Murder on Calf Lick Fork Page 7

  “Actually, I am. It’s sort of one of your cases.”

  Seth’s tired eyes widened. “Really? Which one?”

  “Jay Harris. The guy who went missing from Calf Lick Fork last spring. Do you remember him?”

  Seth nodded. “I felt bad for his pappaw, but there was no evidence of foul play. You keep up with true crime shows. You know how it is. If there’s no sign of a struggle or blood or no mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance, we have no indication a crime was committed.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “Adults have the right to leave their lives and make new ones. But I feel bad for his pappaw, too, and I don’t have a chief of police looking over my shoulder or other crimes to solve. I can focus on this one.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Gentry Harris said you ran a check on Jay’s credit cards.”

  Seth chuckled. “Actually, it was a debit card.” He lowered his head and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t tell the chief this, but I run a check on his card every week. I check to see if the truck has shown up, too.”

  “So, does this mean you think Jay didn’t leave on his own accord?”

  “Eh, I wouldn’t say that. But it just takes a few minutes of my time every week and, you know, if there’s a chance something happened to him, I should follow due diligence. Besides, there’s something about this case that’s bothered me from the beginning.”

  “What’s that?”

  “His cell phone. You know how people are nowadays,” he smiled, “especially the younger generation. When my oldest niece shows me something on her phone, she won’t let go of it. She won’t even let me hold the phone with her standing right there. I’ve joked that she has incriminating evidence on there that she doesn’t want me to see, but I think it’s just their mindset.” He accepted a hug from an older woman walking past him before continuing, “But there’s been no activity on Jay’s cell phone since the day he vanished.”

  “You mean you can check something like that?”

  “Yeah, we usually have to have a warrant, but Jay’s cell phone was in his mom’s name, so she gave us permission. It’s complicated, but basically we use this software that tricks the phones into using the software as a tower. Unfortunately, the Jasper Police Department’s puny budget doesn’t allow us to purchase the software, so we borrow it from the state police when we need to find a cell phone. But here’s the rub – the phones have to be on. Nothing has shown up with Jay’s phone, so either the battery is dead or the phone isn’t on.”

  “Do you look for his phone every week, too?”

  Seth shook his head. “I only check it when the software is available.”

  “He could have chucked his old phone in the river and gotten a new phone. Maybe he got one of those phones that can’t be traced.”

  “That’s probably what happened. If you’re going to make a new life where nobody knows your name, then you’re going to get rid of anything that ties you to your old life.”

  “But that’s the issue right there. Why would Jay Harris want a new life?”

  “I guess you know about the trouble in Indiana? That could have been exactly what his mom and pappaw said it was. The actions of a foolish boy who was floundering after the death of his dad. But I made some calls to Indiana and the police up there seem to think that wasn’t an isolated incident. Not long after he left Indiana, one of his buddies was busted for a string of burglaries. If he ran with the wrong crowd up there, maybe he did the same down here.”

  “No offense, Seth, but law enforcement has been known to forever pigeonhole people who make one mistake. Besides, according to his pappaw and girlfriend, Jay didn’t really have friends down here. And, yes, one of his buddies in Indiana is serving time, but I spoke to three other friends, including two who have never been in trouble and were not part of the wrong crowd you referenced.”

  “Point taken. So, you’ve talked to those closest to him? What have you learned from them?”

  Maggie gave Seth a rundown on her conversations with Gentry, Belinda, Sydney, Gina, Steve, Carrie, Curtis, and the Indiana boys. When she finished, Seth said, “Wow. I’m losing my touch. I didn’t know about the second girlfriend or that he was no longer working at the butcher shop. I must be asking the wrong questions.”

  “Or maybe that badge intimidates people.”

  “Now you’re just trying to cheer me up.” Seth rubbed his eyes. “What’s your take on everything you’ve learned?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe Kentucky was Jay’s new life or maybe he was serious when he told his friend he’d like another do-over. Or it could be that he was venting. After all, if the timeline is right, he had just lost one of his jobs and his girlfriend had just caught him with another woman.”

