Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series) (10 page)

Victor
smiled and nodded his head, “Yep, it’s me Donald. How are
ya
?”

The
drunk laughed. “I been uh
seein
’
tha
sun
ssshhhh-ine
through
tha
baw
-tum of uh full
baw-dul
,
su
I’m uh
dewin
’ aw-
ight
sheriff.”

Victor
chuckled. “Good, glad to hear it, Donald.” He looked over at Jason. “Hey Donald
– We’re
gonna
ask you a couple of questions. Is that
okay?”

“
Yeeeaaah
, shore, shore,” the drunk laughed. “You an’ me an’
you is
bu-dees
…
bu
-dee,” he
chuckled, “so you ken
assssk
me
anythin
’
you
wanna
. I’m un hon-
est
men that
wooun’t
never tell no lies to nobody ‘
cept
for
tha
’ time you
asssk
me if
I‘ad
been
drinkin
’ cause then
you’as
just
uh
askin
’
fer
me’da
lie.” The sheriff smiled at the memory while the
drunk paused. “I knew this fella one time,” he shook his head at what he was
about to reveal,” cud
nnnot
ku-eeep
from
lyin
’. When ‘e’s just uh a kid he told his
momma…”

“Okay,
okay Donald,” Sheriff Victor laughed. “You can tell Deputy Andrews all about
that later, but for right now, would you please tell us this – has anything out
of the ordinary happened in your ally lately?”

Donald
stared blankly into the mirrored glass, trying to remember. “
Yeeaah
! Shore has!” he shouted excitedly. The sheriff
looked over at Jason with a victorious smile on his face. “I saw a rat.” The
sheriff’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “
Min
you, an it-tee-bit-tee rat that ate a cat,” the drunk sang out then busted into
uncontrollable fits of laughter.

The
sheriff put a hand to his head. “Any humans?” he asked, frustration evident in
his voice.

The
drunk’s eyes got big as if he had just been shocked into sobriety. “No sir!” he
exclaimed. “I didn’t see ‘
em
eat one single human!”
Victor threw up his hands in defeat. “If I did, I’d uh
pra
-bob-lee
uh
passst
yew in ‘
ur
fan-see
pu
-troll car,” the drunk sang out with
laughter.

Donald
continued to ramble. “Rat that ate a cat,” he laughed. “Funny.” He chuckled to
himself for a few moments before his expression turned thoughtful. “But
seriously, I did see
somthin
’ mi-tee strange
tha
’ other night,” he half mumbled. Victor’s head jerked
around as he refocused on the drunk.

“Yeah?”
the sheriff encouraged.

“I
wus
sittin
’ there
keeeeping
an eye on
tha
dump-
ster
when awe
tha
sudden,
whoosh
,
this one fella wen’
runnin
’ by like
e’d
seen
tha
devil.” He swung his
arm across in front of him as if he was watching the man run by and in the
process knocked over his glass of water. The drunk looked down at the glass as
if he wondered why it had bailed off the table at such a time as this then back
up at Deputy Andrews, “ ’
ave
you ever seen
tha
devil Dee-putty?”

“
Uuuhhhh
, no, I… I haven’t,” Andrews answered, obviously
surprised and a bit insulted by the question.

“
Weeell
,
dun’t
you judge hum to
arsshhhuually
,” Donald instructed, leaning in, “
cuz
‘
es
purrtee
scary
an’f
you seen ‘
em
you’d
pra’lee
run too.”

“Okay
sir,” the deputy said, trying to sound professional. “Can you remember anything
else?” The question sounded like he really hoped he could not. The deputy and
Jason had that one thing in common.

