Graveyard Fields Page 23

We drove another fifty or so yards until we came to the parking lot for the club’s driving range. There were a couple of cars in the lot and three guys hitting balls off a brown rectangle of grass. They seemed too interested in their practice to notice a fat deputy and a limping time bomb trudging back up the road.

  As we walked, I asked Dale what he knew about Diana. I was hoping the guy who had failed at getting her name right might know something about her past.

  “She ain’t from around here,” he said. “I think I remember hearing she moved up from Atlanta a few years back. I don’t know where she got the money to start the brewery. All I know is, one day Long Branch weren’t there and the next day it was.”

  Diana’s driveway ended at a two-car garage with a gabled roof. Both garage doors were closed, and when I walked over, I noticed a keypad next to one of them. For the hell of it I entered 0069, but nothing happened. A breezeway connected the garage to the back of the house. I’d started walking that way when Dale yelled for me.

  “Hey! Let’s ring the doorbell ’fore we go breaking in.”

  From the driveway we followed a curving brick path that led up to the house. The front door was a massive slab of wood with a stained-glass image of a rolling golf hole surrounded by mountains. It was hideous.

  Dale pushed the doorbell, and we waited. I placed my ear against the glass and listened for any movement. Dale tried the doorbell again. We gave it another minute and then headed around to the back of the house.

  We found the service door Tanya had mentioned, and I entered the code. The lock made a strained grinding noise, then clicked. When I pushed the door open, Dale put his hand on my arm.

  “Hold on,” he said. “What do you think we’re going to find in here?”

  I shrugged. “A dead woman? Millions of dollars’ worth of gold? Some good beer? Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “I hope it’s just two of those things and not all three.”

  I nodded. “Me and you both, buddy.”

  * * *

  The service door opened into a large laundry room. A pile of clothes covered the top of a dryer, and a pair of sneakers sat on the floor. As we entered, Dale pulled out his side arm. Better safe than sorry, I thought. We walked slowly through the room. I let Dale lead the way, since he was holding the gun, and because standing behind him was like standing behind a barn door.

  When we entered the kitchen, I noticed a few pieces of mail sitting on a granite island. It was funny seeing Diana’s name in print. I wondered how much shit she’d caught, growing up with such a name, and what kind of parents would subject their child to that.

  I rooted though the mail. It was mostly junk. I picked up an envelope with a CERTIFIED MAIL sticker attached to the front. I tore it open and pulled out a legal-size sheet of paper.

  “That’s a federal offense,” Dale said.

  I ignored him and read the document. It was line of credit notification from Blue Ridge State Bank. On the top of the page, the words FINAL NOTICE were stamped in red ink. The outstanding balance was $250,000. The document made it clear that if the entire balance was not paid by December 1, legal proceedings would begin.

  I held up the notice. “She owes the bank a lot of money,” I said.

  “Yeah, who don’t?”

  “Maybe she took out a loan to start the brewery? Or to open up the restaurant?”

  Dale shrugged and asked if we should split up. I thought about three dead bodies, all shot in the head.

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  We searched every room on the first and second floors but didn’t find anything that might point us in Diana’s direction or indicate her involvement with Cordell. When we reached a set of stairs leading to the basement, Dale stopped.

  “This is nothing but a big-ass waste of time,” he said.

  I shrugged, then tilted my head toward the lower level.

  The stairs descended into a massive rec room: pool table with red felt, giant TV, dart board, wet bar along one wall.

  “Motherfucker,” Dale said. “I could use some shit like this.”

  There was a door set into the wall next to the wet bar. I walked over and gave the knob a good shake, but the door didn’t budge. I pulled my debit card out of my wallet and slid it in the crack just above the latch. As I was working the bolt, Dale came over and pushed me out of the way. He grabbed the knob, and with a sudden jerk the door popped open.

  “You’d a been standing there all day with that secret-agent bullshit.”

