Divine Justice Read online

  “Why, you gonna miss me if I leave again? Best watch out. People might think you got a weird-ass thing for me, dude.”

  Some of the men at the other tables laughed at this. Lonnie’s hands balled to fists, but Danny gripped his bony shoulder. “Just joking around, man. Ain’t made up my mind whether I’m going or not. Soon as I do you’ll be one of the first I tell. Now, I got to go. While I’m standing here flapping my jaw with you, I could be making millions of bucks out there in the big city of Divine.”

  He skirted around Lonnie, who suddenly became aware that all eyes were now on him. As the door slammed shut behind Danny, Lonnie quickly sat back down and with a defiant look shot a wad of chew into an old coffee can sitting on the floor.

  Behind the bar, Stone set down a load of boxes. He had heard most of this exchange. Divine was turning out to be quite a peculiar town.

  Get the cash and hit the road. Before twitchy trigger finger Tyree finds out I’m the towelhead.

  CHAPTER 16

  SIX HOURS LATER Stone had finished his work and Abby pronounced herself satisfied with what he’d done.

  “You’ve got a lot of energy,” she said. “And you don’t waste time. I like that in a person.” She smiled and for the first time Stone registered on how lovely she actually was.

  “What now?”

  “There’re some more chores to be done at my house. All outside work. You interested? It’s a dirty job.”

  “Just tell me how to get there. And what you want done.”

  He grabbed his duffel bag and a few minutes later left the restaurant. For the first time Stone got a good look at Divine in daylight. It surprised him.

  Right out of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry but with a Hollywood veneer, something the Disney people might have put together, he concluded. The storefronts were all freshly painted and the wood new-looking; the windows were clean, the brick sidewalks smooth and swept, the roads recently laid with black asphalt. Folks walked past waving at each other, friendly “hellos” floated all around him, though none were directed at Stone, apparently the only stranger here.

  He passed what looked to be a new brick building that was the town’s library. He peered through the glass doors and saw shelves of books and rows of shiny computers. It occurred to Stone that he couldn’t even get a library card. He walked on.

  The cars and trucks that passed by him as he made his way through the downtown area were all relatively new. He gazed up at the two-story jail, constructed of red brick with white columns out front and tubs of pansies guarding the entrance, and Coke and snack machines set against the wall. It was the most inviting entrance to the shackled life Stone had ever seen, though. Next door was a larger building, built of red brick too, with a clock tower and “Court House” stenciled on the outside.

  A jail and a courthouse in such a little hamlet? With a supermax prison not that far away? But the supermax was for the deadliest of the deadly, not small-town criminals who probably stole car batteries and hit their bar mate while shit-faced.

  As he was thinking this a small man with snowy white hair came out of the courthouse, perched a soft felt driving cap on his head and ambled down the street away from Stone.

  “Want me to introduce you to the judge?”

  Stone turned around and saw Tyree standing behind him. He must have come out of the jail. The big man moved quietly. Stone didn’t like that stealth.

  “The judge?” A lawman and a judge. Just what he needed. They could both arrest and try him for murder right now.

  Tyree nodded and called out, “Dwight, got somebody here you might want to meet.”

  The small man glanced around, saw Tyree and smiled. He headed back toward them.

  “This here is Ben,” Tyree said. “You got a last name, Ben?”

  “Thomas,” Stone said quickly.

  “Okay, this is the Honorable Dwight Mosley.”

  Up close Stone had the impression that he was talking to a smaller version of Santa Claus with a trim beard in place of the bushy one.

  Mosley chuckled. “I’m not sure how honorable I am or ever was, but it does indeed come with the title of a judge.”

  “Ben was the one who saved Danny Riker’s butt when he got into some trouble on a train.”

  “I heard Danny was back. Well, thank you, Ben. Danny can be, well . . .”

  “Hotheaded?” suggested Stone.

  “Impetuous.”

  “A nicer word, but means the same thing,” Tyree pointed out with a laugh.

  “Fine-looking courthouse you have there,” said Stone, glancing away from the judge. “I guess you have a lot going on?”

  “You wouldn’t think a small town like this would have need of a courthouse or a judge,” Mosley said, apparently reading Stone’s mind. “But the fact is it does because my jurisdiction covers a large geographic area in addition to Divine. It’s not just litigation, though we have a fair amount of that, mostly over mineral rights and such and mining accidents resulting in personal injury. And federal law just changed a few months ago that required coalmining companies to file what are termed recertifications for all their property and operational aspects. Unfortunately for me, I’m the judge who has to review all of it.” He pointed at a delivery truck pulling into the small alleyway that led to a parking area behind the courthouse.

