The Peace Haven Murders: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 3)
The Peace Haven Murders
A Clancy Evans Mystery
By
M Glenn Graves
© Copyright 2014 M Glenn Graves (as revised)
Wolfpack Publishing
48 Rock Creek Road
Clinton, Montana 59825
ISBN: 9781629182988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
To Cindy
Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
About the Author
Chapter 1
The hallways were as quiet as death. The lone figure moved purposefully along the semi-lighted corridors as if she had some vital function related to their care. No one would have ever suspected why she was there. She did her job so effortlessly it was frightening.
This was her mission.
The room was darker than the hallway, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She waited by the closed door as the outline of the bed became apparent. She listened for sounds. The breathing was steady, insistent, and comforting, she thought.
It was time.
She stood by the bedside table and removed the tools of her trade from her pockets. The penlight helped to check the measured dosage in the syringe. Her eyes were now able to capture more of the light that was stealing into the room from underneath the door to the hall. The late night quiet was interrupted only by the rhythmic breathing of the person in the bed.
Standing at the foot of the bed, the silhouetted figure carefully removed the sheet and light blanket that was neatly tucked under the mattress. She was methodical, but then, she had to be. Any job worth doing had to be done correctly. It had been decided. It was the moment of truth.
The penlight located the exact spot between the toes where she wiped gently the local numbing agent. It would take only a few minutes for the medicine to work. She looked toward the head of the bed to see if there would be any movement from the person in the bed. All was still.
She guided the needle carefully into its chosen spot. The figure in the bed remained motionless. The steady breathing remained the one noticeable sound in the room, in and out, in and out. So peaceful, she thought.
The syringe emptied slowly into the spot between the toes. Her hands moved quickly to fix the sheet and the blanket. The penlight indicated to her that all was normal on the bedding. She remained at the foot of the bed for another minute or two recalling the details of her mission. She must omit nothing. It had to be done right. No room for errors.
After retracing her steps from the time of entry to this moment, she returned to the side of the bed and removed a piece of paper from her pocket. It was a lovely pink and lavender, one of those generic cards with a short message and a Bible verse. The message read, God bless you. The Bible verse cited was Hebrews 9:27.
The card was carefully placed on the night table next to the bed. The message was positioned away from the bed so that it was not so much for the one who lay there dying, but for the one who would find her the next morning.
Footsteps in the hallway alerted her to a possible intrusion on her all but completed mission. She moved quickly to the darkness behind the large entrance door. She waited without anxiety as the footsteps became louder and stopped only a few feet from her. Her eyes were fixed on the closed door, waiting.
It opened slightly and the outline of a head looked in, no doubt checking on the person in the bed. The door closed and the footsteps walked on to another location. The figure behind the door remained motionless. Patience would be rewarded.
The breathing from the bed had altered slightly by this time and the mission-minded figure behind the door knew that her work would soon be accomplished. It had all been laid out so specifically, so painstakingly detailed, that there was simply no way for it to fail.
She opened the door of the room and peered into the hallway for signs of the person doing the room checks. It was empty. She started to leave when the distant sound of footsteps again alerted her, and she noticed some movement to her left at the far end of the long hallway. Then there were voices talking, but no signs of anyone in the hallway.
The lone figure moved to her right and made her way out of the building into the night. Her work was done. One more mission accomplished with discreet thoroughness and extreme efficiency. Any job worth doing, she thought. There was a slight smile on her face as she climbed into her car and drove away. It was pleasing to her to be called to this type of work. It was a noble task.
The next morning someone would find the card on the night table and read the scriptural epitaph for the woman lying dead in the bed without ever knowing that she had died at the hands of another. It would all appear to be so natural, so normal, and so usual. No one would suspect a murder or a mission. No one would really pay any attention to the card on the table. Just a kind thought left there by some visitor intending to comfort the person in the room. She thought the Hebrews 9:27 reference a nice touch –
It is appointed once for man to die,
and then co
mes judgment.
