Below the Surface Read online

  Carol nodded. “Now you’re thinking like I’m thinking.”

  Hick felt an odd stirring in his heart. His imagination had been caught, and he spun the flint wheel another moment before finally snapping the lid to the lighter shut. “Royal said you wanted to ask me something?”

  She looked him in the eye. “You know I’m no trained investigator. You’re good at what you do, and I trust you. So, I was wondering … you feel like giving me a lift to Birch Tree?”

  3

  Monday, September 5, 1955

  Carol watched the streets of Cherokee Crossing roll by as Hick drove. “The sheriff in Birch Tree is very cooperative,” she said. “He seems genuinely glad the marshals will be relieving him of Skaggs’s company.”

  They pulled into a gravel driveway and Carol spied Hick’s sister, Pam, in the garden. Pam stood and waved when she saw the car. “I thought you told me you needed to pack some clothes,” Carol said in surprise. “I remember hiding here from Brewster last year. Isn’t this your sister’s house?”

  “I don’t stay at my house these days,” Hick explained, opening the car door.

  Pam approached with an apron full of late summer tomatoes. “Hey little brother,” she said. She wore the expression she frequently had since their mother and Maggie died. That scrutinizing, worried look that made Hick cringe. She turned to Carol with a questioning glance.

  “You remember Carol Quinn,” Hick said. Last year, before Hick and Carol had left for Broken Creek, Carol and Thaddeus Burton, a young man unjustly accused of a crime, spent a few hours here at Pam’s house. It was where Hick had left his wife for safekeeping and the last place he’d seen her alive.

  Pam hugged the tomatoes gathered in her apron with one hand and the other went to smooth her hair. She stuck her hand out to shake Carol’s. “Of course. It’s good to see you again Miss Quinn. What brings you back to our little town?”

  “I wish I could say this was a social call.”

  Pam’s eyes went from Carol’s face to Hick’s.

  “Miss Quinn came out here to work on a case and wanted to ask me a few questions. It’s about that priest in Broken Creek.”

  “I see,” Pam said, although it was clear she didn’t.

  “I’m leaving town for a few days to take her out to Birch Tree. It’s on the other side of the state in the hills. Royal knows I’ll be gone, but I need to let Adam know that he’ll need to take the night shift tonight.” Hick glanced toward the house. “I’d like to say goodbye to my boys, too.”

  “Jimmy went fishing with his cousins. I’m not sure which ditch they’re at.”

  Hick nodded. “I’ll just say goodbye to Jake, then.”

  “If you stay for an early dinner they might get back before you leave,” Pam offered, leading them toward the house. “Surely you have time.”

  “I’d appreciate—” Carol began.

  Hick shook his head. “The roads up in the hills to Birch Tree are bad. I don’t want to drive them after dark.”

  Adam, Hick’s brother-in-law and the deputy sheriff, met them on the porch.

  “Hey old man,” Hick said with a smile. Because of the twenty-six year age difference, Adam was more than merely Hick’s brother-in-law and co-worker. He was a father figure and best friend, too, and Hick held him in great respect.

  Adam’s eyes widened at the sight of Carol Quinn. “Miss Quinn! What brings you to Cherokee Crossing?”

  “Unfortunately, it seems I always follow in the wake of bad news. I’m here because Father Grant was shot.”

  “Grant?” Adam glanced at Hick. “I hadn’t heard of anything like that in Broken Creek.”

  “The church in Broken Creek was closed,” Hick said. “He’s over in Birch Tree now. Has been for a little over a month.”

  “Birch Tree? Way out in the hills?”

  “Yes. Miss Quinn has asked me to take her out there and help her look into a few things. I was wondering if you might …”

  “You don’t need to ask,” Adam interrupted. “I’ve told you before, I’m happy to take a few night shifts at the station.” He gave Hick a look full of meaning and added, “You need to stop sleeping there every night, anyway.” Hick didn’t respond. “So when are you leaving?”

  “As soon as we can,” Hick said. “I need to get some clothes. We may be gone a few days.”

