Graveyard Fields Read online

  “That could have been anyone,” I said.

  Diana scoffed. “I called the sheriff directly. I told him that he couldn’t hold you without charging you and that I was coming to pick you up.”

  There was no question about it, the woman was forward. I liked it.

  “That explains how you are here but not why you are here.”

  “I’m here because I know you didn’t have anything to do with this. And if what I’ve heard about the sheriff is true, then he’ll keep you here indefinitely, or at least until he finds someone else to try to pin this on.”

  “That method is not unique to Byrd. Shake down the most likely suspect, then move on if that one doesn’t pan out.”

  “But you’re not the most likely suspect. I saw your notes, remember. You were trying to find that man to give him back his keys. Then the keys vanished, and that couple—I guess they’re the same couple that was killed—were very interested in getting their hands on those keys. You’re a detective, and you were trying to figure out why. You’re the least likely person to have murdered them.”

  It seemed Diana had looked at my legal pad longer than I’d thought.

  She put her hands on the table, palms up. When I didn’t move, she beckoned me forward with her fingers.

  “Give me your hands,” she said.

  I put my hands into hers, and she moved her thumbs over the tops of my knuckles.

  “I trust you, Davis,” she said. “What you told me last night, the way you opened yourself up to me, that showed me what kind of man you are. If anyone is going to find out the truth, it’s going to be you, and you can’t do that sitting in here.”

  I looked away for a few moments and tried to gather my thoughts. Even though I was exhausted, it was exhilarating talking to Diana. She was confident, she took charge, and I really wanted her to nibble my earlobe again. And despite her slipping in my puke, she seemed to like me. For what reason, I had no idea. It certainly wasn’t because of my winning personality or my bank account. Maybe she did want a fixer-upper. If so, I hoped she was up for the challenge.

  “Where is he?” Diana asked, looking at her watch.

  Before I could answer, the door opened and Sheriff Byrd walked in. If he was perturbed by Diana’s interference, he didn’t show it.

  “Mr. Reed, you’re free to go,” he said. “But I’d like to formally interview you at some other time.”

  “So was the interview this morning informal?” I asked. “Because the gun made it seem pretty formal.”

  Byrd smirked.

  “Ms. Ross, thank you for coming down to pick up Mr. Reed,” he said. “As you can imagine, we are pretty busy at present, and I just don’t have the manpower right now to drive him back up to Cruso.”

  Diana nodded and slid her chair back from the table.

  “Hold on a second,” I said. “Your last name is Ross? You’re Diana Ross?”

  Diana ignored the question and followed Byrd to the doorway.

  “Let’s go, Davis,” she said.

  Byrd opened the door and stood aside. As we passed by him, I stopped and whispered in his ear, “She’s my savior.”

  As usual, Byrd’s expression showed nothing.

  32

  Five minutes later we were in Diana’s vintage Mercedes driving through Waynesville. My eyes were closed and Diana’s hand was resting gently on my knee. Even though I was completely drained, I was happy. I liked the feeling. And for it to continue, I was going to have to change. But with baby steps.

  “I need to make a call,” I said. “And I need to make a quick stop while we’re still in town.”

  “Sure,” Diana said. “Is everything okay?”

  I thought about making up some story about blood pressure medication but decided to keep the promise I’d made to myself the previous night. If I was going to raise my standards and be honest with Diana, then I needed to go all in.

  “I have a prescription I need refilled,” I said. “I take medication for anxiety, and I take way too much of it. I want to stop, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to go cold turkey.”

  Diana gave me a curious glance. She looked like she was about to say something but stopped short. I instantly regretted telling her about the pills. I’d already dumped a bunch of my baggage on her and thought maybe my need for anxiety medication was the final straw. But after a moment she squeezed my knee and said, “Of course, baby. Whatever you need.”

