The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Read online

  Dev and Steve were looking at her with concern.

  “We thought we’d lost you there for a minute, Katie. Have we bored you into a trance with our talk of manly things?” Dev said.

  “Nonsense, Dev. I was just thinking about serving dessert but did not want to interrupt your appetizing discussion on fish bait.”

  He laughed in response, and Steve offered to help clear the dishes.

  After dessert, Kate asked Dev to show Steve to the guest quarters. Dev led him back to the far end of the living room where they exited through French doors onto a screened-in porch. Immediately to the left, they faced a door that led to an additional rear section of the house. Dev opened the door to a brightly lit bathroom equipped with an enclosed bathtub and shower and plenty of fluffy oversized towels. A terry cloth bath robe hung on a hook attached to a door directly across from the one they had entered.

  That door led to a guestroom furnished with a heavily framed brass bed, covered with a colorful hand-stitched quilt. A mahogany nightstand stood next to the bed, and near it, a small desk equipped with a reading lamp, phone, and Wi-Fi connection. On the other side of the room, a wide mahogany bay-bowed chest of drawers sprawled beneath a framed beveled mirror. Next to it, a half-shuttered window let in light from the top portion. A rear door provided a private exit and entrance. Dev opened it, showing Steve the small concrete patio and gas grill outside and told him he was welcome to use it. From the patio, a path led to the back of the garage and around to the front driveway and street.

  Steve remained quiet throughout the tour until Dev asked if he needed time to think about it.

  “Think about it! I can’t believe my good fortune in your offer, Dev. I can assure you I will not be a bother in any way and will take my meals in town. I know I can write here, and if I can write, I can get back on my feet professionally. I have to admit that I felt a bit shaky until coming here and being with you and Kate. You have a friend in me, Dev, and I hope one day to repay you,” Steve replied.

  “Let’s go back inside, my friend. You are doing me more good than I’m doing you. As for Kate, she’s been yearning for a guest to fill up this space since I vacated it when we married. She doesn’t want all the redecorating she’s done back here to go to waste. She even had it modernized for what you’ll be needing to write. It’s Providence, my friend. Learn to trust it. Lately, she’s been talking about getting a rescue pup. I think your being here might hold her off for a while. But I’ll be betting there’s some little rascal running around that’s going to find its way to this place. So enjoy the quiet while you can.”

  Dev led Steve back out to the porch, which wrapped like an L from back to front. There were rocking chairs facing outward to a view of undulating mountain ridges off in the distance and closer, looking down over and through treetops, the rooftops of downtown buildings. Steve stood quietly for a moment, taking in the view. Part of Church Street could be seen off to the right and a section of the steps that descended from the old church down to town.

  Dev hoped they would somehow make him feel connected to the people and places he’d be writing about. Steve boldly asked if he could return the next day and move in.

  After he left, Kate and Dev went back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Dev had something on his mind. When she started talking about the success of their small dinner party, he interrupted.

  “Katie, my dear, you cannot fool me. Do you think I didn’t notice the dark shadow that fell over your sweet brow tonight?”

  “It was nothing Dev. An odd feeling came over me, and then went away.”

  He could tell she was reluctant to tell him the truth, fearing it might start him thinking, too. He put more meaning into such things, due to his Celtic old-country upbringing. He’d spent his formative years in a seminary steeped in the mysticism of Catholicism. He would not attribute her vision to an over-active imagination, even though she was beginning to.

  Dev waited, as if expecting her to continue.

  She apparently could see from his expression that he wasn’t satisfied with her explanation.

  “If you must know, I felt a strong feeling of apprehension while you and Steve were talking. I was noticing the differences between the two of you and tried to think of what might be similar. For some reason, my mind produced an image of angels and demons. Now that I’ve had time to gather my senses, I think it was prompted by the conversation you had with Jeff earlier today when he stopped by. I overheard him telling you about the discovery of the murdered man in the cornfield. He described the gruesome scene in detail and asked you about the psychological symbolism of the scarecrow, what it might represent. It’s been peaceful here, Dev, for over two years. I know this murder has nothing to do with us and is probably an isolated incident, a bizarre vendetta of some kind. But his description sent chills through me and I somehow felt threatened. Why would a man, whom no one around here seemed to know, be killed by someone from around here?”

  She continued, “Jeff will surely solve the crime and that will be the end of it. But what if he doesn’t? What if it starts all over again? The murder was too strange, too staged, and too filled with intent to shock. Dev, it’s the same time of year as last time. Halloween is approaching and we’re letting a stranger into our home. He may look like an angel, but what if there is a devil lurking inside?”

  “Now you sound like me before our guest arrived. Darling, we cannot allow ourselves to foresee a murder spree every time a crime is committed here, or be suspicious of a person we’ve just met because murder has been done. What if we lived in a big city where murder is a common occurrence?”

  Tears welled in Kate’s eyes. “That’s why we don’t live in a big city, Dev. I don’t want to live anywhere where there’s a chance of losing you again.”