Chapter 2
It was 5:46 a.m. when my phone rang. I had just finished my morning workout and closed the door behind Sam. I allowed it to ring three or four times just to be sure that whoever it was really wanted to talk with me that early. The computer takes over after the eighth ring in case someone is truly serious and I’m not available.
“Are you ever coming to see me again?” my mother’s voice spoke tacitly to me after I mumbled hello.
“Good morning, Mother. And how are you?”
“I’m fine. When can you come?”
“No trivial niceties, no small talk, just straight up.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know, Mother. I’m finishing up a case here. I have some obligations to meet.”
“Sound like lame excuses to me. You know I won’t be around forever.”
The guilt would have been gripping except for the fact that I drove to Clancyville every month to see her. It had only been three weeks, give or take, since my last visit. I started to mention that.
“Besides,” she interrupted my planned rationale, “I have something I need you to look into.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Just come. Today would be nice.”
“I can’t come today.”
I grabbed my empty calendar and looked ahead. The Kowalski case was closed now, so my work load was non-existent. Nothing on the horizon, except my mother.
“I can come this weekend.”
“See you Saturday.”
She hung up before I could offer any other alternative. True to form, my mother seldom veered from her demanding nature. She was in her mid-seventies now and had been living alone for over thirty years.
“We’re going to Clancyville, Sam. Gird your loins.”
He snorted, which I interpreted to be a sigh, and then rolled over to continue his after-workout nap on the couch. I could tell he was thrilled.
Three days later we were driving across Virginia in my ten year old Camry. Sam was sleeping comfortably in the backseat while I was enjoying the non-city scenery. Despite my overwhelming confidence in my nearly ancient automobile, I had my eye on a newer model of a different brand. A two year old Jeep had caught my eye while I happened by a dealership last week. It was one of those so-called creampuffs which occur all-too-infrequently but delight one’s soul whenever they happen. Acceptable color, low mileage, and traded in by someone who wanted a new model. I had talked it over with Uncle Walters to get his opinion.
I was heading home because my mother had beckoned me. Friction with my mother had not yet achieved open warfare status, but we did have moments of conflict in which neither one of us liked the other. I had to believe that it all stemmed from my law enforcement career. She would have preferred that I become an office secretary for some reputable company in Lynchburg or Dan River, towns close-by to Clancyville.
I did please her when I stopped being a Norfolk cop after ten years. I did not please her when I immediately became a private detective. “Frying pan into the fire,” I think she said. It was my father’s blood that ran in me, so I really couldn’t help myself. At least that’s the way I see it.
I do see my mother’s point of view in all this. She’s been a widow for longer than she was married. My father had been the Sheriff of Pitt County. He had had his office in Clancyville, the town in which we had lived, the small town in which I grew up. It was also the town where he was killed when I was eleven. It is only natural then that my mother maintains a low opinion of law enforcement, which would include private detectives.
What that actually means is that my mother maintains a low opinion of me and my work. She is forever telling me that I should quit snooping around and get an honest job. About the only compliment she ever offers to me is something along the lines of, “You’re a smart, young woman and you should be doing something productive.” I receive this line of flattery as something akin to her washing the knife before she sticks it into my flesh.
I stopped at some fast food gas facility in Emporia. Sam insisted on taking a walk around back so I followed. It was early fall and the days still offered warm sunshine and cool breezes. It was a good time to be traveling into the heartland of Virginia. There were actually moments now and again when I actually missed living in Clancyville. They didn’t occur often, but they come along once in a while to remind me of my formative years. They reminded me of some great joy now long since passed.
I was headed home, but I knew that it was not towards joy that I was headed. A visit with my mother was anything but joyful. Still, here I was, the dutiful daughter cruising along the corridors of Virginia’s highways and byways en route to some minor disaster in my personal relationship with Mother. I could barely contain my excitement.
Chapter 3
The ride across Virginia was a straight shot using Highway 58, except for the last leg. I turned northward on 29 just after lunch. Sam yawned in my ear and gently nosed me. This was his sign language.
