Who does it belong to?” Spud said.

  “He’s mine.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of your daughter,” I said as if I just met him. This had become our daily conversation.

  “Oh. Well, you’re welcome to stay the night and eat supper with us. You gonna be around long?” he asked.

  “Daddy, I think that’s a rude question.”

  “May be, but I’d like to know the people who keep coming to our house all of the time. It’s like a bus terminal or something. People in and out. I never know who they are. Dogs, too,” he said.

  Sam got up and walked over to him. He nosed his knee cap and Spud reached out and rubbed his head.

  “This is a damn good dog. You know who he belongs to?”

  Chapter Eleven

  I helped Starnes wash and dry the dishes after we had finished a good supper of beans, potatoes and cornbread. We ate a lot of beans and cornbread chiefly because it was my request whenever Starnes was desperate enough to ask my opinion. Most of the time she fixed whatever she wanted to fix. Translated, that meant we ate a whole lot of pizza on the run as we were chasing down many of the ghost leads before we found the body of Abel Gosnell.

  While Starnes helped her father get ready for bed later that evening, I fed Sam and straightened up my stuff preparing to retire myself for the night. The door to my bedroom was open and I could hear Starnes and Spud talking.

  “You want to wear your blue pajamas?” she said.

  “I don’t have any blue pajamas,” he said to her.

  “Right here. You also have a pair of green ones.”

  “How do you know so much about my clothes? Who did you say you were?” he said to her.

  I couldn’t see this conversation as it happened, but I could feel the pain that was emanating from Starnes in such an exchange. Some roads just end. They stop. You can’t for the life of it go back and start over. They conclude. Lots of reasons. Lots of pain.

  “I’m your daughter.”

  “My daughter lives in Norfolk. She’s there now. You’re here. You couldn’t be my daughter.”

  “Daddy, I’m living here with you now.”

  “When did that take place?”

  “Before Momma died.”

  “I miss her.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “You don’t even look like my daughter,” he said.

  “Sorry about that, but I’m the one. Guess you’re stuck with the likes of me.”

  “Give me those green ones,” he said. “You can leave now. I can still dress myself.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

  I heard steps coming down the hallway. There was a knock on my open door.

  “You got time to talk?” she said.

  “Always.”

  “Let’s go out on the porch. You’ll need your jacket,” she said.

  We sat down on the porch steps and listened to the sounds of the November nighttime. Sam was sitting behind us as if he were guarding our rear. A crescent moon was shining down on the high valley and the mountain peaks surrounding the Carver place. It was quiet even with the noises of the night. The coolness of the nighttime was descending rapidly, but the wind was quiet so it made for a good time to be outside of the warm house. Actually Spud preferred that the house be kept close to eighty degrees. Too warm for my comfort, but since I was a guest, I had to make do. I closed my door and opened a window. So far so good.

  “He’s getting worse, you know,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You think I should put him in a home somewhere close by?”

  “That would be your decision.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I’m not you. I don’t think I should be giving advice along these lines.”

  “I’m asking for your opinion. This is all new for me. I don’t do caretaking well. I have a hard time communicating with someone I have to repeat myself to constantly. Daddy just can’t remember anything anymore. He’s beginning not to know me. It’s killing me.”

  “I know. The mind is connected to the personality. It’s a hard road to travel when the memory fades. Harder on you than him.”

  “You don’t think it’s bothering him any?”

  “Hard to say about that. But I believe it’s much worse on you.”

  “So, what would you do?” she asked.

  “I suppose the logical first step would be to investigate some places close by and see what you think.”

  “I’ve been in some of those places. Not my cup of tea.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But, maybe you can just check them out and see what you can find.”

  I tried to sound encouraging. I don’t think it was working. Some pains just cannot be placated by a discussion or advice from a friend. What she was considering could turn into a rough road and more excruciating pain. Easy to forget that when we love someone. We, in effect, sign on for a potential mountain of grief. The price we pay.

  “Maybe I could do some of that tomorrow and you could go back and question some of the folks we’ve previously visited,” she said.

  “I can do that. Sam and I will gladly do some leg work here. You have a recommendation as to whom we should begin with?”

  “To whom? Sound a little formal for McAdams County, Clancy. Yeah, I have a recommendation. Start with Cain Gosnell and then go back and see the girlfriend once more.”

  “If Cain doesn’t shoot me.”

  “Play nice, but don’t give him the upper hand. He’s got this macho self image thing. Just don’t go ballistic on him.”

  “Shoot him in the kneecap?”

  “If you have to shoot at all,” she said.

  “And Gosnell’s parents?”

  “Hold off on them. They have some grief to deal with for the next few days. When I called on them yesterday, they were pretty torn up about us finding the body. They were really hoping we would find him alive, you know.”

  “I’ll start with Cain,” I said.

  “It won’t be easy,” she said.

  “I can handle myself.”