  “That would certainly add some stress to your life.”

  “Then there’s Sydney. I can almost chalk up her failure to share the truth about her relationship with Jay to embarrassment. But she also told me about this mysterious customer at the butcher shop with initials for a name who was supposedly giving Jay trouble.” Maggie shook her head. “As Daddy would say, that sounds like a made-up tale.”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that. I’m sure you read Tyler’s story last winter about the burglary of an elderly couple. Two kids who are actually adults and old enough to know better talked their way into the couple’s house, scuffled with the old man, tied up him and his wife, and rummaged through the house. I think they ended up taking some Avon-type jewelry, a VCR, a few whatnots, thirty-seven dollars in cash, and some blood pressure pills. You can say one thing for eastern Kentucky, we produce some of the dumbest criminals in the country. Anyway, we tracked these criminal masterminds to their hideout next door by the tracks they made in the snow.”

  “I remember that,” Maggie said. “Although Joe and I didn’t find the robbery and assault of the elderly couple amusing, we did share a laugh as we speculated on the criminals’ combined IQ. I can’t remember their names. Does one of the robbers go by initials?”

  “Yeah, G.L. Murphy, but I’m thinking about his brother, W.L. Murphy. He doesn’t have much of a record, but he’s just as stupid as his brother and he was arrested for poaching back in the spring after he tried to take the deer to Curtis Moore’s meat shop.”

  Sydney’s words echoed in Maggie’s mind. “A guy with initials was giving Jay trouble at the butcher shop,” she said. “And now I find out that guy was a poacher. What do you know about that? It looks like Sydney might have told the truth after all.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  During Maggie’s search for Mac Honaker’s killer, her dog, Barnaby, had been temporarily kidnapped. In the course of her investigation into Hazel Baker’s death, Maggie’s car had been vandalized. In spite of these incidents, Maggie’s brief experience as an amateur sleuth had produced only a few moments of terror. But Mac’s murder had transpired in her Sugar Creek community and familiarity had provided a sense of comfort. Although Hazel had lived and died across the county in Sassafras and out of Maggie’s comfort zone, Maggie had relied on Hazel’s sister for introductions to the community. Maggie liked to think she was brave enough to make initial contact with a potential murderer all by herself. But she had spent too much time absorbing too many accounts of true crime to behave so recklessly. Her dad had accompanied her to Curtis Moore’s butcher shop and, today, she had asked Sylvie Johnson to go with her to W.L. Murphy’s. As she maneuvered her car up the winding road that led to W.L.’s house, she was happy Sylvie sat chattering in her passenger seat.

  When Maggie reached the address for W.L. Murphy that Tyler had found in the police report for the poaching incident, she stopped the car. Chickens ran loose in a yard littered with rusty appliances and vehicles, including two tireless cars on cinder blocks and a Chevy truck that looked to Maggie like her dad’s old blue stick shift. Except that this truck had a maroon hood, one green door, one white door, and a red bed and tailgate.

  Maggie and Sylvie’s ar
rival caught the attention of a dog teetered to the hitch of the mobile home that sat on the property. After glancing toward Maggie’s car, the dog must have decided the visitors weren’t worth the effort. He stood up and walked underneath the trailer, which contained no underpinning but featured black garbage bags duct-taped to one end of the mobile home and a string of blinking Christmas lights drooping from the roof.

  “This beats all I ever seen,” Sylvie said. “They don’t have the gumption to clean this place up, but they found the time to decorate for Santie Claus.”

  “I just hope he has shoes and teeth and doesn’t come to the door carrying a shotgun, or else he’ll embody every eastern Kentucky stereotype I can think of.”

  Maggie’s words were still hanging in the air when the front door opened and a sprite of a man stepped onto the front porch. “You girls lost?” he yelled from the doorway.

  “Girl,” Sylvie huffed as she lumbered out of the car. “I ain’t been a girl in so long I forgot what it felt like.”

  “I’m sorry, Granny,” the man said, “but you looked like a little girl sitting in that car.”