  I reached past the door and found a light switch on the wall. The room was no bigger than a walk-in closet. On the left, a metal shelving unit held several cases of canned beer and a few growlers. On the right, a mop and a couple of brooms leaned against the wall next to a plastic tub of cleaning supplies. In the back of the room stood a green gun safe. It was roughly the size of Dale.

  I’d seen this safe before, or a similar model, on the Steel Freedom website. It was the type of safe that matched a long silver key with black etchings. The same key Dale had joked about when I first showed him the key ring. It was no longer a joke.

  Centered in the safe’s door was a large metal wheel, the kind you’d see on a submarine hatch. Above the wheel was a silver key cylinder. It’s edges were dented and chipped as if someone had worked it over with a crowbar. And above the cylinder were the words STEEL FREEDOM stenciled in black.

  “Serious safes for serious people,” I said.

  Dale pushed me out of the way, grabbed the wheel, and grunted.

  I laughed. “C’mon. Let’s see you jerk that open.”

  Dale struggled with the wheel for a few more seconds, then grabbed the safe in a bear hug. It didn’t budge. Dale backed away and pointed down at the concrete floor.

  “I think this fucker’s bolted to the foundation. It’s like Fort fuckin’ Knox.”

  “In more ways than one,” I said.

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “I mean I think that safe’s full of gold. Or was full of gold at one point.”

  Dale seemed unconvinced.

  “It makes sense,” I said. “If Diana and Cordell were double-crossing Jeff and Becky, this would be the perfect place to hide the gold.” I pointed at the safe. “That right there is why everyone was searching for those keys.”

  “You really think there’s gold in there?” Dale asked.

  I shook my head. “With Diana missing, I doubt it. She’s got the key and has had plenty of time to empty this thing. The gold’s long gone by now.”

  “You still believe Byrd’s involved?”

  I thought about that for a moment.

  “No,” I said. “That was a stupid idea. I think Byrd probably has a few skeletons in his closet, but you know him a lot better than I do. If you say he’s okay, then I should take your word for it. But in my defense, I never believed Floppy’s story about Byrd and your dad stealing the gold.”

  “Sometimes you ain’t as dumb as you look.”

  That was still up for debate.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Diana’s gone. You go back and tell Byrd everything. If he needs to speak with me, so be it.”

  We were halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. Dale turned around and put his finger to his lips, and I was instantly reminded of the Dark Secret IPA logo. We crept to the top of the steps, and I peered around the corner toward the front door. Though the stained-glass golf hole, I could see a figure. It looked disturbingly familiar.

  “Would the sheriff’s department be here for any reason?” I whispered.

  “Don’t think so. Don’t nobody know ’bout Diana taking off with them keys but me.”

  I pushed past Dale and walked over and opened the door. If I could have had a picture of the look on Skeeter’s face when he saw me, I’d have had it framed and hung above the fireplace in the cabin.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Skeeter said.

  He was dressed in black jeans and a black waffle-knit pullover. I glanced aroun
d the doorframe and saw his black Ford Mustang parked in the driveway.

  “Off duty?” I said.

  Skeeter elbowed me out of the way and muttered, “You really wanna fuck with me?”

  That was an invitation the devils couldn’t resist. I wrapped my arm around Skeeter’s neck and tried to pull him down to the floor. With my bad leg, I needed to get him down to have any kind of advantage. Skeeter struggled, and I increased the pressure. He was starting to sink when Dale rushed over, grabbed my arm, and twisted it around my back. Skeeter caught his breath, then sucker-punched me with a right jab.

  I squirmed, and Dale pulled my arm up higher against my back. I was afraid Dale didn’t know his own strength and my arm might snap off at the shoulder.

  “I’m good, I’m good,” I said, but Dale held firm. “Let me go, Dale. I’m cool, okay?”

  Dale released my arm and shoved me toward the front door.

  “Skeeter, what the fuck are you doing here?” Dale said.

  Skeeter pushed out his chest. “I came to check on Diana,” he said.

  “For what reason?” Dale asked.

  Skeeter looked at me, then raised his chin. “Because we’ve been dating.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  Dale raised a fist in my direction.

  “It’s not bullshit,” Skeeter said.