No
such luck. “
Yesssssssirrrr
, I thank
tha
’ devil really
wus
chassin
’ ‘at
pur
man,
cuz
assszzz
I was a
sittin
’ there, you know… by
tha
blue
dumsser
,
minin
’ my own
bezzness
, this
nother
fella
come up an’ I guess ‘e didn’t see what ‘
e
want-
ed
to see,” the drunks eyes got bigger as he continued, “
cuz
‘e started
rollin
’ ‘round on
tha
ground an ah mumbling ‘bout
somthin
’!”
There was bewilderment in his eyes, like he could not believe it.

He
then leaned towards the deputy like he had some private information. Deputy
Andrews seemed hesitant for some reason, but the drunk got him coxed down for a
huddle anyways. “I
t’ink
‘e might ‘
ave
been
driiinnnken
,” he
whispered then clasped his hands together in front of his face, so close that
he went crossed eyed, before his voice went back to its booming, normal tone, “
cuz
all I
seeeen
wus
h’m tore ‘is clothes up.” With that he pulled his hands
apart in a tearing motion.

“But,
but,” he sputtered like a put-put car, “I
dunno
why
‘e tore ‘is clothes up.” His head bobbled as he turned and looked up at Deputy Andrews.
He held it there until the weight of it seemed to force it back down. Then he
just sat there and rubbed the smooth surface of the interrogation table for a
moment, seemingly intrigued by its simple design. His thoughts appeared to
shift as he reached up and straightened the lapels on his torn and stained
sports coat. As he brushed the faded rose, which was poked through a button
hole on his suit, an honest pride shown in his eyes. “Not everyone I know has
nisse
clothes like me,” he spoke in a much more hushed and
sober voice. “I know a lot of folks who could use some
nisse
clothes.”

Confused,
he looked up at the deputy who seemed a bit confused himself. “If you got
nisse
clothes like us you
oughta
take care of ‘
em
,” he spoke as he petted the material
he wore, which actually did possess the appearance of having been very
expensive at one time.

Turning
to Jason from their vantage point behind the mirror, Sheriff Victor asked, “So
why did you tear your clothes up?”

“What?
You’re really buying that, that,” Jason pointed into the room unsure of what to
call the drunk, “that man’s story?” Jason asked, doing his best to sound
stunned.

“Yes,”
the sheriff answered without blinking an eye. “I’m buying his story because I
believe it. I think he’s telling the truth. You see, even with his senses
diluted, his story still makes perfect sense. Yours does not.”

Jason
looked away so the sheriff couldn’t see the uneasiness in his eyes before he
kindly pointed out, “But he’s nothing more than a drunk.”

His
observation didn’t help the already ticked off sheriff to relax any. In an
angry voice, Victor spoke, “That may be true… maybe not, but look at him. Do
you see him?” Jason didn’t think that the question merited an answer. Of
course, he could see him. The man was the object of their obvious interest.
“Well,” Sheriff Victor went on, “take a good look at him because he has ten
times more integrity than you’ll ever dream of having. Now, we’re going to lock
him up ’till he sobers up, just to keep him from hurting himself or anyone
else.” The sheriff took a step closer to Jason. “But if I ever get you in
there,” he spoke, nodding towards the interrogation room, “I’ll lock you up and
loose the key.”

Jason
averted his eyes. The sheriff had a lot of nerve calling him a liar to his
face. He now knew why Andrews was in there and Victor out here. The drunk was
not the one being interrogated, Jason was… and he was starting to feel trapped.
“Which way to the sketch artist?” he demanded. “I mean, that is the reason you
asked me here, right?”

The
sheriff glared at him. “You’ve wasted enough of my time,” he spat. “Go ask
someone else.” With that, he walked out the door, leaving Jason alone, trying
to sort through the mess his life had become.

She
was always there in Jason’s mind. Every way he turned, it seemed that he would
run smack-dab into something that reminded him of Misty; at this moment it was
a necklace that had drawn his attention. A gentle gold hue ran the length of
its chain, pulled down to a v by the weight of the locket that hung from it.
The locket was of a somewhat darker tone and slightly pitted, designed like it
had spent years being blasted by sand. Two silver roses, smooth at the blossoms
but jagged and thorny down the stems, stood out, like two candles surrounded by
a sea of darkness, against the golden backdrop. Twisted and entwined together
by the thorns and ragged edges, the two roses were locked together.

