The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Page 17

  “I can tell you true that my Daddy was a Bible readin’ man and my Momma as Christian a woman as you’d ever meet. They were just farm folk, worked from morning to night, except on Sundays. They held strict to their ways and tried to raise me right. Momma couldn’t bear any more children after me, so I got all their attention. They weren’t the kind to make enemies or get involved in foolishness. When my Momma died, Daddy almost swore off livin’ but kept on working hard so as to leave this farm to me. He’d have nothin’ to do with this sort of doings.”

  “It’s helpful for me to hear this, Jim. Do you remember what it was like in the area around the farm? I’ve got information on the properties nearest to your land, but that doesn’t tell me much about the people who lived here. What can you tell me?”

  “Well, you know how farmers are. They mostly keep to themselves unless someone needs a hand. Times changed after I left and things got hard. A lot of the young folks wanted more out of life than working the land. Nowadays a whole new breed has come along buying up the old places and some of the old-timers have sold out to developers. But around the time we’re talking about, not much was selling and some got behind in their taxes, turning what they could into rentals. Now that’s a different lot altogether, but I couldn’t tell you much about any of those people. I do recall there being opposition to it, having strangers about and transient types. You remember Chief. It was that era when a lot of the pot-smoking hippies were settling down, wanting to live close to nature and grow their own product, if you know what I mean.”

  “Jim, I’ve brought some maps and census data from the courthouse. Would you mind looking them over and trying to pinpoint the most likely places rental properties might have been located? I’ve already tried, but many of the structures listed are no longer there. Start with the properties closest to you. I need you to use your memory and your knowledge of neighbors you remember before you went into the service. We’re looking for a clue from the past that might help explain why, during your father’s time, his garden became a burial site.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Chief. Can’t say I’ll recall anything useful, but this old census map might trigger something.”

  Farley handed him a card. “Call my cell phone if it does, Jim.”

  Farley drove away with reservations. He’d have to rely on Jim to take the initiative without any investigative experience. Jim had been willing, but it wasn’t enough. Farley thought about calling the county sheriff for assistance. Jurisdiction could be shared in this case, however there were complications. Willis Gaither had been a Serena resident, but Piney Mountain was on the cusp of city limits and bisected by the North Carolina and South Carolina state line. Sheriff Bryson hadn’t interfered, preferring to let the Serena Police Department handle the case rather than have two sheriff departments involved.

  Farley had won enough respect from both to work with them when necessary and engage in cooperative efforts. He resisted the impulse to make the call because he was a man on the trail of a murderer and his way was the way of his mountaineer ancestors. It was in his genetic makeup to track and hunt his prey until captured as sure as it was in the genes of Jim Sutton’s bloodhound pup. But once again he was being waylaid, and Halloween night was only a few hours away.

  He sped down and around the treacherous curves and through the town and then up the winding road toward the southeastern ridge. If Mamma Phoebe was worried, there was something amiss, as he’d known since Deputy Purdy’s missing vehicle report.

  He pulled into the compound parking lot a little after one o’clock and walked through the open gate up to the set. The usual flurry of activity was happening, and he could hear Sherwood’s commanding voice.

  “What is keeping her? We’re ready to start and if we’re going to get out of here early today, we can’t have any more delays. Where is Joyce?”

  Someone answered him, but Farley couldn’t make out the response. One of the grips pushed a rack of lighting equipment in his way and he maneuvered around it.

  Sherwood greeted him heartily, “Chief Farley, welcome to the chaos. I’m waiting for my star, my casting director is missing, the sky has suddenly darkened, and so has my mood.”

  Miss Pen was nowhere in sight. Farley asked about her.

  “That’s another thing, Chief. She had to go back to the winery to oversee the catering for the masquerade ball tonight. She shouldn’t have to do all this work when I’d like to see her enjoy herself tonight.”

  Sherwood was obviously upset by her absence.

  Farley asked, “Besides the delay, has anything else been going wrong here?”