  They walked inside and Hick left everyone to go to the back room where he stored his things. As usual, it was dark and smelled of ever-present dampness. He grabbed his army knapsack, opened the dresser, and threw in some underwear, a pair of slacks and a shirt, and his extra uniform. He paused as the framed photo of Maggie caught his eye. It was her senior picture from high school, and her dark hair was cut short and curled. Her bright eyes held his, her expression so full of life and fun. The thought that he may have been the cause of that life being prematurely snuffed out was like a tight band around his chest that he couldn’t cut loose. He picked up the photo and touched her face. She had been his biggest cheerleader, his sounding board, his motivation. Pain shot through the hollow place where his heart used to be.

  “Daddy?”

  Hick jumped and put down the photo. Turning, he saw his youngest, Jake, standing in the doorway and winced. It was as if the same face in the photo stood before him. “Hey Jakey.”

  “Where you going?”

  “I need to go somewhere for work.”

  Hick sat on the bed, and his son climbed next to him, placing a hand on Hick’s knee and peering into his face.

  “Are you coming back?”

  Hick’s heart jerked. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because Jimmy says you’re mad at us ’cause we let Mama die while you were gone. He says that’s why we don’t live together at home anymore.”

  It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of him. Hick gathered Jake close to him and placed his arms around him, his nose buried in the boy’s hair. “No, no, no. You didn’t let Mama die. That’s not why you live here. It’s just someone has to stay at the station and—”

  Jake pushed back and looked into Hick’s face. “Don’t you ever want to be with us again and be our daddy?”

  “I will always be your daddy. But Deputy Adkins and Mourning are married. Uncle Adam and Aunt Pam are married. Married folks need time together.”

  A knock sounded at the door and Hick looked up to see Carol standing there. She cleared her throat. “Your sister packed us something to eat for the road and Adam’s ready to go to the station.”

  “Okay, thanks,” he said. He turned back to Jake and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Jake. It’s just I can’t leave you at home alone when I’m at work. You boys are too little to be by yourself overnight.”

  “But what about when you’re not working?” Jake persisted.

  Hick forced a small smile. “I thought it would be too disruptive going from one house to another all the time.” He patted Jake’s back and said, “We’ll work this out. I’ll make it up to you boys. I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell Jimmy when he gets home from fishing that I had to leave, but I’ll be back in a few days, okay? Can you tell him I love him? Will you remember?”

  “Yes, daddy.”

  “That’s my big boy,” Hick said. He took a deep breath. “I gotta go now, Jakey.” He rose and grabbed up the knapsack, and moved toward the door. Suddenly, he felt as if someone had jerked a rope and pulled him back. He turned and knelt in front of his son and looked into dark eyes, so like Maggie’s. “Don’t you ever think your mama dying had anything to do with you. You didn’t let her die. Jimmy didn’t let her die. You hear me?”

  Jake nodded, his eyes welling with tears.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, son. I love you. Tell Jimmy I love him, too. Okay? You sure you’ll remember?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hick hesitated a moment at the door, then swung the knapsack over his shoulder. He couldn’t explain it all to a c
hild. He couldn’t tell him about the guilt, the intense pain of knowing that the punishment he deserved was meted out to his wife instead. The responsibility for Maggie’s death was his and he understood that.

  He took a deep breath, then turned and left the room. It was a long, windy drive out to Birch Tree, and everything in him wanted to get far away from the pain that was Cherokee Crossing.

  4

  Tuesday, September 6, 1955

  “Good morning, Hickory.” Maggie’s breath was warm and soft on his cheek. “It’s time to get up.” Her soft lips nuzzled his ear and he smiled in his sleep.

  “Just a few more minutes.”

  “No, Hickory,” she said, her voice light with laughter. “You’ve got work to do.”

  He snuggled under the covers feeling the security of her arms around him just as a loud pounding caused his eyes to fly open. Maggie was gone, and he was in a strange room. The pounding continued, growing louder and more incessant. He ran his hands over his eyes and threw back the covers. Stumbling to the door in his undershorts and t-shirt he threw it open. “What?” he barked.

