The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Read online

  The tiny town of Serena was so quiet, Farley thought it quite eerie. He’d been patrolling since early evening, a visible presence to residents and business owners. He saw the lights go out in homes as he passed by, the curtains drawn and the shades pulled down. Thankfully, there had been no sign of straw men, real or copycat, roaming the neighborhood. The peaceful atmosphere seemed too good to be true.

  It was. The call came in at ten thirty. He radioed Purdy to stay put, and then raced to the Sutton farm without turning on the siren, not wanting to alarm everyone along the way.

  Jim Sutton was waiting for him at the end of the driveway, holding a shotgun in one hand and a leash in the other, with a Bloodhound pup attached to the other end.

  “I’ve had Barney only a few weeks, Chief, but he showed his merit tonight. First bark I’ve heard him make and I’ll be darned if he didn’t prove his worth. I feared letting him run the varmint down though, him being a young’un and not fully trained. He’d probably been fine but I’ve gotten fond of the critter already and didn’t want to see him hurt. Do you think it was the killer come back for something he’d lost? Come look-it here Chief, I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Farley followed Sutton out to the middle of the garden where the crime scene tape had been torn away and soil lay in heaps around a shallow hole where the scarecrow post had been.

  Farley asked, “He was digging mighty deep for something, Jim. It looks like you interrupted him trying to dig a good-sized hole. Were you able to see him at all, Jim?”

  “No, not so’s I could give you a description, Chief. Sorry. I fired off my warning shot too soon. Guess I was spooked. If I’d have waited, I might have gotten a closer look.”

  “You did the right thing, Jim. Were you able to see how he got away, what kind of vehicle?”

  “I just saw the back of it, could have been a van or an enclosed long-bed pick-up. It’s so dark down by the road and he was parked near the bend. He was around the curve and out of sight too quick to take it all in.”

  Farley looked down at the hound. “I guess we have Barney to thank for letting you know he was out here. We’re too far from the house for you to have heard anything. He could have kept digging for quite a while without your knowledge.”

  Sutton patted Barney on the head and was rewarded with adoring eyes and a lifted paw. “What could have been lost that he had to go diggin’ so deep?”

  “Jim. I’m afraid we’re going to have to dig a bit deeper to find out. I’m calling the coroner to order a forensic team out here as soon as possible,” Farley replied.

  Farley had the first break in the case and felt his adrenaline rushing. He’d have started digging himself if he could have done so without destroying possible evidence. Almost two hours passed before the medical examiner and his team arrived. A tent was erected and lights hooked up and after another hour of digging, the bones were discovered. They appeared to be the skeletal remains of a woman, small in stature and delicate in bone structure. She had been buried in Jim Sutton’s garden for a very long time.

  Hours later, in the dark barren bedroom of the most comfortless, colorless house in town, Trent’s adrenaline was rushing, too. The large oblong casement window beckoned to him like a living thing, framing an external world of endless adventure. He opened the window to let in the predawn breeze and watched the fluttering leaves and swaying branches, studying their movement, rhythms, and patterns. The atmosphere inside was stagnant. He felt trapped, agitated, a prisoner of his own making. Hell Night had truly been real for him, but it was almost over.

  He’d worked out everything and had done it alone. He’d known he was being watched, but he’d been watching, too. He’d figured out where the deputy parked and when he patrolled, even his route and how often he took it. He’d discovered a window of opportunity by using his window. From there, he could see the road, and from the road, his window could be seen, but not in the dark, because the street light left it in the shadows. He’d calculated when it would be safe to go and when it would be safe to return, all within the deputy’s routine and with minutes to spare. Tonight would be his night, the Night of the Scarecrow, and he would leave his mark on this town.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HALLOWEEN MORNING WAS NEITHER SPOOKY nor gloomy, but sunny and bright, the ground covered in a carpet of leaves glistening with dew. Those still on the trees were bathed in sunlight, the red maple and yellow oak most striking. The tiny finches happily chirped in the breakfast room of the old church on Church Street. The more somber white dove, Dewey, still grieving for his deceased mate, Penelope, cooed with a hint of pathos as he kept a watchful eye on the window facing the hillside descending to town.