  “Katie, I can’t keep you from worrying about things that probably won’t happen. But I can promise you one thing. You won’t be losing this fellow for a very long time, not until a ripe old age-death does us part. If you want me to tell Jeff not to ask for my input again, despite our friendship, and tell Steve we’ve changed our mind about opening our home to him, despite his need for two good friends, I’ll call them both right now. Is that what you want me to do?”

  “Now I feel like an idiot.”

  “Come here to me, my girl. It’s your loving me that’s put you in such a state. Now let me put you in a much better one. You do bring the devil out in me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  PENELOPE CATHER KNEW HOW TO run an efficient kitchen, she’d been cooking since childhood and serving the Saluda gentry most of her adult life. Her known ancestral lineage dated back to an escaped low-country slave who married a white frontiersman mountain landowner, producing a long line of women of racial blend and remarkable substance. She was now a woman of means, in charge of the newly-constructed Raven Falls Winery and newly-established Blue Waters Conservation Agency, established on the lands her son, Raven Cather, had inherited.

  The idea for a winery had come to her sister, Mamma Phoebe, in a dream. Her much older sibling, a Hoodoo faith healer of much renown, had retired from practice, except where her family was concerned. Her sage advice guided Pen in every decision, enabling her to run the large estate with confidence. The Raven Falls domain, once separately owned by Mamma Phoebe and the deceased Purvis McCabe, merged two huge parcels of rich mountain land located on the southeastern ridge from Serena.

  The winery restaurant was near completion. Pen had started a training program for local high school graduates with ambition to enter the food industry. The catering contract with the film company would give her young prodigies unique experience and test their abilities. She planned to be there daily to make sure things ran smoothly. Luncheon would be served on two sites, the Serena Firehouse reception hall near downtown for film crew and extras, and on location at the old McCabe compound, for the director, working crew and actors.

  She’d met with the director, Richard Sherwood, only once to go over menus and time
schedules. He’d requested that she see to his culinary needs personally. He’d explained his past habit of skipping meals when under pressure and how he was trying to eat regularly and more nutritionally to maintain the energy required for this project. There was something appealing in the way he had looked at her while making his request. She’d heard he was an extraordinary man, accustomed to getting his own way. She also knew that his film project would not have happened had she denied access to the McCabe location. In a sense, they were equals in terms of servitude. She’d told him one of her staff would attend to his needs.

  Pen had grown into her proprietary role with ease. She’d been educated in every aspect of the area’s natural resources by her sister, who was a master herbalist in the ancient practice of Roots. Mamma Phoebe’s knowledge of Hoodoo medicine had been handed down through centuries. By transposing their gifts into the art of winemaking, they were in the process of establishing one of the finest vineyards in the region.

  The mountains of Western North Carolina had become recognized for the wines being produced there, the state fruit being the grape. The sparkling waters and rich soil feeding the bronze varietal muscadine grapes that flourished on Raven Brook land, gave their wine superior scuppernong qualities that would set them apart from the others. Their acres of grapevines were thriving and their product had begun aging in hand-made barrels made by local craftsmen. The Raven Brook Winery Lodge was a magnificent addition to the landscape, and would soon open its doors to the public. Pen hoped the film company would be gone by then.

  Richard recalled his meeting with Pen differently than she did. He’d previously known nothing of her history, except that she’d driven a hard bargain with the film’s producers to allow the movie to be made at the compound. He’d been curious about her willingness to provide catering services and wondered if it might be a ploy to keep an eye on things. He’d planned to set her straight by stating that any interference on her part was unwelcome and unacceptable.

  Driving along the access road to the Raven Falls Lodge, he noticed a cabin off to the right with smoke curling up from its chimney. He’d arranged to meet Penelope at the Winery Lodge, which he could see ahead in the distance. He wondered who had been given permission to live there. The place would be ideal for his movie set, and he wished he could have it moved to the McCabe compound. He thought it would give more authenticity to background scenes than the structures they’d rebuilt on the site. He felt tempted to stop for a closer look but drove on.

  The setting for the sprawling rustic lodge was as picturesque as a postcard, with a towering black-shadowed mountain peak hovering above it in the background, from which lush forested ridges sloped down on either side. Below and as far as the eye could see, the vineyards stretched out from the lodge, which was a masterwork of dark-stained chinked logs, white painted stucco, hand-cut shake shingles, and mountain stream-bedrock. The fascia of the portico rose high above wide-planked over-sized doors, trimmed with antique brass hinges and door handles. To the right of the main entrance, a wing of the building was still under construction but appeared to be near completion.

  Richard entered through the large doors, which opened to an expansive room with a vaulted ceiling, decorated in colors and textures replicating the scene outdoors. An enormous fireplace with a chimney made of rounded creek-bed rocks rose from the floor to the lofty ceiling, dominating the room. The fireplace mantel was lined with hand-crafted pottery and beautifully-carved ebony wooden figures. He was drawn to one that was ceremonial in design. He took it from the mantel and looked at it closely, wondering about its primitive meaning.

  He suddenly felt a presence in the room and turned around.

  “You are holding one of my sister’s contributions to the room. It’s quite unique. Are you interested in art, Mr. Sherwood?”