  “I ain’t nobody’s granny, neither,” Sylvie snapped. When she reached the bottom of the porch steps, she looked toward the car and said to Maggie, “Are you coming in or do you aim to sit in the car all day?”

  Before Maggie could respond, Sylvie marched up the steps, wobbled across the porch, brushed by the man, and entered the trailer. Maggie grabbed her bag, made sure to lock the car, and approached the trailer. Walking up the cinderblock steps that led to the porch, she spied a pine cone, a brick, and a knife lying on the porch. She recognized a rust-colored smear on the knife and hoped it was not blood. When she reached the front door, she held out her hand to the welcoming young man and said, “I’m Maggie Morgan. I –”

  “Come on in,” he said. “There’s no need to stand out here and talk in the cold.”

  Maggie followed him inside where she found Sylvie standing in the middle of a room cluttered with piles of clothes, food, dirty dishes, small appliances, mechanical parts, and tools.

  “Son,” Sylvie said, “ain’t nobody never taught you to put things away when you’re done using them? And to wash things when they’re dirty? These clothes belong in the washing machine.”

  He gestured toward the pile of clothes. “Them clothes are clean.”

  “Clean?” Sylvie exclaimed. “Then where are the dirty ones?” When he made no move to answer, she said, “Well, if you ain’t going to answer that question, at least tell me this much, why do you have black garbage bags taped to your trailer?”

  “Oh, it ain’t my trailer,” he explained. “I just rent off this guy. He’s the one put up the garbage bags. Before I moved in, a bad storm come through here and a tree fell on that end. He couldn’t afford to fix it, so he put up those bags. I don’t use that part of the trailer much, so I don’t even notice.”

  “I declare,” Sylvie said. “I hope you ain’t paying too much to live in this dump.”

  “So, uh, like I was saying, I’m Maggie Morgan and this is my friend, Sylvie Johnson.”

  The man nodded toward her and Sylvie. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m W.L. Murphy.” Clearing books and magazines from the couch, he added, “You all would be more comfortable if you set down.”

  “I’m staying right where I’m standing,” Sylvie said. “I’d be afraid of catching something off that couch.”

  W.L. had been in the process of sitting, but stopped at Sylvie’s words and stood straight up. His small stature surprised Maggie. He was shorter than her five-foot-six-inch frame and just as trim.

  “What church are you all with?” W.L. suddenly asked.

  “Huh?” Sylvie offered by way of an answer.

  “I figure you all stopped by today to talk me into going to church,” he said.

  “Why’s it our business if you go to church?” Sylvie asked. “I might try to talk you into cleaning up this junk, but what goes on between you and the Lord is between you and the Lord. We’re here to talk to you about Jay Harris. You knowed him, didn’t you?”

  W.L. slowly sank onto the sofa. “Jay Harris. Let me think about that. No, I don’t know nobody name of Jay Harris.”

  “Is that so?” Sylvie asked.

  Realizing she was close to losing any semblance of control of the interview, Maggie said, “W.L. Now, what does that stand for?” On the drive to the house, she had imagined all sorts of possibilities for the initials before deciding on, or rather hoping for, Waldorf Leopold.

  “Wayne Lee,” he answered.

  “Oh,” Maggie said. “Well, W.L., Jay Harris worked at the butcher shop for Curtis Moore. He disappeared back in the spring. You might have heard something about that.”

  W.L. shook his head. “Nope, I ain’t heard a thing about that.”

  Sylvie snorted. Maggie said, “Jay’s pappaw is really worried about him and he asked me to ask around and see if I could find him.”

  “It’s really nice of you to help him,” W.L. said.

  “It’s no problem,” Maggie said. “So, are you a customer at the butcher shop? Did you take deer to Curtis?”

  W.L. shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Sylvie snorted again.

  “Well, the thing is, W.L., somebody told me you were a customer of Curtis Moore’s and that you and Jay Harris had some sort of trouble.”