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the contacts until I found the listing for Dr. Landry. Ted Landry, MD, was what is commonly referred to as a pill mill. He wrote prescriptions that other, more morally focused doctors wouldn’t. His office was a storefront tucked between a thrift store and a takeout pizza joint in North Charleston. He didn’t take insurance and didn’t ask any questions. All you needed to score Viagra, Valium, Percocet, Xanax, and a host of other pharmaceuticals was cash and a face. I dialed the number, and he picked up on the first ring. He was probably the only doctor in the country who answered his own phone. But seeing as how he was the only person who worked in his office, I figured he had no choice.

  “Lowcountry Health and Wellness Clinic,” Landry said by way of answering.

  “Hey, Doc, it’s Davis Reed.”

  “Davis, how is your anxiety? Is there something I can help you with?”

  This was a little dance, just in case someone was listening in. Landry knew exactly what he could help me with.

  “It’s manageable. But I need a refill on my prescription. I know I’m a little early for a refill, but I’m renting a place for a few months in the mountains of western North Carolina and I’ve misplaced my medicine. Can you call it in to a pharmacy up here?”

  “Of course, but I’ll need you to come in for an office visit as soon as you get back.”

  Office visit was code for “I need you to come pay me cash.” I doubted Landry made a habit of calling in prescriptions, but I was a longtime customer, and I’d supplied him with some photographs of his now-ex-wife jerking off his now–ex–business partner in the parking lot of a seafood restaurant at Patriot’s Point. So I was deserving of special consideration.

  “Not a problem,” I said. “Hold on and I’ll get the name of the pharmacy for you.”

  Diana told me there was a Walgreens nearby, and I gave Dr. Landry the information. A few minutes later we were in the pharmacy’s parking lot.

  I wandered around the Walgreens for twenty minutes while waiting for the prescription to be filled. I looked at a few magazines and then strolled down the personal-care aisle. I studied the condom selection and wondered if I was giving in to wishful thinking. I hadn’t gotten laid since Sarah kicked me out—actually more like three months before she kicked me out. The scary thing was that not getting any hadn’t really bothered me. I was content being numb. But Diana had hit a nerve. A few of them, actually. I grabbed a three-pack of Trojans just in case those nerves kept tingling. I then walked over to the food section and picked out a six-pack of Lagunitas IPA.

  When my name was called over the PA system, I went to the pharmacy counter and asked if I could pay for everything there. The woman in the white coat who rang up my purchases must have wondered about my intentions. Ninety Xanax, a six-pack of beer, and a three-pack of condoms. To really blow her mind, I should have also thrown down a roll of duct tape, a bag of lollipops, and a bottle of personal lubricant.

  When I got back in Diana’s car, I apologized for taking so long. She glanced at the beer and smiled. I’d put the condoms in my jacket pocket. I didn’t want her to see those.

  As we drove through Waynesville, I thought about what to do next. It wasn’t easy. I was exhausted from lack of sleep, and anxiety was pulsing through my veins like a low-level electrical charge. My plan was to wait as long as possible before taking a pill in hopes the tension would eventually subside. If I could wait it out, maybe I actually could go cold turkey. With Diana by my side, I figured anything was possible. Like my new commitment to being open and ho
nest, giving up the pills would be another step in my path to recovery. I would trade being numb for being real, being angry for being peaceful. I would write a book, enjoy a healthy romantic relationship, and maybe even drink less than ten beers each day. Although dating a brewery owner was going to make that last one tough.

  “So what’s your plan, baby?” Diana said, putting her hand back on my knee and snapping me out of my fantasy world.

  I straightened up in my seat and tried to clear the spider webs from my brain. Back in the interview room Diana had said that I was the one with the best chance of finding out the truth about the murders. But if she thought I was a master detective, she was in for an unpleasant surprise. I had connected a few dots to put the missing keys together with the lost gold, but as far as plans went, the only thing I could think to do was what I’d done back in my private-detective days.

  “I’ll guess we’ll just have to wait,” I said.

