Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (4 page)

The funeral had been a packed-out affair, which was expected. Everyone knew the Jacksons. Even the weather had cooperated, and the day was sunny and properly May-like. Gracie and Jim slipped out the side door of the Fellowship Hall to head back to Milky Way after the service. She’d felt hollow and shaky seeing the casket at the front of the church, the rich wood draped with a spray of red roses. She’d gripped the back of the pew so hard when they stood for the benediction that her hands ached. Just as she was climbing into Jim’s pickup, a male voice called out from the shade of the maples that surrounded the church parking lot.

“Hey, Jim. Got a minute?”

She turned around toward the sound of the voice. Jim, who was already behind the wheel, leaned over to get a better look.

“Hey, Toby. What’s going on?” Jim answered.

He got out of the truck, leaving it idling. Gracie decided to stay in the pickup. Toby had always given her the whim-whams, and Jim could take care of this conversation. On second thought, it might prove interesting. The window went down soundlessly when she hit the switch.

The man’s long hair was pulled back into a makeshift ponytail. His thin, craggy face was unshaven, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for at least a couple of days. Deep lines creased his forehead and around his mouth.

“You know they’re gonna get me next. I just want somebody to know. I can’t stop ‘em this time.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Who’s going to get you?” Jim asked.

“Them. They’ve done it before. They got D. B. and made it look like an earthling did it.” The man’s eyes were wide and a little wild. His voice trembled when he said “them” which made Gracie shiver.

“It
was
an earthling who shot D. B., Toby. You know that, don’t you?”

Jim stood up and reached out to give the man a friendly pat on the back. Toby recoiled and looked at Jim suspiciously. He rubbed the scruffy growth on his face.

“I told D. B. to stay away from that land. It’s mine and he’s not gonna take it away. I told him somethin’ could happen if I caught him up there.”

Gracie gasped, and Jim shot her a warning look.

“Now, hold on,” Jim continued as if he’d just heard what the man was having for supper. “You told D. B. that?”

“I sure did.” Toby folded his arms across his chest, looking defiant. “He was a liar and slimy as all git out. That land is mine. I gotta protect it for them. They like the Meadow. Now they’ve come back for me. I’ve gotta get ready to go again.”

He started pacing. His hands jammed into his jeans pockets. Jim glanced back at Gracie with worry in his eyes and a furrowed brow.

“Slow down there. Did you tell the police any of this?”

Toby stopped his pacing and looked blankly at Jim.

“It’s none of their business what D. B. and me were talkin’ about. I didn’t shoot him. I was huntin’ turkeys that mornin’, not D. B.”

“Right. Did you tell the police about ‘them’ and that they were coming for you?”

“Huh? I don’t remember what I told the cops.”

“I remember you told me you’d shot a big turkey.”

Jim relaxed, leaning against the truck bed. Gracie watched the agitation in Toby’s eyes change suddenly to pride.

“I got me a big tom. He was a beauty. Missed him the first time. Pretty crafty old boy, but the second time I knocked him right outta a big oak. I’m gonna put him in the fryer and have a feast. You can come over for some, if you want.”

“Sounds good, Tobias.” Jim said in a soothing tone.

“We really need to get back to the kennel, Jim. I’m sure Toby has things to do.” Gracie tried to sound nonchalant, but she knew her tone was a little more edgy than she wanted.

“Well, Toby. The boss is right. We’ve gotta get back to work.” Jim opened the door of the truck. Tobias inched toward Jim.

“Listen, Jim. You bring Gracie over and your folks too for supper tomorrow night. I’ll be fryin’ that turkey tonight. Tell your momma to make some of her good potato salad.”

“I’ll see. We’re all pretty busy right now. I’ll give you a call.”

A shadow crossed the man’s thin face. “I disconnected the phone today. I don’t want anybody gettin’ into my house that way. They have sneaky ways, you know.”

Gracie’s lips were clamped tight as Jim slid in behind the steering wheel. It took everything she had not to immediately launch into a speech on the questionable mental stability of Tobias McQuinn. He avoided her gaze and turned back to his cousin, who stood fidgeting, waiting for another word from Jim.

“I’ll stop by later. You need a ride home or anything?” Jim obliged him.

“Nope. I paid my respects to D. B. I’m goin’ home to cut wood. Got my truck here.” He jabbed a thumb over his right shoulder toward an old rusty red Chevy pickup, which was held together with baling twine, wire, and duct tape.

“Good enough then. I’ll see you later.”

Jim put the truck into gear and drove slowly out of the church parking lot, looking intently at the street, still avoiding Gracie’s eyes.

When she glanced out of the rear window, she saw a beat-up green compact car behind them.

Before Gracie could express her deep feelings on the subject of dining with Toby and other matters, Jim’s cell phone rang. With relief spreading across his face, Jim answered the call. Gracie sat, drumming her fingers on the console, waiting for him to finish. A few “uh-huhs” and a non-committal grunt ended the call.