  “Unless I’m much mistaken that’s another load of boxes filled with said recertifications. It’s been a boondoggle for mining lawyers, but I get paid the same regardless.”

  “Monotonous work, I imagine,” said Stone.

  “You imagine correctly. We’re also the repository for land deeds, surveys, rights-of-way, easements and the like, which also come to the court boxes at a time. But on a more personal level folks come to me with legal questions or counseling from time to time and I try to do the best I can.”

  “Being neighborly,” said Tyree.

  “That’s right. It is a small town after all. For example I helped Abby Riker get the restaurant and other property put into her name after Sam died.”

  “Sounds like you keep pretty busy.”

  “Yes, but I find time to do some hunting and fishing. And I like my walks. My walks take me all over. Beautiful countryside here.”

  They paused for a moment as a mother and two kids walked by. Tyree tipped his hat to her and rubbed the heads of the kids while the judge gave them all a gracious smile.

  After the family had passed Stone said, “Well, I better be going.”

  But Mosley said, “Where are you from, Ben?”

  Stone’s gut clenched. It wasn’t what Mosley had said, it was the way he’d said it. Or had he just become overly paranoid? “Here and there. Never had much inclination to put down roots.”

  “I was the opposite of that, at least for a while. I called Brooklyn home for the first thirty years of my life. After that I spent time in South America and then Texas, near the border. But I’ve never seen any place as pretty as this.”

  “How’d you end up here?” Stone asked, resigned at least for the moment to play the casual conversation game so as not to make the judge suspicious.

  “Complete coincidence. Drove through on my way back to New York after my wife died, and my car broke down. By the time it was fixed a few days later, I’d fallen in love with the place.”

  “And lucky for us he did,” said Tyree.

  “The town has reciprocated,” said Mosley. “It certainly helped me get over my poor wife’s passing.” He added, “Are you going for a walk too?”

  “To Abby’s actually. She has some work out at her house she wants me to do.”

  “A beautiful place that is, A Midsummer’s Farm.”

  “Is that what she calls it?” Stone asked.

  Mosley nodded. “A variation on the Shakespeare play. A dream, you see. I guess in a way all of us up here are living a dream, isolated as we are from the rest of society.”

  “Not such a bad thing,” Tyree noted. “The rest of society isn’t all that great. Divin
e is just what it sounds like, at least it is for me.”

  Mosley passed by them and continued on down the street.

  Tyree took off his hat and swiped his hair. “Well, you have a good one, Ben. Don’t work too hard.”

  Tyree went inside the jailhouse and Stone continued on his way to Abby’s.

  Or A Midsummer’s Farm.

  Or a dream.

  Or a nightmare.

  CHAPTER 17

  AS STONE PASSED DOWN the main street of Divine, he quickly observed that the shops seemed prosperous and the customers happy-looking. It was hard for him to reconcile this image with that of broken-backed, gnarled-handed, dirty-faced miners with the coal-caked lungs having breakfast in Rita’s Restaurant. And then his thoughts refocused on what he’d seen on the TV.

  Leads. People of interest. Ties between the two murders.

  As he glanced through one storefront window he saw it. Ubiquitous for so many decades, it was now rare to find one anywhere, at least one that worked. Yet Divine apparently was a bit slow in following the rest of the country’s lead.

  He slipped inside and looked at the payphone on the wall and then at the sign behind the front counter: “Appalachian Crafts.” The store’s shelves bulged with sculptures made from wood, stone and clay. On the walls were paintings and photos of mountains, valleys and little tin-roofed shacks clinging to the sides of hills. Behind the counter a large, red-faced woman was pecking keys on her computer.

  She looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to use the phone. Do you have change for a five?”

  She gave him the money and he retreated to the rear of the store and loaded the quarters in the phone’s slots. He dialed the one person he knew had a truly untraceable phone number: Reuben. This was because he didn’t have a phone in his own account but rather used minutes of piggybacked phone time from hundreds of different people. Stone had always assumed it had been something Milton had shown him how to do.

  The big man answered on the second ring. He nearly shouted when he heard it was Stone. After telling Reuben that he was fine and that he would not under any circumstances tell him where he was, Stone asked him about the investigation.

  “Guy named Joe Knox from CIA has talked to everybody but me. Real bulldog apparently. He knows you and Carr are one and the same. He knows you’re on the run. If they find you you’re not going to trial, Oliver.”

  “That had already occurred to me, Reuben. How is everyone holding up?”

  “Okay. Alex is being a shit about all this, though.”

  “He’s a federal agent, Reuben. He’s caught right in the middle.”

  “Well, he did tell Annabelle to burn the letter you left behind. I guess I should give him some points for that.”