  Staring at Skeeter’s aviators, a thought occurred to me.

  “Did she ever mention a big set of keys?” I asked.

  Dale turned to me with a puzzled look. I shrugged and said, “It’s worth asking. He saw them the day I turned them in.”

  Dale looked at Skeeter and crossed his arms.

  “Why do you want to know?” Skeeter said.

  “Just answer the fucking question,” Dale said.

  It was painful to watch Skeeter’s brain try to work out the details. He knew the couple who had come into the sheriff’s department looking for a set of keys had been murdered. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Diana was also looking for a missing key ring.

  “Did she ask you to take the keys from the sheriff’s department?” I said.

  Skeeter ignored me and took a step toward Dale.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Skeeter said. “He’s just trying to stir up shit.”

  “Diana was using you to get those keys,” I said. “You seriously think she liked you?”

  “Fuck you,” Skeeter yelled. “Why don’t you put all your shit in your bicycle basket and ride on back down to Charleston.”

  I rushed toward Skeeter, but Dale stopped me with his forearm. It was like running into a tree.

  Skeeter and I stared at each other, the same way we’d done in the squad room at the sheriff’s department. When he flashed me a sly grin, the urge to rearrange his face was so strong my hands started shaking. Dale stepped in front of me and pointed a finger at my face.

  “Don’t go losing your shit,” he said.

  Dale grabbed Skeeter by the arm and led him to the door.

  “You need to get out of here,” Dale said. “And why aren’t you in uniform? You ain’t off today. Ain’t nobody off until we solve them murders.”

  Skeeter didn’t bother answering. He jogged to his Mustang, hopped in, and then laid a long patch of rubber on Country Club Drive.

  Dale looked over at me and shook his head. “I told you. Young, dumb, and full of cum.”

  * * *

  Back in Dale’s patrol car, I couldn’t help but feel I’d missed something. It was the same feeling I’d had when going through the brewery pictures on Facebook. I thought hard, but the angel and devils were quiet. I wondered if they’d decided to take the rest of the day off.

  “What did Skeeter say back there?” I asked. “He said something important, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I don’t know,” Dale said. “Told us he’s dating Diana.”

  I nodded. “Diana’s pretty persuasive, right? I mean, she has a way of leading people into directions they may not normally go.”

  “She certainly led your dumb ass to nowhere.”

  “Exactly. So I’m wondering where she led Skeeter.”

  Dale smirked. “You really got a hard-on for him, don’t ya?”

  “I don’t think Diana would date a guy like Skeeter.”

  “Well, you said she’s involved with that Cordell fucker, so her taste can’t be that great.”

  I hated being in a list that included a murdered petty thief and an asshole in aviators.

  “Diana’s a user,” I said. “She was using Cordell. And me. And Skeeter.”

  Dale nodded, then fiddled with the stereo. A few seconds later Judas Priest’s “Breaking the Law” was blaring from the patrol car’s speakers. It was the same song I’d played when Skeeter pulled me over. I glanced at Dale. He just looked forward and grinned. I couldn’t help but grin too.

  Dale pushed the patrol car to nearly eighty as we snaked up 276 toward Cruso. When the song’s chorus hit, he turned up the volume, and we both nodded our heads in unison to the repetitive guitar riff. The song was simple but catchy as hell. I thought back to how it had been one of my favorite songs when I was in middle school. I drove my parents crazy with it. It was the first track on the album British Steel, and I spun it repeatedly on the old Panasonic record player that sat on top of the dresser in my room. Above the dresser, a poster of the band was thumbtacked to the wall. The poster showed Rob Halford, the band’s lead singer, outfitted from head to toe in studded leather. He was sitting on a shiny black motorcycle with his leather-gloved fist raised in defiance. Next to him, the band’s two guitar players held their instruments as if they were machine guns, firing an arsenal of heavy metal out into my bedroom. At that age I thought Judas Priest was the coolest band in the world and that Rob Halford was the toughest singer to have ever lived. Many years later Halford came out of the closet and announced he was gay. Heavy-metal fans were completely shocked when they heard the news. Halford was shocked that everyone else was shocked. I was surprised too, but then I thought back to his tight, studded-leather outfits and over-the-top machismo. Of course he was gay; it was clear as a bell. Sometimes it’s easy to miss the obvious.