  W.L. shrugged again. “You can’t believe everything you hear.” He picked up one of the books he had placed on the floor when clearing off the couch. “This is a book on how to work on appliances. I’m learning myself how to fix them. I took a toaster apart and am putting it back together. That’s what all those parts are to. A toaster.”

  “That’s nice, W.L. It’s good to have ambition and a goal to work toward. Now, about Jay Harris.”

  W.L. slapped the book on his leg. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it and I can’t place a Jay Harris.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth and said, “W.L., what can you tell me about your arrest for poaching earlier this year?”

  W.L. leaned down and picked up spare electronic parts. “I’m going to fix this toaster up real good and give it to my mom for Christmas.”

  “You give that toaster to her and you might as well call the fire department,” Sylvie cautioned. “Son, if she uses that, she’ll burn down the house.”

  Maggie emitted a defeated sigh. “It looks like you’ve got a lot of work to do, so Sylvie and I will get out of here and leave you to it.” She tore a piece of paper from her notepad and wrote down her name and number. “Keep this. If you think of anything that might help us find Jay, give me a call.”

  Rifling through her crocheted bag, Sylvie produced a card and handed it to W.L. “You call me if you need any advice about cleaning and putting away clothes.”

  W.L. sprang to his feet and accepted Maggie’s paper and Sylvie’s card. As he shoved the papers into the pocket of his jeans, Maggie saw the scrip containing her information flitter to the floor. He bent over and picked it up. “It sure was nice meeting you ladies today. You all come back any time you want.” Looking at Sylvie, he said, “Next time, I’ll make sure the place is a little cleaner.”

  When they reached the car, Maggie asked, “You have business cards?”

  “Yeah, that niece of mine had them made up. I think it was a waste of her money, but she said I need to advertise. I’ve had them for nigh-on a year, and that’s the first one I’ve give out. That boy seemed as good a person as anybody to give one to,” Sylvie said. “That friend of yours wasn’t joking. That boy really is stupid and he’s the worst liar I ever seen. But he ain’t as big as a handful of minutes. Surely he couldn’t have hurt Jay. Jay had half a foot and, Lord, I’d say at least fifty pounds on that boy.”

  “W.L. was strong enough to drag a deer out of the hills, so I imagine he’d be strong enough to overpower somebody Jay’s size.” Maggie started the car. “Sylvie, are you up to visiting the butcher shop? I’m interested in knowing what
Curtis Moore has to say about W.L. Murphy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maggie and Sylvie pulled up to Curtis Moore’s butcher shop as he was packing a box of meat into a customer’s pickup truck. Maggie waited until the truck drove off before exiting her car. As soon as Curtis saw her, he said, “Unless you’ve got a beef or deer in the trunk of that car, you ain’t welcome here.”

  Before Maggie could justify her existence to Curtis, she heard Sylvie say from behind her, “Does your mommy know she raised a son as rude as you? My mommy taught me that if neighbors come to your door, as long as they ain’t pointing a gun at you, you invite them in and offer them something to eat.” Reaching Maggie’s side, Sylvie added, “We ain’t pointing no guns at you, so there’s no call to be rude.”

  “My mom ain’t got nothing to do with this.” Directing his head toward Maggie, Curtis said, “I ain’t got nothing to say to her.”

  “Well, that’s too bad cause she has something to say to you.” Sylvie elbowed Maggie and said, “Go on. Ask him. I can’t stay out in this cold for too long.”

  Maggie expected Curtis to offer further resistance. But he simply crossed his arms in front of his chest, relaxed his shoulders, and leaned against the front of his shop. She wondered if Sylvie had anything to do with his subtle shift in attitude. “Curtis, Sylvie and I just came from W.L. Murphy’s.”

  “So?”

  “So, was,” Maggie paused, “is W.L. one of your customers?”

  Spitting tobacco juice on the ground, Curtis said, “I’ve cut meat for him before.”

  “I guess your mommy never taught you not to spit in the company of women, neither, did she?” Sylvie admonished Curtis. “Don’t you have a spit cup?”

  Curtis disappeared into his shop only to return moments later with a Styrofoam cup reeking of tobacco juice.