  Dev entered the kitchen in his rumpled robe, running his fingers like a comb through his thick-as-a-brush black hair. The chirping rose to a feverish pitch.

  He laughed and responded, “Yes, the Lord of the Manor is present.”

  The chirping and cooing subsided as he headed for the coffee maker. He’d slept soundly and wakened early. He’d half-expected to hear from Jeff during the night and took it as a good sign that he hadn’t. Hopefully everyone had had a peaceful night.

  Tonight, the kiddies would be coming for their treats, a tradition he had come to enjoy. The small dinner party Kate had arranged was another matter; their guests not the most stable to have visiting on Halloween night. But soon, his houseguest would be leaving and Eleanor would either be arrested or cleared. Merciful peace would once again descend on his household. He raised his cup and toasted, “I’ll drink to that!” An applause of wild tweeting replied.

  Mamma Phoebe had been sound asleep when she awoke with a start. Jeremiah was crowing like he had something to say and wanted her listening. His crow was so apoplectic she worried he might croak from it and got up from her bed. She ambled through her herb-scented cabin, opened the front door and walked out on the porch. Jeremiah waddled to the side corner of the porch, stretched his neck and cocked his head around it to see if she was there, and then continued on around. He puffed up his chest and let go with another crackling shriek so insistent, she sat down on the porch step and called him to her. He crowed again and then came to her in three great strides. She nodded to him knowingly and patted his ruffled feathers.

  She went back onto the porch after he had calmed and sat for a spell. The powder blue sky and egg yolk yellow sun gave no hint of warning of what was to come, but she felt it just the same, and so had Jeremiah. She thought about Pen being in the midst of strangers. Pen had grown fond of one of them. It was time she had a taste of life beyond devotion to her son, but what did she know of him and his world?

  The girl Pen had brought to her had been scathed by life at too early an age in that world. She’d helped Megan because she had not been able to help Evangeline. She’d made her a necklace for inspiration and gave her the resources to play her part. But what of the others who made up the film company? They were a village unto themselves. Pen’s attentions were focused on Megan, and the director. Megan’s attention was focused on her part. Neither was paying attention to the people around them or dangers that might be arising.

  Mamma Phoebe got up from her rocker and went inside to dress. She would take the path to the winery and call Chief Farley from there. She’d ask him to check on those people, and do it right away.

  Farley was at the county morgue, waiting to talk to Dr. Drake, the medical examiner. The skeletal remains had been carefully transported to the morgue, where they were being examined.

  Jacob Drake appeared in the doorway and invited Farley into the lab. He was as enthusiastic about the discovered bones as he had been about the scarecrow, which was lying in state in the lab equipment room.

  “Chief, I have to tell you that you have another case of murder. But this is an old one. I’ll make an educated guess of several decades. Test results will narrow down the time frame. The cause of death appears to be a blow to the head causing temporal lobe damage, but there are indications of repeated p
hysical trauma, cracked ribs and fractures, some of which had incurred and healed prior to the injuries sustained before death. This little lady had a rough time of it. Someone waited a mighty long time to try to dig her up.”

  Farley nodded. “Well maybe she’ll help us find out why and who did this to her.”

  “You know, Chief Farley, they say that on Halloween night a veil is lifted allowing the spirits of dead ancestors to rise from the grave and communicate with the living. She came up from the grave a night ahead of schedule, but by this evening, she will have told us a lot. I’ll get back to you later with test results and fax them to your office.”