“My mother,” he said, tucking the phone back into the holder on his belt. “The sheriff’s department is at the house asking questions about Toby. They’re saying something about a mental health exam, and they have a search warrant for his trailer.”

“Are you surprised?” Gracie asked.

“No,” he said slowly. “Not after
that
conversation. I can’t believe he’d really shoot D. B. though. I don’t know what’s gotten into him today.”

“I
can
believe it. He may have thought D. B. was a turkey or something. He’s really not right. He needs some help.”

“He has some issues, but I don’t think he’d really hurt anybody. He’s all talk. Always has been. I’ll head over to his place after I drop you off. He’s going to really lose it when he sees a cop car on his property.”

Gracie decided that silence was the highest virtue at her disposal, at least at the moment, and only told her business partner to be careful as he drove off. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him anything else.

As soon as the big truck left the circular driveway, the dilapidated, small green car that had followed them out of the church parking lot came sputtering into the kennel’s parking area. A plume of oily smoke trailed behind it. Gracie shaded her eyes against the bright sun to get a better look at the vehicle. She hadn’t seen anything like it since high school. Something was familiar about it. The car looked like the one driven by a geeky guy who’d had an annoying crush on her in her senior year of high school. She racked her brain for the name, watching the car as it pulled in next to a customer’s red Toyota. The guy’s name had been Roscoe. She and Michael had been on again and off again that year, and Roscoe had seen his big chance to make a move on her. Michael had found it hilarious, but Gracie not so much.

A man of medium build climbed out of the car, which popped and clicked ominously before shuddering into silence. His brown hair stuck out in all directions. His checked short-sleeve shirt looked like he’d slept in it. He wore black-rimmed glasses and carried a tablet of some sort. He even had a pocket protector.

Recognition washed over her, and Gracie’s stomach fell to her feet as if she were on a roller coaster. An uncomfortable blast from the past—Roscoe Myer.

*****

The pickup bounced over the rutted and winding driveway through the woods toward Toby’s Airstream trailer. Jim leaned forward, straining to see through the leafy canopy. Two deputy sheriff’s cars were parked by the silver trailer. He couldn’t see Toby’s truck anywhere. Jim unfastened the top button on his shirt and pulled off a dark blue tie. He threw it down on the seat and breathed easier.

The door to the trailer was wide open, and lights were on inside. He pulled in by the shed next to a stack of firewood. A short, stocky deputy, whose stomach strained against the buttons of his gray uniform, carried a shotgun, barrel pointed to the ground, down the steps. He stopped when he saw Jim walking toward him.

“Uh, Deputy,” Jim called to him. “Thought it might be best if I was around for your meeting with Toby. Is he here?”

“And you are?” the deputy demanded.

“Taylor. Jim Taylor. Toby is a sort of cousin of mine, and when I heard you guys were up here, uh, I just wanted to make sure he’s all right.”

“Well, Mr. Taylor, your cousin doesn’t seem to be around right now. It looks like he could be in some serious trouble. Do you know where he might be?”

Another deputy, who was taller and much more fit-looking than his partner, filled the doorway. He looked uneasily at Jim and then at the other deputy.

“What’s going on here? Are you Tobias McQuinn?”

“No. I’m his cousin, Jim Taylor. Like I was telling Deputy, uh…”

“Krawczak,” the short deputy supplied.

“Uh, Krawczak. I’m just trying to h-h-help…” Jim stammered. He wasn’t getting such a good feeling about his decision to come dashing in like the cavalry.

The tall deputy looked him over with a practiced eye and motioned him up the weathered steps into the trailer.

“Your cousin is going to need some help. Have you seen this place?”

Jim couldn’t ever remember being admitted into the Airstream. Toby spent most of his time in the woods, hunting, trapping, or cutting wood. His eyes went wide with amazement when he stepped through the doorway. Strings of white miniature Christmas lights crisscrossed the living room of the small space. The stale smell of greasy cooking clung to the air although the door was open. A model of the starship
Enterprise
hung suspended from the bottom of a pine cabinet over the kitchen sink. Star charts were taped onto the paneled walls. Several saucer-shaped aircraft were hung among the white lights. Stacks of UFO magazines announcing alien autopsies and human abductions on their covers were arranged neatly along the walls.
A few newspaper clippings were on the kitchen counter. Jim picked them up and glanced at the headlines. The articles were on wind farms and the last one was D. B.’s obituary. He quickly put them back on the counter. A box of shells for a .12 gauge shotgun sat on the kitchen table. The stocky deputy picked it up while Jim walked over to the TV. The bookshelves behind it were filled with
Star Trek
,
The X-Files
, and
Battlestar Galactica
DVDs and VHS tapes. He rubbed his forehead and sat down on a dingy sofa next to a large book entitled
The Government and the Secret UFO Projects
.