  Carol Quinn, dressed neatly in a suit, stood on the other side of the door and rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Hillbilly, are you always this grumpy in the mornings?”

  Hick gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

  “We’re supposed to meet Sheriff Lowell at the café in fifteen minutes.” She cocked her head and looked at him oddly. “Did you forget?”

  He waved his hand. “No. I’ll be right there.” He shut the door in her face and turned back to the spartan motel room. He grabbed his shaving kit and made quick work of showering. He opened the door and Carol was waiting beside the car smoking a cigarette. She looked at him in the same way his sister did, with that worried, questioning gaze, but she threw the cigarette to the ground and opened the car door.

  “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  The drive down Birch Tree’s Main Street indicated the town was prosperous. There were several banks, a drive-in restaurant, department stores, and even a Ford dealership. The large parking lot at Red’s Café was almost full.

  Unlike Bud’s Diner back home, there was no counter and a hostess waited inside the door to seat them. She smiled and asked, “Table for two?”

  “We’re meeting Sheriff Lowell,” Carol said.

  “Oh, he told me ya’ll’d be comin’,” the girl said. “Right this way.”

  They followed the hostess through the bustling café to a quieter back room where there were only a few tables. “Here they are,” the hostess said, leading them to a table where two men sat eating their breakfast.

  “Thank you, honey,” Sheriff Lowell said to the hostess. Rising from the table, he extended his hand. “You must be Attorney Quinn. I’m Sheriff Bob Lowell and this is Dr. Kenneth Lyman.”

  “Yes. How do you do?” Carol said. “This is Sheriff Hick Blackburn from Cherokee Crossing.”

  Sheriff Lowell seemed surprised that Hick had accompanied Carol. “Cherokee? You’re a long way from home.”

  Hick pulled out a chair for Carol and said, “Father Grant and I are acquainted.”

  “Oh? In what way?” Sheriff Lowell asked.

  “I worked with him during Broken Creek’s troubles last year.”

  “Troubles?”

  “Desegregation,” Hick explained.

  “Ah, yes,” Dr. Lyman said with a nod. “I recall reading about that in the paper.”

  The sheriff sat back down and and indicated Hick should take a seat. Bob Lowell was a middle-aged man with the usual bald spot and physique that went with it. His gold, wire-rimmed glasses were smeared and dirty and his collar was stained around the neck. His movements were jerky and he seemed anxious. Hick recognized the look in his eyes—the look that comes with the realization that great evil can descend upon even picturesque and safe places. Lowell picked at his food and frowned down at his plate.

  Dr. Lyman, on the other hand, looked more like a Hollywood actor than a local physician, with perfectly coifed hair, a deeply tanned complexion, and a quick and ready smile. His breakfast of grapefruit had already been consumed.

  As a waitress set coffee cups in front of Hick and Carol the sheriff began. “I’ve invited Dr. Lyman here because he treated Grant and Kelly at the scene, and if you had any questions about that I wanted to make sure he’d be here to address them.”

  Hick turned to the doctor. “How is Father Grant?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Dr. Lyman replied. “He was shot, has third-degree burns over 60% of his body and, on top of that, he inhaled a lot of smoke leading to hypoxia.”

  “Can we see him?” Hick asked.

  Dr. Lyman shook his head. “He’s in the burn unit in Fort Smith under an oxygen tent. I’ve been told he’s heavily sedated.” The doctor took a drink of coffee and set the cup on the saucer. “I wish I could give you better news, but only time will tell if, or to what extent, he’ll recover. I don’t want to give you false hope. Injuries such as his don’t usually have a positive outcome. I can’t believe he’s even alive. That bullet missed his spleen by inches. If the spleen had been hit he would have bled to death in minutes.” He sighed. “The other fellow never had a chance.”

  “Ken tried. He did his best for your friends.” Sheriff Lowell slurped his coffee, then added, “That shot killed Mr. Kelly instantly. There wasn’t a thing anyone could do.”