  Reporters were waiting outside, having been denied entry to the lab. The Scarecrow Murder Case would be back in the headlines and streaming the internet by midday. However this time, Farley was no longer chasing an elusive shadow but a real person with a shovel and transportation and a need to dig up a long-dead corpse. If the killer of Willis Gaither was the same person who attempted to dig up the body, why hadn’t he dug it up in the first place? If there were two people involved, both must have known about the hidden grave, or why had Willis Gaither’s corpse been taken there and left in such an attention-seeking way? Whatever drove the killer to place his victim beneath the scarecrow may have brought him back for a purpose not originally intended. Farley thought about what Mamma Phoebe had said and realized the only common denominator was the garden. It had been plowed and planted there by for nearly two generations.

  A confident resolve took hold of Farley as he dealt with the reporters and then made his way back up the mountain. He was halfway down Main Street when he spotted the TV news van in front of the police station. He called Aura Lee and asked her to gather the information sent from her cousin at the courthouse, place it in a large envelop and bring it to the post office parking lot. She did as instructed but took twenty minutes to get there. She explained her diversionary tactic of talking to folks along the way so as to not arouse suspicion. She said the reporters had been hounding her all morning.

  He told her, “I’m going out to the Sutton Farm and check out the area. I didn’t want any reporters tagging along. You will have to hold the fort until I return. I’ll be back by early afternoon.”

  “Do you have a lead, Chief?”

  “Not yet, Aura Lee, but I’m heading in the right direction.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Chief. After dealing with superstitious citizens all week, I can deal with a few pushy reporters.”

  Farley had no doubt. He left in a hurry, having been delayed by the wait. Just as he reached the Sutton farm, his cell phone vibrated.

  “Chief Farley, you gave me this number a long time ago. I had no reason to use it until now.”

  Stunned, he replied, “Mamma Phoebe?”

  “Yes sir. I used to handle things like this myself but times have changed, as you know. I’ve been having a feeling about them movie folks, been worrying about Pen being over there so much and feeling like something’s not right. I was wondering if you would take a ride over there and do some pokin’ around. I don’t want Pen knowin’ I sent you. I wouldn’t be asking you, but I’ve been having a feeling and . . . ”

  Without hesitation Farley interrupted her, “Now don’t you worry, I’ll go over there as soon as I’m done here, which won’t take long. I’m on the right trail now and setting some things in motion.”

  It was almost noon on the set and the morning had gone well. Filming had started early and would conclude mid-afternoon, with a short lunch break in-between. The love scenes had been shot and Megan had been superb, subtle, and poignant. Sherwood had been viewing the daily rushes with Pen by his side. He had never had anyone share his directorial efforts and in doing so felt an intimacy with Pen he hadn’t previously known. His respect for her was such that he held back any attempt to pressure her, not wanting to ruin the bond he hoped they were forming. He’d already decided he would not leave at the end of this film, as he always had in the past. He would do whatever it took to win her and keep her by his side, because he could not imagine life without her.

  Pen had felt apprehensive all morning. Her ritual of late was to rise early, attend to duties at the winery, then meet with the builder and landscape architect. She would arrange for lunch to be delivered to the compound by her staff, giving instructions for daily menu changes and other details. While having tea, she would gaze upon acres of bronze, red, and black Vitis rotundifolia varieties drying on the vine, many already harvested for the fine wines being stored in hand-made barrels. Jams, jellies, pies, and juices were another product of the intense fruity grapes being harvested, and she felt good about involving her sister in this area of the enterprise.

  The rich soil and sparkling blue waters flowing from the Raven Brooks Falls that gave their product its unique quality, were also part of the domain her son, Raven, would control upon completing his education. Perhaps then, she could consider a new life course. But how could she leave her son, her aging sister, this land? These were the questions she’d asked herself on the way to the film set to sit by the side of the man she was beginning to love.

  Megan Murphy had no interest in any man, except Buddy. He’d arrived on the set late that morning, missing part of her first scene. She’d come to depend on him being there and didn’t want to start doubting he cared. She had an inkling of what it might be like for a child to expect a father at a concert or play and look out into the audience and not see him. His absence had affected her concentration, although Sherwood hadn’t seemed to notice. She’d wondered if illness had been the reason for his tardiness and had felt a tinge of worry.