  “Did you know he was gay?” Dale said, as if he’d read my thoughts. “I mean, that man coulda had more pussy than me and you if we lived ten lifetimes. Who’d a guessed it? Riding out onstage on that big ole Harley looking like a total badass, and the man’s as gay as a tangerine.”

  I nodded, and Dale started laughing.

  “Now you, I would’ve guessed,” he said. “Riding that bike with the little basket on the front. You looked cute as all get-out.”

  Basket. The word was a spike drilled straight into my brain. It was the word my unconscious had locked on to, then held just out of reach.

  I turned down the stereo, and Dale frowned.

  “You told Skeeter about me crashing that bike into the ditch, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I told everybody in the department that day, ’cause it was funny as shit.”

  “Okay, but did you say that the bike had a basket?”

  Dale squinted his eyes and eased off the accelerator.

  “Back at Diana’s, he said, ‘You should put your shit in your basket and ride back to Charleston.’ ”

  Dale squeezed the steering wheel as if he were trying to pull it off the column.

  “If you didn’t tell him, then how did he know?” I asked.

  It came to me in a flurry, and I laid it all out for Dale as we drove. Diana was in financial straits, with her debt looming and the bank squeezing her for the loan repayment. She couldn’t wait for Cordell and Jeff and Becky to divide the gold; she needed it immediately. She latched on to Skeeter, probably nibbled his ear, and sent him after Cordell and the keys. But Skeeter’s a hothead, and he fights with Cordell. The keys come off on the trail, and then Skeeter chases Cordell all the way to Graveyard Fields and kills him. With the keys missing, Skeeter heads to Cordell’s house and confronts Jeff an
d Becky. He shoots them but still comes away empty-handed. Then Diana discovers I’ve found the keys, and she starts working me. She lucks out when Floppy turns up with them, and then she takes off. She empties the safe and disappears.

  Dale nodded. “And then Skeeter shows up at her house, ready to disappear with her. That’s why he weren’t in uniform.”

  “Yup,” I said. “But Diana screwed him over just like everyone else.”

  We were silent for a few moments, and then Dale smacked his fist on the dash. “Skeeter searched the cabin. He’s the one Byrd sent up there when you was locked up at the station.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Skeeter and Diana had set me up. And now that Diana had the keys and the gold, Byrd would probably get an anonymous tip about the murders. Then the cabin would be searched again.

  “You know at this point there’s probably a nine-millimeter hidden somewhere in the cabin, right?”

  Dale nodded. “Yup. And if he’s smart, he’d a put Cordell’s cell phone there along with it. Tie you up real nice.” Dale huffed, then shook his head. “But shit. I gotta be real careful about this. It all fits, but goddamn, it’s messy. I can’t go telling Byrd one of his men killed three people on account he’s pussy-whipped.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally Dale spoke.

  “Okay, here it is. I’m gonna drop you off at the cabin to get your vehicle, then you go to Daddy’s and stay put. I’ll go talk to Byrd, but he ain’t gonna like what I got to say. Then I’m gonna have to tell him about this Perry shit too. I shoulda never rented you that cabin. You ain’t been nothing but a world of trouble.”

  “When I first called you about the cabin, you said you knew how to handle trouble.”

  Dale responded to that with a look of pure contempt.

  “What do you think Byrd will do?” I asked.

  Dale thought for a moment. “First he’ll pull in Skeeter and have a come-to-Jesus with him. If Skeeter lies, Byrd’ll catch it. As far as the Perry shit goes, I don’t know. I guess he’ll call his buddy down in Charleston.”

  We were five minutes away from the cabin when I pointed to the stereo and asked Dale if he had an appropriate song for the situation. He kept one hand on the wheel while scrolling on his phone. When “Welcome to the Jungle” started up, I nodded approvingly.