  The doctor looked into his cup and then glanced up. “I did all I could but, in truth, he was already gone when I got there. Skaggs shot him in the neck.” He paused and looked at Carol. “Severed the jugular.”

  This comment was met with silence. Finally, after a long moment, Carol nodded and lit a cigarette. “Ernest Kelly was a good man,” she said. “I worked with him at the Justice Department for a little over a year, and I never heard a cross word from him. It’s a damned shame.”

  Dr. Lyman touched Carol’s hand. “If it helps, I don’t think he suffered. A wound like that is catastrophic and quick. I’ve already filled out the necessary paperwork to have his remains sent to Virginia.”

  Carol took a long drag of her cigarette and then smiled at the doctor. “Thank you.”

  “So tell me about Kelly,” Hick said. “What do we know about his time here in town?”

  “According to the hotel records, Ernest Kelly arrived in Birch Tree late Friday afternoon,” Lowell said, sopping up an egg yolk with a biscuit, and then tossing it back onto the plate. “He’d told the manager he’d flown into Little Rock and the manager listed a rental car license on the register.”

  “Where’s the car now?” Hick asked.

  “We went through it and found nothing inside. The rental car company has already retrieved it.” Hick frowned, and Lowell continued, “The waitress says he ate dinner here that night and that he had all three meals here on Saturday. She says no one joined him, and that he kept to himself. According to her, he was friendly and never appeared to be troubled or anxious.”

  “So he just sat around eating until he met with Grant?” Hick asked. “What about the rest of his time here?”

  “No one saw him any place else,” Lowell said. “It seems he spent the day between here and his room. The hotel manager corroborates this. He said Kelly only left his room at 8:00 a.m. and noon before leaving again the evening of the murder.”

  “Does the manager say how long he intended to stay in town?” Carol asked.

  Lowell flipped open his notebook. “According to the hotel register, Kelly did not have a determined date of departure.”

  Carol shook her head. “That rules out any idea that he was just passing through to somewhere else. But what drew him here?”

  “Most folks come out this way for the fishing,” Lowell said. “But he didn’t have any fishing gear or poles.”

  Carol frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “And no one ever joined him for his meals?” Hick asked. “No one spoke to him?”

  Lowell scratched his for
ehead and said, “Not a soul. The waitress said he didn’t seem to want to chat. He was busy reading when he was in here. Even while he ate his meals.”

  “Reading what?” Carol asked. “A novel? The newspaper?”

  “She said the table was covered with folders and papers he brought in with him,” Lowell said with a shrug.

  “What kind of papers?” Hick asked.

  “We never found them.”

  Hick and Carol exchanged a glance. “So why Grant?” Hick asked. “I wonder why he was with Grant?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Lowell said. “You don’t know if the two men were acquainted?”

  “No,” Carol answered. “I only know Ernest had taken vacation days.”

  Lowell shrugged. “Well, the church secretary says she doesn’t recall Mr. Kelly ever calling the church to talk with Father Grant before and no formal appointment had been made to see him. It seems pretty cut and dried that the two men did not know each other. It appears your friend, Mr. Kelly, was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Hick sat back in his seat and looked off into the distance. “But what brought Kelly here in the first place? If it was just a vacation, wouldn’t he have a determined date of departure? Wouldn’t he have fishing gear or something? And why meet with a priest you don’t even know?”

  Sheriff Lowell pushed his plate away and leaned forward. “I can’t tell you what brought Mr. Kelly to Birch Tree. As far as I can gather, Grant is the only person, besides the waitress and the hotel manager that Kelly spoke with the whole time he was here. He stayed in his room and had no visitors that the hotel manager saw. It appears he went straight to the church from here after he ate his dinner. If you ask me, Kelly went to attend Mass. Perhaps he wanted counsel and that’s why he met with Father Grant afterward.” He wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on top of his half-eaten breakfast. “It’s a damned shame he happened to be there when Skaggs showed up.”

  “So talk to me about this Nicodemus Skaggs,” Carol said. “What do we know about him?”