Harley looked at Jed over her shoulder, still holding the case of apple brandy in her arms. “But Jed, we’re right in the middle of the festival. Aunt Wilma and Uncle Buck need my help.”
He reached over and pushed the passenger side door open. “I said get in.”
Reluctantly, Harley walked over to the cruiser and lowered herself into the passenger seat, closing the door behind her.
Jed put the car into gear, and the two rode in silence, taking the long alleyway connecting downtown to Briarwood Avenue.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” she asked.
He remained silent, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. Something troubling had happened, Harley surmised, and while Jed hadn’t wanted to bring her along, something had made it imperative.
As they progressed down Briarwood Avenue, the downtown buildings morphed into the tall pines of Briarwood Park. The park was closed because of the festival, and when they reached the entrance, two policemen appeared at the locked gates and opened them for Jed.
Jed parked in the public lot, empty except for two police cars and Eric Winston’s navy BMW. It was then Harley knew the cause of Jed’s strange behavior.
He rose from the cruiser and instructed her to follow him on foot along one of the many dirt trails. As they walked, Harley could hear the festival noise in the distance, the sound of a mandolin above the low roar of street vendors and pedestrian foot traffic on Main Street. About a quarter-mile down the trail, Jed stopped at the periphery and said, “Just this way. Not much further.”
They were off the path then, hiking through beds of pine needles and thick growth forest. Not many visitors ventured off the park’s well-marked trails, and Harley wondered how Jed had found his way back.
As they drew nearer, she could hear voices ahead and a faint line of yellow crime scene tape stretched across the trees. Beyond the crime scene tape stood two police officers, a photographer, and Eric Winston, who was crouched by what was presumably a body.
At the sound of their approach, Eric rose to his feet. “Jed,” he said somberly. “Harley.”
The three of them stood over the body, looking down.
“Is this the man you saw outside the park the other day?” Jed asked.
“Yes.”
There was no doubt about that. The same scarred face. The same tattered clothes. The same haunted eyes, staring up to the heavens as Patrick Middleton’s had. But unlike Patrick, this man had a wound on the right side of his head, a gash caked and congealed with blood, never to heal.
Jed cleared his throat. “He was found by a hiker early this mornin’. We’re tryin’ to keep things hush-hush until the festival’s over.”
Eric looked at them with concern and shook his head. “Whoever killed this man desperately wanted him dead. So much so they killed him twice.”
“Now slow down, Eric,” Jed said. “What do you mean they killed him twice?”
Eric lowered his gaze to the man’s body. “Well, first, I think the murderer drugged him, probably using the same drugs he or she used on Patrick Middleton. That would explain the aberrant behavior you described the other day, Harley. And then when the drugs didn’t kill him, I suspect the killer took a branch, presumably from the woods here and finished the deed.”
“But why kill him?” Jed asked. “From what they said at the shelter, he was harmless.”
Because he knew or found out something he shouldn’t have, Harley thought.
“And there’s something else odd about all this,” Eric said. “Whoever hit this man hit him with a great deal of strength and anger. But why use drugs to kill him so passively the first time and then a branch or club to beat him to death the second?”
“Are you suggestin’ we’ve got two killers on our hands?” Jed asked.
“Possibly.” Eric looked to Harley. “Do you notice anything different about him? Anything unusual?”
“Yes, his dog tags. They’re missing.”
Eric lowered himself to the man’s body, and guided his gloved finger along the man’s neck. “There are some slight abrasions along here. Looks like whoever killed him ripped the tags from his neck.” He looked up at Jed and Harley. “Hoping to conceal any identifying information, I imagine.”
“They shouldn’t have troubled,” Harley said. “I know who he was.”
“What?” Jed said.
“His name was Martin Evans. He was an Army veteran, and at one time, Susan Thompson’s boyfriend—and Beau Arson’s father.”
Jed’s mouth dropped open. “Beau Arson’s father?”
Harley nodded.
“And who is Susan Thompson again?” he asked.
“She was the nineteen-year-old girl who was killed by Patrick Middleton in a drunk driving accident over thirty years ago. Prior to that, she was Martin Evans’s girlfriend. Susan was pregnant during one of Martin’s deployments and later gave birth to a baby boy, Beau Arson. When Beau was only a few months old, he and his mother’s car was struck by an inebriated Patrick Middleton on Maple Bluff on Halloween night. Patrick was able to remove the baby from the back seat before the car careened down the bluff and burst into flames. That’s why the baby’s body was never found. Then Patrick took Beau to Our Lady of the Mountains, where he was taken in by the nuns and placed in the foster care system.”
Harley had never seen Jed Turner speechless before.
The always calm and collected Eric Winston, however, merely looked at Harley inquisitively. “Are you sure this man was Martin Evans?”
“Not absolutely, but I have strong evidence that I believe proves it. You see, when Patrick found out he had cancer and only months to live, he decided to tell Beau Arson the truth. He’d carried the guilt over Susan’s death for years, her ghost haunting him day after day, night after night. He wanted to atone for his sins, and when he found out Martin Evans was still alive, he thought he could reunite Beau with his father. So he invited Martin here and planned to meet him at Bud’s Pool Hall. But Martin got the day wrong and ended up going to Bud’s the night before. Then, not finding Patrick there, he went to his house instead, where he disappeared until Tina and I found him outside the park the next morning.”
“And now both men are dead,” Jed said.
Harley paced back and forth in the woods, her mind searching for answers. “Martin Evans,” she said, thinking aloud. “What made his presence here so threatening? What did he find out? What did he know?”
Suddenly, a flash of intuition dawned on Harley, and she took off at a run.
“Harley!” Jed yelled at her receding back as she ran back through the woods. “What’re you doin’? Where are you goin’?”