  Sherwood looked puzzled. “What do you mean Chief? No. Everything’s been fine until now, better than expected. We’re even ahead of schedule, which is a miracle for this kind of film. Why do you think I agreed to this party tonight? Excuse me a minute.”

  He turned from Farley and shouted to one of the crew, “Go down to her trailer and bang on the door. That should wake her if she’s sleeping. Tell her she has five minutes!”

  “I might have known it’s been too good to be true. She’s been amazing, brilliant, and now . . . ”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sherwood.”

  Farley and Sherwood turned toward the lilting musical voice. Megan was the image of perfection, standing calm and serene several feet from them, close enough to have overheard. She appeared like an apparition, so silently had she come upon them. She turned and walked toward a staged area. Sherwood stared at her with a puzzled expression. The cloud passed over and sunlight brightened the set. The cameramen and crew began to hustle. The makeup man and hairdresser rushed toward her. Sherwood gave a sigh of relief and turned back to Farley,

  “Is there anything else I can help you with, Chief?”

  “Yes, the extra, Zack Tanner. Is he working with the stunt crew today?”

  “They are on half-day today, Chief. I let them off the hook. They don’t have to report back here this afternoon. Why are you asking about him again? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “None to speak of, I was just wondering if he’s doing okay.”

  “Fine, as far as I know. He’s usually hovering about when he’s here on location, tries to be helpful, be part of things. Most days, he’s off with the crew. He’s a surly one, an air of danger about him; he’s noticeable in scenes, when I watch the daily rushes. There’s something intrusive about him that’s off-putting. He’s self-important beyond the job he’s been given. I hadn’t thought about him until you asked. My response is simply a series of impressions consolidated by your interest. Other than that, he’s done his job well and without problems.”

  Farley wasn’t satisfied, but there was little more he could do. Pen wasn’t there nor was Joyce Crenshaw. He drove the short distance to the winery and found Pen supervising her staff. She greeted him warmly and showed him to the newly-tiled outdoor piazza.

  “You’re looking well, Miss Pen.”

  “Thank you, Jeff. I’m feeling mighty blessed these days.”

  “No one deserves it more than you. I’ve been meaning to get out here more often but we’ve had problems in town as you’ve probably heard. I stopped by the compound before coming here and talked to Richard Sherwood. He sure thinks highly of you.”

  “And I of him; is that why you’ve come to see me?”

  Farley hesitated.

  Pen didn’t wait. “It’s been many a year since a young man came calling and tried to win my approval to court my charge, Miss Charlotte. Must I win your approval to do a little courtin’ myself? Oh my, Chief Farley. How the tables have turned.”

  Farley laughed. “After all the years you spent raising Charlotte, and then your son, I believe it’s high time you enjoy a little romancing. No, that is not why I’m here. You are the only person I know and trust who has spent time with the film company. Is there anything going on there that is a cause for concern?”

  “I know you well, Jeff Farley. You must have a good reason, so I won’t ask you to expla
in. I cannot speak for members of the company, but I am concerned about Megan Murphy. I’ve grown quite fond of her. She was a troubled child when filming began, self-absorbed, reckless, and mercurial. If she had continued in that vein, her career, and the production, would have been jeopardized. After she had an emotional collapse, I took her to my sister, who helped her. Her costar, Buddy Larson, also helped with kindness and support. She came round and has astounded us since with her great talent.

  “Yet there’s something shadowing her that may or may not be real. When the cameras are rolling and she’s acting her part, she shines like the stars in the sky. When it’s over, she looks to me or Buddy Larson for a nod of approval. That is how I noticed her habit of quickly turning her head to look elsewhere, as if startled by something or someone. When I look in the same direction, I see no cause for her fear. It’s as though she’s seeing someone who isn’t there. In those seconds, she turns into a terrified child, and then it passes.”

  Farley replied, “Thank you, Miss Pen. What you are describing is not unusual behavior for someone who has been or who is being stalked. Have you seen any indication of this?”