I stopped in Tightsqueeze and took Sam behind the local Food Lion for his rest stop en route to my hometown. We shared a bottle of water as I curiously surveyed the surroundings of this middle of nowhere Virginia stop. Twenty more minutes and we would be back where I spent all of my youth, back where I had actually helped my father solve some crimes.
That seemed like another lifetime, but not mine.
The fall colors were beginning to show themselves. There appeared to be more reds than usual, but it was still early. It was a mild day in South Central Virginia; and, despite my mother’s dictum, it was good to be returning to this place again.
I pulled into the unpaved driveway off of Honeycutt Lane and parked the Camry under the oak tree. Standing under it, I strained my neck upwards to see the top of it without success. Once upon a time, I climbed that tree. A lot.
“Where’s the dog?” the back screen door slammed just after the words caught my ears.
“Exploring.”
“We have a leash law, you know.”
“I know. He’ll be careful.”
“You make it sound like that dog can avoid detection,” she muttered in her stage-whisper as she turned to enter the house.
He can… and does.
“I see you are still driving that red Camry. Why don’t you spend some money and buy a new one? How old is that car?”
“It still runs well and I happen to like it. No need to buy a new one.”
“Just like your father.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.”
Everything was still in its place, I noticed, as I surveyed the room. It still felt like home, despite the absence of my father. The bookshelves, tabletops, and other furnishings were clean, neatly arranged, and without the clutter of my own apartment. My mother and I were polar opposites when it came to house keeping.
“Thanks for coming,” she sat down in her softly cushioned blue chair near the bookshelf in the den.
“You beckoned.”
“That’s never pulled you in before.”
“You sounded as if this was important.”
“It is.”
“So tell me. What’s so urgent?”
“People are dying too fast.”
“Didn’t know that there was a pace to it.”
“Don’t get smart. I need you to investigate some deaths.”
“Who died?”
“Sophie Tucker, Alice Blayne Walker, Marilyn Pearson, Rabbi Shelton, and Eli Rowland.”
“You keeping a list?”
“Don’t have to. These were my friends. They’re all close to my age, some a little older. But they shouldn’t be dying.”
“Death comes to us all.”
“Always with the mouth.”
“How’d they die?”
“In their sleep.”
“All of them?”
“To a person.”
“Good way to go.�
��
“If it’s your time. This was premature for all of them.”
“How do you know?”
“I go to the same doctor they used.”
“And he talks to you about his ... former patients?”
“We wonder together. Secretly.”
“Well, I admit it is a rather odd coincidence.”
“You mean odd coincidences.”
“Yeah, that.”
“Your father used to say that there are no such things.”
“I remember.”
“So, detect.”
“That all you have?”
“No.”
I waited for an answer. Nothing came forth. She was staring out the window near her chair. She appeared to be frozen in time.
“Mother?”
“What?”
“Tell me all of it.”
“They all were residents of the Peace Haven Nursing and Care Facility on the edge of town.”
“That means they all had something seriously wrong.”
“Not necessarily. In their cases it meant that they had no family willing to take care of them. Most of them, no, all of them, had mobility issues. Nothing seriously wrong. They just couldn’t get around like they used to.”
“Who can?”
“I can.”
I nodded and waited.
“Anything else?”
“Your Aunt Mildred.”
“My Aunt Mildred what?”
“She’s on that list.”
“Mildred is dead? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.”
“Now who’s being smart?”
“I didn’t want to be too abrupt. I know how you felt about her.”
Mildred was my father’s oldest sister. Of all the family members, she was the most genuine character of all. She was well into her nineties, but still as alert as any human being I knew. She was still a character and I dearly loved her.
“She was ninety-something, right?”
“Ninety-five.”
“People die younger than that, you know.”
“There was nothing wrong with her.”
“Bodies wear out.”
“True enough, but there is usually something wrong.”
“Sometimes the heart gets tired and stops.”