  Diana didn’t seem to care for that answer. She took her hand from my knee and planted it firmly on the steering wheel.

  “Look,” I said. “If I start poking around, Byrd will throw a hook into me that even you might not be able to pull out.”

  I didn’t want to tell Diana my theory about the murders and what I thought the keys led to. I didn’t feel I was being dishonest with her. It was just that the idea of Byrd being involved in a murderous plot to steal a bunch of gold was too embarrassing to say out loud. Plus, I had no idea who had killed Jeff and Becky. Unless it was Byrd, and his being surprised when he heard the news was just an act for my benefit. But that was hard to wrap my head around. I could see Byrd trying to screw some hipsters out of a pile of gold, but I couldn’t see him murdering anyone. It was just too crazy a scenario, but then again, so was the idea of being shot in the leg by a guy you’d thought was your good friend.

  Diana shook her head.

  “We need to find the keys,” she said. “That’s the most logical next step.”

  I knew Diana was trying to protect me. She obviously thought Byrd considered me a suspect and that if I didn’t solve the murders, I might end up going down for them. She was taking her role as savior seriously.

  “If Byrd thought I was responsible for those murders, he would have never let me walk out of that interview room,” I said. “Plus, I bet you two growlers of Dark Secret those keys will turn up by the end of the day.”

  Diana grabbed my inner thigh and gave it a squeeze. All the blood in my brain suddenly headed south.

  “Really,” she said. “Who has them?”

  I imagined Dale and a few other deputies in gas masks tossing Floppy’s trailer.

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure. But I think Dale will have his hands on them soon, if not already.”

  “What will Dale do with them?”

  “I guess they’ll be placed in evidence, since they belong to a guy who was murdered. But in this town, you never know.”

  We passed the sign welcoming us to Cruso, and I wondered for the hundredth time about the identity of the old crab. Byrd, Junebug, and Dale all seemed eligible for the title.

  A few minutes later we turned onto the gravel road that led up to the cabin. Diana put the vintage Mercedes into low gear and inched up the driveway at a snail’s pace. When we finally pulled into the clearing below the cabin, I noticed a brown Volkswagen Rabbit parked next to my SUV. I’d never seen the vehicle before. It was muddy and dented, and the back bumper had been replaced with a long metal cylinder capped at both ends. I figured it belonged to Dale. It looked like something he might drive.

  When I got out of Diana’s car, she stepped out as well. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed next to her. Not for sex; that could wait. I just wanted to fall asleep in her arms. After a few hours I would wake up and she would start nibbling my ear; then we could move on to other activities.

  I walked around the car and stood next to Diana. She threw her arms around me and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” she whispered. “It’s like another world.”

  Diana was right. Cruso and the cabin were a different world, and with her in my arms, it was a world I could begin to envision myself living in permanently. I hadn’t come to Cruso looking for anything more than solitude, but solitude had never served me well. What I needed was connection. And trust. And intimacy. I was finally open to all those possibilities.

  Diana swiveled next to me and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen a couple of times, then put her arm over my shoulder and pulled me close until our cheeks were touching.

  “Smile,” she said as she held up the phone in front of our faces. A moment later she squeezed the phone, and I heard a soft click.

  “Our first selfie,” she said.

  I turned to face her and could feel my eyes welling up again. I’d not had a drink or a pill in more hours than I could count, and I was okay. My savior was already a miracle worker.

  “Hey, y’all!”

  Diana and I both looked up at the same time. Floppy was standing on the deck, the deck that could be accessed only through the living room. He was wearing brown camouflage pants and a green camouflage jacket. He looked like an anorexic tree.

  “What are you doing here?” I yelled. “And how did you get in my house?”

  Floppy reached into one of his jacket pockets and pulled out a large set of keys. The keys I wished I’d never found.

  “I let myself in,” he said.

  33

  “Where did you get those keys?”

  We were sitting around the table in the cabin’s kitchen. Floppy had taken off his camo jacket to reveal a camo T-shirt. Seemed he was dedicated to the theme.