Susan
gently fondled the locket that hung from her neck. Her gaze was lost out the
jail house window, a million miles away as Jason approached. “I remember the
first time I saw Misty; she was wearing hers,” he said, nodding towards the
necklace.

Susan’s
attention was drawn from whatever place her mind had been visiting. She gave
Jason a confused look, momentarily unsure of what he was talking about. But
then she caught his gaze, and understanding came to her face as she looked down
at the locket in her hand.

“Yes,”
she said with a weary smile. “She always wore it.”

Jason
had heard the story several times from Misty but figured it might make Susan
feel better to talk it out. “I’ve never seen another necklace like the ones you
and Misty have,” he spoke gently.

Susan’s
eyes watered up a bit, but her words held a hint of some distant happiness.
“That’s because daddy had them costume made… special for us,” she replied.
Jason waited quietly for the rest of the story. “He always called us his two
roses in the desert.” She smiled. “That’s why the lockets look pitted – like
from desert wind and sand.” She brushed a tear from her eye. “But the two
roses,” she half laughed, half sobbed, “the two roses are us – me and Misty.”
She let out a sigh and looked up at the ceiling, trying to compose herself.
“Daddy said that even though all the things around us become broken down and
worn out with adversity, all it ever did to me and Misty was knock the dust off
of our petals so we could shine a little brighter.”

She
paused for a moment. “The thorns on the vines are all the rough times we’ve
been through together. They lock us together. We’ve grown together. Her thorns
are mine and mine are hers. It’s not her problem or my problem, it’s our
problem. It’s not the good and easy times that have made us inseparable but the
hard.” She paused. “And this time is no different.” A determined look came into
her eyes. “I will not let her down.”

“
We
”
Jason corrected quietly. “
We
won’t let her down.” They stood silent for
a moment, Jason thankful that she hadn’t argued his worthiness before he
remembered something. “Did the lady you ran into,” he started to ask but paused
when he remembered she literally did – almost plowed the poor lady under, “um,
did she say where the sketch artist was?”

“She
was her,” Susan spoke quietly. She shook her head, realizing how confusing that
sounded. “She was the sketch artist. She was in a big hurry – didn’t ask who we
were, but she did tell me how to find her office.”

Jason
really didn’t want to be roaming around the jailhouse alone with the sheriff there
on the loose, so he had to come up with a way to get Susan to go with him.
Plus, nothing keeps a man’s manners in check like the presence of a woman, so
he figured he could use Susan as a deterrent if he came up against the
sheriff’s wrath.

“Rather
than give me directions and risk me getting myself lost, would you mind showing
me the way?” he asked Susan kindly. “I’m not overly familiar with the inside of
this particular jail,” he added in an attempt to lighten their weighed down
spirits.

Susan
showed a trace of a smile.  “You should be,” she responded. “You seem to
fit the type.” He could tell she appreciated his attempt at humor. What she
didn’t know was that she was exactly right. He should be locked up for what he
did, and if Sheriff Victor had his way, he would be.

“So
what’d the sheriff want?” Susan asked as she headed off, leading the way.

Jason
caught up and eyed her suspiciously, sure that she had figured it all out, but
she seemed to be just asking an honest question. “He had a few more things to
ask,” Jason answered, not telling a lie but greatly diminishing the truth.

Finally,
they rounded a corner and Susan stopped, pointing to a door. “She should be in
there,” she said before turning slowly, with eyes cast downward, to leave.

Knowing
how much the strings of Susan’s heart were connected to the things that would
go on inside of that room, and considering the fact that one never new just
when he might run in to Sheriff Victor, Jason made an offer. “You’ve already
met her, so if she’s okay with it you can come in, too.”