  “I mean getting Daddy to agree to go live at a home somewhere,” she clarified.

  “Oh, that. Yeah. Easy is not in the ballpark.”

  “He won’t understand.”

  “Folks seldom do, but he does need some specialized care. I don’t see that you have too many choices. Can you afford to have a full time caretaker on your present salary?”

  “I can’t afford to have a part-time caretaker on what the county is paying me for this gig,” she said.

  “I think that’s an answer.”

  “Yeah. Not much of an answer, but an answer.”

  After breakfast next morning, Sam and I headed off to Spillcorn to speak with Cain Gosnell about his brother’s death.

  “You won’t get lost, will you?” Starnes called out to me from the porch.

  “I’m a tracker extraordinaire.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Sam will help me find my way back.”

  I made it over to the Spillcorn section of the county in less than half an hour. I parked in front of Cain’s dilapidated picket fence. If I had to guess, I’d say that the fence at one time in its life actually covered the entire front yard. Now it failed to enclose much of anything with a whole section missing on my right and on my left. There were also several pickets absent from the sections that still remained upright leaving gaps like someone smiling without teeth. The last time the fence was painted was just after the Civil War ended. Best guess.

  “You stay close to me,” I said to Sam as we exited the Jeep.

  We stepped across a fallen portion of the fence and entered the yard heading up the path to the front door.

  The first shot missed me considerably, if in fact I was the target of the shooter. I lunged behind what used to be a child’s playhouse, but due to neglect and inclement winters, it was now nothing more than some lumber hel
d together by ten penny nails and whatever prayers were being offered up for it. At least it afforded me some protection. The shot had come from an open window in the house. Instinct had me draw my weapon without thinking, but I had not returned fire since I perceived that I was under little imminent threat for the moment. The shooter either was warning me or had issues with accuracy. Another shot hit a large tree trunk some fifty yards to my right.

  “I told you to stay off my land,” the voice shouted out.

  I assumed it was Cain Gosnell.

  “I have some questions to ask.”

  “You’ve already asked some questions,” he shouted back.

  “I have new questions.”

  “I don’t want to talk with you,” he said. “I don’t care one whit for the law.”

  “I’m not the law,” I said.

  “But you’re helpin’ the law.”

  “Doesn’t make me the law.”

  “I don’t wanna talk with anybody. Git!”

  “I don’t much want to talk with you either, but I have to. Your brother was shot in the head. You do know that we found the body, right?”

  There was silence for a few seconds.

  “Naw, didn’t know that. Who killed him?”

  “Don’t know. That’s what we’re checking into. It’s why I need to talk with you.”

  “You think I did it?”

  “Can’t say. Just answer my questions and we’ll be finished.”

  More silence. Nothing moved for a few minutes. Then the front door squeaked open and Cain stood in the doorway.

  “Okay. Talk.”

  His handgun was pointing towards the ground at his side. I decided to take a chance and stand up. When he did not shoot me, I moved towards him. My weapon was pointing at the ground beside my right leg. If he flinched his gun hand with even a hint at moving it towards me, I would hit squarely between the eyes without blinking. Instinct and practice. Survival. I would explain later to Starnes that his kneecap was not an option.

  “Just you stay right there,” he said. “We can talk from this distance.”

  “Fine.”

  “Where’d you find the body?”

  “One of the branches that feeds the French Broad, the Break Rock Fork area. Body was hung up in the limbs of tree fall in the middle of the creek,” I said. “His truck was some two hundred yards up stream from where we found him.”

  “Probably was a mess,” he said.

  “Him or the truck?”

  “My brother,” he said.

  “Yep, nothing you’d want to talk about over Sunday lunch.”

  “What questions you wanna ask me?”

  “Where were you on October 28?” I said.

  “Probably right here. Can’t say for sure,” he replied.

  “So you don’t remember.”

  “I don’t live my life by dates on a calendar. I have things to do around the place here. I’m here, right here, most of the time.”

  I surveyed the mild chaos that was his place, the rapidly deteriorating fence, the lack of paint on the house, and the discarded items randomly tossed on his front porch. I looked back at him and rolled my eyes.

  “I can see you have lots to do,” I said.

  “So why is October 28 so damn important?”

  “Likely the day your brother Abel was murdered.”

  He looked down and stared at something on the ground near the steps.

  “You know what day of the week that was?” he said.

  I did some quick mental calculations. I had driven to McAdams County on Sunday, October 30th, my reference point.

  “That would have been a Friday … Friday, October 28th.”

  “The last Friday of October,” he mumbled as if to himself. “Yeah, I remember now.”

  I waited for him to continue. He seemed to be lost in some thought.

  “Good,” I said as if to offer some encouragement for him.

  Nothing.

  “Where were you on that last Friday of October?” I said.

  “With my brother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Somehow I managed to get Cain Gosnell to let me sit on the front porch steps closer to him and talk. He wasn’t a happy camper, as they say, but at least his disposition was tolerable enough to engage in some less-than-polite questions and answers.