  “I am not at liberty to discuss that,” he said.

  Boom. There it was. The anger I’d not felt since Byrd called me son that morning was now back in all its glory.

  “I’m not fucking around,” I screamed. “Where did you get those keys?”

  Floppy looked at Diana as if my language had offended him.

  “I’m not fucking around either,” Diana said. “Where’d you get them?”

  Floppy pushed back from the table and stood up.

  “Now, I don’t take kindly to being talked to like this,” he said. “I just stopped by to see if you wanted to talk about your book. I know everything there is to know about Cold Mountain and that plane crash. But if you don’t want my help, then I’ll be on my way.”

  When Floppy moved toward the door, I jumped up and grabbed his T-shirt with both hands. I shoved him back against the kitchen counter. He was light as a feather, and I thought it wouldn’t take much to pick him up and toss him off the deck.

  “You’re not leaving here until you tell me about those keys.”

  “I’m going to report you for battery,” Floppy said. “I’m gonna call 911 and have you arrested for harming my person. I hope you have good insurance, because I think you gave me whiplash.”

  He rubbed his neck like he was giving testimony in a hit-and-run.

  “You broke into my house,” I said. “And I have the right to beat the living shit out of you if I feel threatened. And you not answering my question makes me feel threatened.”

  Diana walked over to us and put her hand behind Floppy’s head. When she began to rub his neck, his eyes rolled back.

  “Come sit down,” she said. “Don’t worry about Davis; he’s just had a hard day.”

  “Well, he’d better watch it,” Floppy said. “ ’Cause I know tae kwon do, jujitsu, judo, and tai chi.”

  Diana led Floppy back to his chair. When he was seated, he pointed a grease-stained finger at me. “And I wrestled in high school.”

  “Is that any better?” Diana asked.

  “A little bit,” Floppy said. “Not so much pressure. You know, I used to go with this massage therapist for a while, and she’d cover me in oil and rub me down like I was a side of beef. I’d say, ‘Damn, Tanya, careful with the merchandise, I ain’t no tenderloin.’
But she’d just rub and rub till I felt like a wet noodle.”

  Diana sat down and gave Floppy a taste of her dimples.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Floppy. Floppy Johnson. I live up at Sunburst. Got me a garage. I work on all types of vehicles, domestic and otherwise.”

  “That’s good to know,” Diana said. “I’ve got an ’84 Mercedes that seems to always have something wrong with it.”

  “Yeah, I can work on them German cars. Mercedes, Audis, Volkswagens.”

  “Ever work on a BMW 2002?” I asked.

  Floppy looked at me like I was a fortune teller.

  “I sure have,” he said. “Did a full service on a red one for a man just a couple months ago. Now, you don’t see many of them 2002s these days. We got our fair share of 325s and such around here, but an old 2002 is pretty rare. Now, most people don’t think I can work on a 325, but I got one of them machines that you plug into the computer in the car and it’ll tell you everything that’s going on. But I don’t care for them cars with computers, because them computers are tracking you everywhere you go. People can hack into them and find out where you’ve been. It’s all connected back to the government.”

  I took one of my growlers out of the refrigerator and poured a glass. Baby steps.

  “Hey, can I have one of those?” Floppy asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “C’mon, buddy, I’m not going to use my martial arts skills on you. I mean, I would if you tried to hurt me, but she said you was just having a bad day, so I guess I forgive you for getting up on me like you did.”

  I responded by taking a sip of beer.

  “Ah, man, I gave you a bunch of my beers at the garage.”

  Floppy looked at Diana. “He needs to be more hospitable,” he said.

  “Baby, give him a beer,” Diana said.

  I grabbed a Lagunitas from the fridge. I hated to waste it on a guy who drank Coors Light, but I wasn’t about to give him any of the beer I’d brewed. I popped the top and handed it to Floppy.

  “Tell me about the guy with the BMW,” I said.