“Oh…
really? Thank you,” Susan accepted with grace and a bit of disbelief, even
though he knew she had been hoping he would offer all along.

As
Jason knocked, inside he heard someone slurping on a straw, sounding like they
had reached the sad end of a very delicious beverage. “Come in,” invited a high
pitched voice that sang out in cheer, but sounded as though it might be powered
by a mind that could have the tendency to drift off to a land so very far, far
away.

As
they entered, to their left Jason spied the woman who Susan had run into. She
had that same stack of papers now dumped haphazardly on her desk. She held a
cup of iced frou-frou coffee turned up a little with the lid off as she eyed
the ice at the bottom which she began vigilantly probing through with her
straw. She seemed to be convinced that there was more of that sweet nectar
hiding in there somewhere.

Seeing
her visitor’s, she slammed her cup down on the desk and all but leapt to her
feet. Even though she had invited them in, she still acted as though she hadn’t
been expecting anyone. She hurriedly straightened up a few things on her desk
then stood and tried to iron the winkles out of her black skirt with her hands.
One final pass then she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Jenny,” she chirped as she
cocked her head a bit to the side, like she thought she was a bird.

“I’m
Jason and this is my sister-in-law, Susan,” Jason said, introducing them. “I’m
the one who was attacked last night.”

Jenny
looked him right in the eye and said, “Oh my goodness! What happened to your
face?”

Jason
was silent for a moment, thinking she was joking, but after she held her look
of child-like innocence for a few awkward moments, he finally gave a hesitant
answer. “I… was attacked.”

Her
eyes grew big as if she couldn’t believe it, and almost danced up and down,
like she needed to scoop him up in a big, big hug as she cried, “Oh, you poor
dear! How did it happen?” Jason wasn’t going to name any names, but it seemed
that a particular someone had imbibed in a little too much caffeine.

“I…
was attacked,” Jason repeated, “and they, um, they kidnapped my wife.” He
couldn’t believe that being in the police department, she hadn’t heard.

“Oh!”
she shouted. “You’re Jason Hathaway. Victor told me to look for you this
morning, but then came back and said he didn’t think it would be necessary.
Said
somthin
’ about it wasn’t going to be necessary
after all.” She thought a moment before adding, “I’m not necessarily sure why
it wouldn’t be necessary. It’s not necessarily my place to say, but you’d think
finding a missing woman would be a necessity.”

Though
the kind woman she usually was, Susan couldn’t help the appalled look on her
face, but Jason had stopped listening, zoning in on the statement the crazy
lady had made a few turns back. Had the sheriff been so confident of Jason’s
guilt and in his own ability to prove that guilt that he’d actually canceled
the appointment with the sketch artist? It appeared to be so.

Jenny
dug through her drawer, spilling some of its contents out onto the floor.
Coming up with a pencil, she stated, “Sketching is only a small part of my job
here. I do lots and lots of other things. You could call me a jack of all
trades,” she said as she held up her pencil like it was her scepter to rule the
world. But then she lowered it, seeming to have a thought on her brain. “No,
you’d better not call me that… I’m a woman” she stated, like she had just made
that discovery, “so I guess you’d better call me a jenny of all trades,” she
added, bursting out into hyena-like laughter.

Neither
of her guests smiled. “You don’t get it?” she asked, surprised. “You know, a
jack is a male donkey and a jenny is a female.” When they still didn’t laugh,
Jason could see she was getting worried. “And I’m a female… plus my name is
Jenny!” she said, trying to explain. Her tone showed that she couldn’t believe
her audience wasn’t dying with laughter.

Jason
gave the most un-heartfelt “ha-ha” he’d ever given then said, “Now I get it.”

“Yes,
yes,” Susan joined in, “that was, um, very funny.”

Jenny
gave a quick, satisfied nod, smiled and leaned back in her chair, happy that
her guest had gotten as much humor out of her joke as she did. Suddenly, she
lurched back forward, remembering where she had been before her thoughts jumped
overboard.