  I had learned that Cain and Abel had gone to the feed store together to buy supplies on that Friday. On the way back to their homes they had gotten into an intense argument. I was surprised that Cain was willing to tell me all this.

  “I didn’t like my brother. No secret there. Most folk in the county knew it. They’ll tell you, just ask them. But I didn’t kill ‘im,” he said.

  Cain moved off the porch and was facing the broken-down picket fence. He has his back to me since I remained seated on the top step behind him. His gun was still at his side. I holstered my weapon. I decided at some point that Cain Gosnell was not going to shoot me for asking questions. Sam was sitting on his haunches on the ground about three feet from Cain. He was situated in such a manner that he could easily see both of us without moving anything but his eyes. Prepared.

  “What was the disagreement over?”

  “Some money I owed him. I told ‘im I’d pay him off soon enough, but he wouldn’t listen. Said he needed the money right away. I told ‘im to be patient … give me some time.”

  “Argument turn to blows?”

  “Some shoving, hard words, but no blows,” he said as he turned to look me squarely in the eyes.

  “Where’d this take place?”

  “Right there,” he pointed to the place where I had parked the Jeep.

  “Where’d you get the firearm?” I said, nodding in the direction of the Luger he still held in his hand. The barrel was pointing at the ground next to his leg.

  “My great-grandfather got it in the first big war, back in, gosh, I don’t know, sometime around 1913, I reckon. At least that was the story he told us more than once. Brought it home. Said he won it shooting craps when he was fighting the Krauts in Poland. Gave it to me just before he died.”

  “Sentimental value, I suppose,” I said.

  “Naw, nothing like that. It’s a gun. Everybody needs a gun,” he said as he studied the weapon.

  “It shoots high and to the left,” I said.

  “How you know that?”

  “I’m still alive.”

  “You mean earlier as you was comin’ towards my house?”

  “Yeah. You missed me high and to the left.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hit you.”

  “That means you missed me further than you intended to miss me. The sights are off. You might want to have it checked out in case you actually do want to hit something.”

  “You know guns pretty good, huh?”

  “I know a little. You and your brother have issues besides money?”

  “Yeah, I guess we did. Brothers disagree.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not really. Our differences were personal.”

  “Well, this is a murder investigation, so your personal stuff might need to go public.”

  “But I don’t have to talk with you, you not being a lawman, woman, whatever. Say, what are you anyway?”

  “Private detective.”

  “But not from around here,” he said with a slur.

  “He have any enemies you know of?” I said.

  “In McAdams County, everybody’s got enemies.”

  “Anyone who might want to kill him?”

  “That’s saying a lot. He had some disagreements, off and on, with some cattle farmers around. Dispute with a man named Ramsey over some land. Bart Ramsey.”

  “Well, if I find anything that needs some clarification, I’ll be back.”

  “You don’t need to hurry. I don’t like outsiders.”

  “I gathered that, but try to remember that I’m not the bad guy,” I said.

  “Don’t matter. Still don’t like ya’,” he s
aid.

  “And,” I said, “if I discover anything that leads me back to you ….” I let my incomplete sentence hang there between us. He was smart enough to fill in my gap.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s your neck.”

  “Thanks for the chit chat,” I said.

  I left with two prevailing notions – one, Cain either wasn’t a decent marksman or I was correct about the sight on his weapon; two, Cain was not a student of WWI history, at least not when it comes to dating the event.

  Sam and I left. I drove to Madison and timed my visit with Mina Beth so that I could indulge in another cheeseburger. The café wasn’t as busy on this particular day. Mina Beth stood at my booth while we talked. Her eyes were red and puffy. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose hard. Real or pretend, it was hard to determine since I didn’t know her well.

  “Sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “Don’t matter. I don’t think our relationship was going anywhere.”

  She sounded despondent. It might have been the fact that she now knew he was dead, or something else. Hard to tell.

  “No marriage in sight?”

  “We talked a little about it, but there was never anything definite. He worked all the time. I think he loved those sheep more than me.”

  “He have any enemies you can name?”

  “There’s a farmer who raises beef cows whose land joins some land that Abel was leasing for his other herd of sheep, you know, other than the ones he kept around the home place.”

  “Farmer have a name?”

  “Jasper Franklin, but I don’t think Jasper would kill anybody. He just likes to fuss and fume and raise hell over nitpicky things. You know the kind of person,” she said.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not that comes to mind right now. Abel got along with everyone but Cain. They argued most of the time. Cain was jealous of his brother.”

  “Any particular reason?” I said.

  “Adam and Evelyn favored Abel,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “So it had nothing to do with God favoring Abel over Cain?” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, but I will tell you that Abel did go to church. Cain gave up on religion when his wife and kids left him a couple of years ago. He used to attend regular, but the bottom fell out on him and he stopped caring. That’s what I think.”