“I had no idea,” he said, tipping back his baseball cap and scratching his head. “No idea at all.”

“We need to find Mr. McQuinn, sir. Any idea where we can find him?” The tall deputy, who seemed to be in charge, spoke firmly.

Before Jim could answer, the roar of a truck engine echoed through the trees.

*****

Gracie was still shaking her head when Roscoe’s dilapidated Geo Metro finally chugged out of the parking lot.

The shocker was that he was a reporter for
The
Sentinel
. Just what she didn’t need—an investigative reporter asking her opinion on windmills and UFO sightings. He also had given her the impression that Renew Earth was up to something, and he was trying to unearth some juicy tidbits. Other than the petition that Ben Richter had stuck under her nose, she knew nothing about Renew Earth. Communication Central down at Midge’s probably had the scoop, but she didn’t mention that to Roscoe. She’d managed to put him off, pleading ignorance on windmills, aliens, and UFOs. She had a nagging feeling he’d be back. Roscoe had always been persistent, so he was probably a good reporter. However, he was still as annoying as a hangnail. To top it off, the Oscar Meyer song was running through her head. What had his parents been thinking the day the poor guy was born?

Gracie sighed and looked at her watch. Jim wasn’t back yet. It had been more than two hours since he left her at the kennel. She was finishing the last of the exercise times with two cocker spaniels that required special attention. They didn’t play well with others and were a little hesitant around some two-legged creatures. Fortunately, Gracie had hit it off with them, thanks to some irresistible liver treats and her natural likability to the canine set. They wagged their stumpy tails all the way back to their shared run and even licked Gracie’s face before plowing into their waiting kibble bowls.

By closing time, Gracie was more than a little worried. She didn’t want to call Jim and go domestic on him, but he’d planned on coming back to work.

While she weighed the pros and cons of calling him, the sound of a vehicle turning into the driveway got Haley’s attention. She whined at the screen door and then gave three short barks. Gracie let Haley go dashing out while she set the alarm and locked the door. Brushing every color of dog hair from her jeans, Gracie followed Haley to the driveway.

Her father got out of the silver sedan, his face serious and brow furrowed. Her mother was trying to exit without success. Haley had pushed her way past the car door and was practically in Theresa’s lap.

“Go on now, Haley. Let me get out. Who trained you anyway?” Theresa shoved Haley’s wet black nose away from her pink-flowered Bermudas.

“Haley, come here!” Gracie shouted. “What’s going on, Dad?”

Panting and thumping her tail against Gracie’s legs, the dog finally sat down, looking demure except for her legs, which splayed wide.

“We thought we’d check on you and Jim. Has Jim gone home already?” Bob Clark answered.

“No, he hasn’t been here since right after the funeral. Why?”

“Your father was down at Midge’s for the afternoon bull session and…” Her mother hesitated.

“And what?” Gracie began to brace herself for the worst. “What’s happened?” she demanded.

Her father frowned. “Dan Evans came in and said he’d heard on the scanner that there was some kind of standoff going on up at Tobias McQuinn’s. Some family member was trying to talk him into giving himself up.”

“What? No wonder Jim didn’t come back to work. Holy cow, Dad! I’ve gotta get up there. I told Jim that Toby was going off the deep end.” She patted her pockets, searching for her keys. “The guy is as crazy as a loon.”

Gracie turned to run to the house. Haley whined, begging to get into the Clarks’ car.

Bob opened the driver’s side back door and motioned for the dog. “Get in, Haley. I’ll drive you up there. And Gracie can come too!” he called to his daughter.

*****

Jim sat in his truck, his hands clenching the steering wheel, watching a very large deputy shove a handcuffed Tobias into the back of the cruiser. Toby’s goose was cooked for sure now. He’d held six law enforcement officers at bay for an hour, and everyone was more than a little irate. First, there had been a merry chase through the woods in his pickup. After abandoning the truck, he’d run through the brush, hiding in a hunting blind until the deputies and Jim stumbled across it. Toby had punched a deputy, bloodying the guy’s nose. Then he’d run again before being treed in his deer stand. There’d been a lot of talk about “they” and D. B. not listening to him, and a lot of other garbage. Jim dreaded telling his mother that her relation (a very distant one, he hoped) had assaulted a law enforcement officer and was on his way to jail and/or the psych ward.

The line of police cars finally began oozing back down the narrow driveway through the thick cover of woods to Jemison Road. Jim put the truck in reverse and carefully backed around to follow them out.

He met the Clark contingent on the way back. Haley’s head was hanging out of a rear window. She was thoroughly enjoying the wind in her face. He opened a window and told Bob to follow him. He’d fill them in and then head to his parents’ house. This had made his top-ten list of absolute worst days.