  He couldn’t speak. The floor seemed to move slightly beneath him, the atmosphere in the room changed, and invisible smoke began affecting his vision. He felt out of kilter and thrown off-balance. He tried to regain composure and speak.

  “I have an interest in archeology. This carving reminds me of an archeological site discovery I’d once seen, representing an ancient civilization.”

  “You might be right, Mr. Sherwood. My sister has much knowledge about ancient beliefs, practices, and symbolism. She has acquired a collection of interesting artifacts, some of them handed down through our family.”

  She moved toward him and extended her hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself. I am Penelope Cather.”

  He hurriedly replaced the figurine on the mantel and reached for her hand. When their hands touched, she smiled. Her chestnut eyes sparkled as if gold dust was sprinkled in them. Her skin was the color of caramel. She didn’t act impressed or in awe of him. Her gaze was direct, holding his attention until she turned and led him away. She was a woman of unusual grace, he guessed her as fortyish, although she seemed ageless. He had somehow regained his equilibrium from her calm demeanor, yet felt entranced by the way she moved. He followed her like a child.

  In Hollywood, beautiful women were part of his business. Most he came in contact with were trying to become stars or maintain their stardom. A director admired for his work was often desired for what he could do for a career. Ego had blinded him to this during the early years, resulting in a string of failed relationships. In a profession built on make-believe, he’d found it increasingly difficult to trust. Great success had enabled him to wield control, play the field, and shy from commitment as a means of self-protection. With maturity, he’d begun yearning for someone not tainted by ambition and subterfuge, without realizing it until meeting Penelope Cather.

  She showed him into a comfortably appointed office with a wide picture window that opened to an impressive view of the vineyards. Beyond them to the right, he could see the old cabin he had passed driving in. He was about to ask about it when a young girl appeared in the doorway.

  “Miss Pen, I have the coffee and tea ready, and some fresh-baked scones.”

  “Thank you, Anna,” Pen replied. Then to Richard, “Please be seated Mr. Sherwood. Would you like coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee please,” he barely uttered. The girl, Anna, had called her Miss Pen. He wondered if he would be permitted to call her that, too, or simply Pen.

  Anna served his coffee and placed a lace-covered tray of almond-flaked scones on an end table near his chair. Pen suggested he have a scone before reviewing her catering proposal. He took one from the tray. The steaming rich dark roast coffee helped bring him back to his senses. The scone, the best he’d ever tasted, melted in his mouth like butter. He felt both soothed and stimulated.

  When Anna came and took the tray away, Pen moved from her desk to sit next to him. His senses leapt from stimulation to intoxication. Her manner was warm and captivating as they went over the menus and schedules. The details agreed upon were lost to him, except for his request that she personally attend to his dietary needs. It was a ruse to see her again, and regularly. It hadn’t worked, but he was not about to give up. Rather than pressure her, he changed the subject and asked about the cabin.

  “My sister, Phoebe, lives there. You’ve heard of her in relation to the story your film is based on.”

  “Yes, of course, the healer woman. I’m sorry. I should have made the connection. It was stipulated in the contract that her role in the Purvis McCabe saga not be included, which is fine. Our focus will be on McCabe’s illegal moon-shining business and the web of intrigue within his immediate family. The mystery surrounding the tragic death of his daughter will be central to the story, but also reveal the myriad of ways he exerted control in an isolated environment. McCabe ruled an intricate bootlegging network without leaving his land, supplying every rung of society in this area for decades. I want to show the ruthless genius and despotic ingenuity of a man who was erroneously caricaturized in most of the accounts written after his death.”

  “Mr. Sherwood, I agreed to the film being made here because of the approa
ch you are taking and your agreement regarding my family. My motives are simple. I am trying to create a new way of life on this land that will ensure my son’s future. In the aftermath of Purvis McCabe’s death, during all the notoriety, Raven was sent to a university in Europe. The stories that were printed cast a shadow over his inherited land that needs to be lifted. Your film has the potential to change how people think about what happened here and how difficult it once was to live in this wilderness region of the mountains. I believe you can transform the recent notorious past into a historic legend that will help the Raven Brook Winery become a tourist destination. My son will one day take over this operation, but I must see that it has a solid foundation.”

  Richard listened to her with amazement and admiration. Her plan was intricate and sophisticated. He realized that her tough negotiations with the producers had been part of an overall plan. She’d wanted the film to be shot there all along, but on her terms. She’d now made it clear that she was depending on him to direct the film he had envisioned. He was mystified, how could she have known? It was a revelation that made him want to strive to make a film that would meet her expectations. He felt excited at the prospect. She would see what he could do. Now he understood why she had offered to do the catering. It was her way of being part of things without being obvious. Yet, she’d been honest with him. All of this for a son she loved, not for herself. He thought it must be wonderful to be loved by her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RICHARD WAS LATE RETURNING TO the McCabe compound. He’d planned to be back on location before noon and it was almost two o’clock. The time it took him to drive the three-mile stretch of new road from the winery lodge to the compound seemed longer than the time he had spent with Penelope Cather. He was still in a daze.