  “Tell him I appreciate that. I really do.”

  There was a brief pause and then Reuben said, “Oliver . . .”

  “I’m not going to tell you that I did it, Reuben. That would do no good at all. I just want you to know that you were a better friend than I deserved. All of you were. And I’ll be watching the news. If it even looks like any of you will be harmed because of this, I’ll turn myself in.”

  “Listen to me, we can take care of ourselves. They can’t touch us. But if you turn yourself in to the cops, CIA will swoop in, scream national security, and your ass will disappear.”

  “Let me worry about that. And I know it doesn’t do you justice, but thanks for everything.”

  Reuben started to speak but Stone had already hung up, replacing the receiver with a smack of finality. It’s like I just cut off my right arm. Good-bye, Reuben.

  He glanced up to see the shopkeeper staring curiously at him. He had been speaking so low that there was no risk of being overheard.

  “Call go through okay?” she said pleasantly.

  “Just fine. Thanks.” She kept staring at him so he finally said, “You have some nice pieces.” Pointing to a painting on one wall, he added, “Who did that one?”

  The woman’s face fell. “Oh, that would be Debby Randolph.”

  “She’s talented.”

  “Yes.” She added quickly, “I’m Wanda. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “I just got here. Came in late last night with Danny Riker.”

  “Danny?” she said, startled. “Heard he’d left town.”

  “Well, he’s back, but I think it’s just temporary. So how’s business?”

  “Really good, especially on our Web site. Lot of folks like the Appalachian stuff. Takes ’em back to a simpler time, I suppose.”

  “I think we could all use a bit of that. Well, thank you.”

  “Hope you come back. Got a sale on black bear cubs sculpted from chunks of coal. Makes a right fine paperweight.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Stone walked out of the “feel-good” shop feeling like he was navigating the last few yards to his own death. He really was all alone again.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE ASPHALT ROAD gave way about a half mile out to macadam. Stone passed by a stone church that had a small steeple with a dry-stack stone wall encircling the property. Next to this house of worship was a graveyard. The former graveyard caretaker Stone took a moment to walk through the burial plots. The same family names kept popping up on the headstones. Stone saw the grave of Samuel Riker. He’d died five years ago at the age of forty-one.

  There were many Tyrees also sprinkled around. One tombstone, darkened by age, was the resting place of Lincoln Q. Tyree. He’d died in 1901. Stone thought it must be a bit disconcerting to pass by a graveyard with a marker already bearing your name, but perhaps the good sheriff didn’t come this way often.

  Two graves still had fresh flowers on them and the mounds of dirt looked new. Rory Peterson had died a week ago. The name on the other grave made Stone do a double take. Debby Randolph had gone to her Lord a day after Peterson had died. That’s apparently why the woman at the shop had acted a little strangely. Peterson was forty-eight while Debby had only been twenty-three.

  Stone walked on, turning left at a fat oak with thick sprawling branches that resembled more Atlas holding up the world than a mere tree. Hanging from one of the branches was a sign that read “A Midsummer’s Farm” with an arrow pointing to the left. He went on for another hundred yards down a crushed gravel path until he came to the house, although that term clearly didn’t do it justice. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  “Antebellum” was the first word that jumped to mind. It was large, constructed of white clapboard and sections of stone with black doors and shutters and no fewer than four stone chimneystacks. A broad front overhang supported by rows of elaborately milled columns offered up a fine porch with rocking chairs, sturdy tables, hanging plants and an upholstered swing anchoring one end. The landscaped yard stretched on and on with the perimeter bordered by stacked stone walls. In a cobblestone-paved motor court was parked a muddy pickup truck along with a Mini Cooper in racing green with a white top.

  All this from the revenue produced by a restaurant with ten tables, eight barstools, two pool tables and a jukebox?

  The work to be done was in the stables that were almost out of sight from the house. He spent the next several hours mucking out stalls and sorting bridles and reins and other equipment as several horses whinnied and stamped their hooves in other stalls.

  Stone was rubbing his aching back when he heard the horse’s hooves pounding his way. The fifteen-hand-high chestnut drew up next to him and Danny jumped down. He pulled two beers from his jacket pocket and handed one to Stone. “Heard from Ma you were out here.”

  He popped the can lid and a bit of the liquid spewed out. “Horse riding and beer delivery ain’t a good fit,” he said.

  “Knee looks to be okay,” Stone noted.

  “I’m a fast healer. What are you doing?”

  “Mucking stalls among other things.”

  “I’ll help you.”

 
“You sure?”

  “Got nothing else to do right now.”

  They went into the stables and Danny grabbed a shovel after tethering his horse to an iron ring stuck in cement in the ground.