  “No, but then I wasn’t fully aware of this behavior until I started visiting the set regularly to observe filming. That would have been the weekend she experienced her emotional crisis. Something could have occurred before then, in the early weeks of shooting.”

  “Miss Pen, you’ve probably become familiar with most of the cast and crew, but what about the extras? I’m interested in one man in particular, Zack Tanner.”

  “Ah yes, I know who you mean, but not in connection with Megan, except for one unusual thing. When Megan becomes Evangeline during her scenes, her acting and radiant beauty attract much admiration from the crew. I’ve seen them stop what they are doing just to watch her. Not him; when he is around helping the crew, he does the opposite and continues working. His lack of interest is what caught my attention. I understand why you are asking about him, and I’m wondering, too.”

  “I have nothing to go on, Miss Pen, except for his past history, which wasn’t made known to the film company. You are very perceptive, Miss Pen. I’m afraid we may have a wolf let loose in the chicken coop, pretending he’s a rooster. After I get through Halloween tonight, Deputy Purdy and I will be a presence at the compound until filming is over.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ON OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST, THE wind picked up by late that afternoon. Crisp, colorful leaves fell from the trees like autumn confetti while the remaining leaves held fast to their branches; the last vestiges of a leafy world above in the trees, below on the streets and sidewalks, and spiraling through the air. Halloween was a celebrated tradition in the mountains and the shops were decorated accordingly. There would be no deterrent to this custom. The townsfolk had closed ranks and were in protective mode as they costumed their children for the downtown Halloween Stroll. The rebellious spirit of the people and even the children would be in evidence as they braved the scariest night of the year to reap their trick or treat rewards.

  The Serena Halloween Stroll was designed to stay within the safe perimeters of town, although several streets extending from and parallel to Main Street were included, Church Street being one of them. The confined area had been established in recent times along with other precautions to prevent unsupervised children from seeking porch-lit residences among a slew of darkened summer homes while roaming the shadowy narrow roads along the ridges encircling Serena.

  The inclusion of side streets gave the children a sense of neighborhood involvement beyond the downtown business district. Under the watchful eyes of their parents, they were a theatrical sight ascending the steps up the steep Church Street hill, stopping at houses along the way until reaching the old church and then coming back down. Residents along the way went to great effort to provide the children with a variety of treats. Kate and Dev were no exception.

  Dev had adopted the custom on his first visit to Serena as Kate’s guest in the renovated church. It had been a mysterious and harrowing time then, as now, but it hadn’t stopped them from falling in love. His approach to the occasion was to buy enough treats to fill the bags of each child, with plenty to spare. Kate hung her handmade friendly ghost on the inside of the front door so it showed through the large oval of beveled glass. Dev filled the smiling pumpkin containers with his purchases. Candles were lit in the windows on each side of the bell tower and a light in the upstairs window of the tower could be seen from town.

  Kate had made oatmeal raisin cookies and mulled apple cider. She asked Dev if he wanted to sample them.

  He replied, “I’m not about to leave my post, a wee early-bird ghostie might appear at the door.”

  She laughed. It was like him to give his best to an occasion that had everyone on edge. They were keenly aware that Jeff Farley and Deputy Purdy were patrolling the area to prevent further havoc. Jeff had stopped by earlier to talk to Dev, who had offered to be on hand should an incident occur or the scarecrow culprit be apprehended.

  Kate and Dev had been invited to the masquerade ball held to honor the film company, but planned to make only a brief appearance. Their houseguest, Steve, was of course attending and taking Jeff’s still-primary murder suspect as his date. Kate had convinced Farley that it was the best place for Eleanor to be on Halloween night because he would know her exact whereabouts.

  She’d come up with the idea of dressing Eleanor, Steve, Dev, and herself as a band of gypsies from clothing she’d stored away in an old trunk in an alcove of the bell tower. She thought Eleanor would feel less conspicuous as part of a group and Steve would feel more comfortable as well. She’d helped Eleanor with her costume earlier that day and they had also put together a costume for Steve. They planned to meet later at the Events Center and share the same table.