  She’d hit her stride once he’d gotten there and the morning had passed quickly. It was time for a break and she asked Buddy if he was feeling alright. He assured her he was okay. Sherwood walked over and asked to talk to him for a minute, so she excused herself to rest during lunch in her trailer. The afternoon shoot would require emotional energy and some physical exertion. Miss Pen, who had just arrived, suggested she take a nutritional luncheon plate with her for additional stamina. She’d left Buddy talking to Sherwood and carried her plate down the drive to the parking lot and on to the Winnebago.

  Joyce Crenshaw had been on the set all morning and was already in the parking lot about to start her car. She watched Megan come down the rise and pass her on the way to the campsite. Joyce sighed at the sight of such beauty, wondering what it would feel like to turn heads everywhere you went, to walk with the grace of an angel, to be desired by so many. She’d only wanted the desire of one and had put her reputation on the line to get it. She realized she was lingering in futile thought and turned the key, but then abruptly stopped, looking toward the entry to the campsite and recalling something she had thought strange.

  Megan went inside her trailer and put her plate on the small countertop. She lifted the lid off the green salad and pink salmon, goat cheese and berries, a fresh combination that appealed to her appetite. She started to undo the napkin wrapped around the cutlery when suddenly she caught a familiar musky outdoor scent and turned.

  He was standing there bold and menacing, glaring at her with a malicious grin. She backed away against the counter and opened her mouth to scream. He was across the room with his hand over her mouth in seconds, muffling her cry. He pressed himself against her, and she felt his hatred. It was in his eyes, sharp and piercing, like venom striking through her, filling her with terror.

  She struggled and fought but knew it was useless. His strength far surpassed hers. With unbridled purpose, he reached inside his shirt for the tape he used to cover her mouth. He twisted her arms until the pain was excruciating and swiveled her around so he could bind them with tape from behind. Her blouse was the peasant style, elastic around the bodice and shoulders. He yanked it down.

  “You thought you could just dump me, like I was nothing. I’m going to show you that you are nothing, or will be when I am through with you. And I’ll be through with you before your lunch break is
over. Then we’ll see how you perform for them after you have performed for me. This bar stool should work fine. Now bend over it or I’ll break your arm like a twig. And if you keep on fighting me, I’ll break your neck just as easily. And after I’m through, if you are still alive, I wouldn’t be talking about this. I have your note, the proof you invited me in. Everyone knows what a whore you are.”

  With that, he flung her over the barstool and pulled up her long skirt. She felt like she was dying inside, that all she had accomplished since he’d been there last was lost, never to be regained. Confidence drained from her being, and hope.

  Incredibly, a force seemed to explode inside of her, eradicating her fear, giving her the will to fight. She tried to struggle free. He punched her in the ribs with his fist. She jerked around and plowed her knee into his groin. He grimaced, let out a grunting moan and struck her again. In a haze of searing pain, she realized he hadn’t counted on her fighting back.

  She was no longer what he’d said she was, the bruises would be the proof, even if it meant her death. She felt another blow to her side, and began to lose consciousness. But not before hearing the trailer door slam shut, and then the darkness fell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  JIM SUTTON WAS WORKING OUTSIDE near his greenhouse when Farley pulled up the drive. Farley gave him an update and got right to the point.

  “Jim, I know you inherited the farm from your father, and he lived here all of his life. According to the medical examiner, a person or persons unknown buried a body beneath your garden at least ten years before you took over the farm. Can you remember what it was like here during that time? The burial of the woman may or may not be related to your family, but I’ve got to start from there. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I’ve been thinking on this myself, Chief, right from the beginning. Folks don’t usually come poking around somebody’s garden unless they’re starving for food, and they surely wouldn’t come up to Piney Ridge less they lived up here. I was off in the service about that time, doing a re-enlistment. I stayed gone from the farm for a long time after my schoolin’ ‘cause I had my fill of farm work as a kid and wasn’t sure I wanted the life my folks had.