“I’m
sorry,” she hurried to explain as she picked up the pad and pencil. “I guess
y’all
aren’t in much of a laughing mood. I don’t blame you,
don’t blame you at all.” She shook her head. “I haven’t ever been married, but
if was and I did,” she paused thinking, “you know, have him get stolen… not by
another woman but kidnapped,” she clarified, shaking her head at the scene in
her mind, “I just don’t know what I’d do.”

Jason
was anxious, annoyed and aggravated at the delay… and so it slipped – his tongue
that is. With a smart-aleck smile, he calmly spoke, “At least then you’d have
something to blame his disappearance on.” The moment he said it, he regretted
it because her smile disappeared… and it was replaced with a huge toothy grin.

Jenny
made a move as if to punch Jason on the shoulder, like they were just a good
ole’ boys, as she replied, “There
ya
go. I believe we
can make it through anything if we just keep our chin and our spirits up… and
jokin
’ around, well, I’ve found that to be one of the best
ways.”

“Yes,”
Jason agreed with about zero percent of his heart. “Do you want to start with
the leader?”

“The
leader?” Jenny asked. “Yes, the leader!” she exclaimed. “The leader would be
fine… Height?”

Jason
pointed at his shoulder. “He hit me right about here.”

Jenny
gave him a look of compassion. She completely understood his need to express
his pain. “Does it still hurt?” she asked gently.

“Huh?
Hurt?” Jason asked as he cocked one eyebrow in confusion.

Jenny
shook her head, obviously upset. “Men,” she scolded. “Why do
y’all
all have to act so tough? If it hurts just tell us
about it.” She sounded like it was a bit personal. “A wound that we deny is a
wound that cannot heal.”

Jason
finally understood the misunderstanding and corrected it before she gave him
the full-blown sermon. “Standing side by side, the top of his head is about as
high as my shoulder. I’m sorry I confused you,” he half sighed.

“Oh,”
Jenny stated abruptly, realizing her mistake. Her face flushed up in a bit of
embarrassment as she jotted something down on a piece of paper.

- - - - - -

Things
were starting to wrap up with the sketch artist and, come to find out, in spite
of her erratic behavior, Jenny was very good at getting the details from Jason’s
words onto a piece of paper. She had drawn the ugly one with such accuracy that
she had to give a small gasp of horror at his features.

She
had insisted on drawing a sketch of the unidentifiable one, as well. The
purpose of that, Jason did not know. All it turned out to be was pretty much
what Jason had seen - which was the unidentifiable silhouette of a face in a
hoodie. How interesting. Jenny said something about getting a literal image of
something, at times, will help trigger more memories of the image. Whatever. It
would take less time to agree than to argue.

About
the time they were wrapping things up, Jason saw movement through the open
door. It was the drunk being led down the hall by Deputy Andrews. “Look at that
old sorry drunk,” he whispered, leaning over to Susan. She gave him a scolding
look in response, but Jenny’s reaction was much more severe.

Her
head snapped up. “Donald is much more than just a sorry drunk,” she defended
the man. “He used to be a respectable businessman in this town. But that all
changed after he…” her voice trailed off as moisture came to her eyes. “Never
mind,” she sniffed then her tone went from a personal to a professional sound.
“I’ve got the sketches done and so are we.”

Jenny
didn’t look up at Jason or Susan as they left. She just busied herself by
placing one of the sketches face up on the scanner to make copies. Susan went
out into the hall, but Jason stopped in the doorway and turned to watch the
printer began spitting out blank pieces of paper. As soon as it did, Jenny
began pushing the cancel button at a rate of about twenty clicks a second, got
it stopped, then, with a dignified look, she opened the scanner, pinched the
paper between her index finger and thumb, gracefully flipped it over, placed it
face down and began printing for real.