  Dev was not aware that Kate had gone into the bedroom to try on her costume. It was not as elaborate as Eleanor’s, but the long silky skirt she’d brought down from the trunk showed off her curves more than anything she normally wore. She’d found two silk scarves in her dresser drawer and wrapped one around her waist and the other around her hair, tying it in a knot with a flair. She added a pair of gold hoop earrings from her jewelry box, which dangled from her ears with a gleam, a touch of lipstick, a couple pats of rouge, and a penciled-in beauty mark for effect.

  “Trick or treat!” She stood in the double-doorway entrance to the living room. “I just wanted to let you know about the strange gypsy woman in your kitchen.”

  She laughed and then disappeared into the kitchen, her mind on the mulled cider. She picked up a ladle to give it a stir when she felt his arms around her waist. He kissed her gently on the back of her neck and then into the crook of it. He whispered into her ear low and lovingly. The heady scent of cinnamon and cider wafted over them. Dewey began cooing softly and the finches began chirping sweetly. The scarf fell from her waist to the floor as she yielded to him, lost in his embrace. Then the doorbell rang.

  The first child to arrive was an indication of what was to follow. Straw sprouted from every crevice and sleeve of his costume, a floppy hat with patches covered his head. His mother stood behind him wearing a hapless expression on her face.

  Dev cheerfully inquired, “What do we have here, a wee scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz?”

  The child looked dumbfounded. His mother shook her head. “This is what he wanted me to make him into and it has nothing to do with Oz. He wants to be like his friends.”

  Dev gave him a generous helping from the pumpkin and sent them on their way. He did the same with the next three mini-scarecrows, and those that followed. They came in all shapes and sizes, leaving a trail of straw in their wake. Parents had apparently appeased their traumatized children by allowing them, even helping them, to dress this way. The variations were endless, created from yards of burlap, miles of twine, bales of hay, piles of patches, and tons of tattered clothing.

  The pre-school tots, toddlers, and infants, who had no
voice in the matter, were the exception, dressed as fairy princesses, mermaids, genies, and characters from Paw Patrol and Pokémon. One toddler came as the Stay-Puff Marshmallow and another as Scooby Doo. SpongeBob SquarePants made an appearance and a tiny classic Minnie Mouse. There were no superheroes, space explorers, or pirates of the Caribbean from the school-age group; no Batman, Spiderman, Superman, Captain America or Wonder Woman. There wasn’t one ghost or goblin nor witch or vampire, just an endless array of straw people, some with smiling faces and some with no mouth at all. The worst were the ones with slits for a mouth or an open gaping hole, more prevalent in the age group approaching adolescence. Dev found them creepy and alarming, his earlier enthusiasm for giving out treats waning like the setting sun. Was it harmful, he wondered, or simply a passing fad? He supposed it depended on the fate of their anti-hero and thought of Farley.

  The saving grace was a rather rotund boy around ten years of age, dressed like a cowboy, with silver spurs and a rodeo rope and a hand-embroidered star-studded shirt of western design. He was escorted by his grandmother. Dev remembered the boy and the grandmother from the year before and realized she had made his intricate authentic costume, as she had the previous year. He was obviously her pride and joy and she had refused to conform to the trend. Dev admired her and gave the boy a pumpkin-head full of treats.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  TRENT WAS THINKING OF FARLEY while plotting a plan to outsmart him. If the chief of police was patrolling the neighborhood, along with his trusted deputy, it would require split-second timing and slight-of-hand maneuvering to pull off the biggest trick of the night, although in his case it would be slight-of-body. He’d been pulling it off with his parents since age thirteen, pretending to abide by their ridiculous rules and rigid routines, while escaping through his bedroom window into the night without rousing the least suspicion. Their dependable habits and consistent sleep patterns set him free at the first sound of snoring. He knew how to move through the shadows, evade the moonlight, blend with the trees, weave through the laurel, and move like a cat on the prowl.