Chapter Twenty Two

 

Police sirens suddenly began to blare as red flashing lights swathed the parking lot of Pancho's. With one hand, I held on to Amber's shoulder. The other was in an assailant's face when the white beam of a powerful floodlight raked the mob and a familiar voice boomed at the crowd through a megaphone—Sheriff Amos Bonner's voice.

“You've had your fun for the night now back away from the girl. Now!”

Slowly, the crowd pulled away from Amber and me. Three police cars had cordoned the parking lot and at least six khaki-clad troopers were facing us, their riot guns poised and ready. Bonner, his corpulent frame backlighted by the rising moon, was standing on the hood of his own car. Bear Townsend was still sitting in the gravel beside the Jeep, holding his chin, and massaging his swollen nose. One of the police officers took a white towel from the back seat of a squad car and tossed it to him.

“Party's over,” Bonner said. “Now go back inside or go home.”

The mob, voicing more than a few muffled obscenities and cries of police brutality began to disperse. Clint was the most vocal.

“Stop that little weasel right there,” Bonner said, pointing.

A deputy grabbed Clint's collar and hustled him away to a squad car as Bonner climbed down from the hood of his own car and sauntered over to where we were waiting. Expecting handcuffs, we received only gentle nudges from his meaty hand in the direction of his awaiting vehicle.

“Get in,” he said, holding the front door open for Amber. “You,” he said to me. “Back seat.”

He gunned the engine, spraying gravel as he tore out of Pancho's parking lot. As we raced along the dirt thoroughfare at almost sixty miles per hour, static and broken police reports from his radio blended with silence and darkness. My head ached and a brass bell was ringing in my left ear.

“If you're going to arrest us, Sheriff, I suggest you read us our rights,” I said from the back seat.

What followed surprised me more than Amber's fighting prowess. Bonner giggled like a schoolgirl, leaning his head back until his neck popped. Resting his right arm on the back of the bench seat, he slowed the car as laughter rocked his large body.

Finally, he said, “I ain't seen the Bear get the hell kicked out of him like that since we was in eighth grade football. Little lady, I sure got to hand it to you.”

“You're not taking us in?” I asked.

“Why hell no. I ain't ate since breakfast and I'm about half starved to death. Thought since the little lady here so kindly provided me with such fine entertainment I'd take you two good people to supper.”

Amber glanced back at me and dark concern in her indigo eyes reflected from the dashboard lights. Sheriff Bonner continued to giggle but said no more until we had gone twenty miles down the road. He pulled into the well-lighted parking lot of an all-night truck stop. The place was alive with truckers and eighteen-wheelers. Bonner got out of the car and motioned us to follow him, leading us to a café nestled within the large building.

“Just across the county line,” Bonner explained. “I come here when I want a little privacy.” We seated ourselves at a booth and waited until a saturnine waitress filled the coffee cups already on the table. Bonner returned the menu. “All night breakfast buffet is what I'm having. You two get what you want.”

“I'll have the buffet,” I said.

“Salad bar,” Amber said.

The mousy waitress left with our orders and we went through the buffet and salad bar lines. Bonner quickly heaped his plate. When Amber and I returned to the table, he had already buttered three biscuits and was dousing them with red-eye gravy.

“Did some checking today after you left my office,” he said, his cheeks pouched with half-chewed food. “Bear Townsend was in California when your brother disappeared. Biker's convention.” He chuckled again and said, “Those boys like their little conventions more than old maid Southern Baptists.”

Amber blinked and started to say something. Thinking better of it, she nibbled on her lettuce and remained silent instead.

“But I got to admit,” he said, looking at Amber. “You got my attention today. I pulled out my report and read it again. Still nothing and that's with a capital N. You're welcome to try your hand if you want to come by the office tomorrow.”

Bonner's sudden sincerity left me doubtful. I said so, fearing only a full frontal lobotomy could have provoked such a rapid personality swing. “What made you change your mind about us, Sheriff?”

“Hell, I told you Sheriff Tate's a friend of mine. I see him all the time at Arkansas Sheriff's Association meetings. I called and asked him about the little woman here. He told me clearly that she is the best man on his force. Threatened to come down and kick my butt if I didn't help. Ol’ Tater'd do just that, too.”

“How'd you find us?” I said.

“After my little talk with Tater, I had a hunch Miz Amber Armstrong here wouldn't let sleeping dogs lie. Sure enough, I was right.”

“Thank heaven for your hunches,” I said. “We were slightly outnumbered.”

Laughter rose up from Sheriff Bonner's lungs until he almost choked on his buttered grits. “Hell, I think the little lady would have done just fine.”

Bonner's eating habits were like that of most overweight people—frenetic. Shortly, he excused himself to return to the buffet line for a refill.

“Well, little lady, I think the sheriff likes you,” I said, trying to emulate Bonner's cornpone accent.

Amber rewarded my effort with an elbow in the ribs.

When Bonner returned, he said, “Something I have to confess. Because of what your brother did over at BST, I called over there after your first visit to my office. Told them to be on the lookout for you. Guess that is how Bear knew you was up on the mountain. Mighty sorry for the problem it caused you.”

His apology sounded sincere and I said, “You made up for it tonight by saving our necks, Sheriff. I probably would have done the same, in your position.”

“One thing bothers me,” he said. “What blessed reason have you got for still believing somebody murdered your brother?”

I told him about my visit to Zekiel's, refraining from mentioning my dream. When I finished the story Bonner sprawled back against the plastic-covered booth, spread his arms across the back rim and belched. He didn't bother excusing himself.

“Known ol’ Zekiel all my life,” he said. “Maybe there is something to your thinking.”

“Really?” Amber said, surprised.

Even with his cheeks puffed with biscuits and gravy, Bonner continued to espouse. Bits of food sprayed from the corners of his mouth as he waved his knife and fork like semaphore flags.

“If you've noticed, they ain't many black folks in these parts. Ain't many outsiders, period. But the mountain people trust Zekiel cause he treats what ails them and seems to do a pretty good job of it.”

“Could someone on the mountain have killed Bill,” I asked pointedly.

“Could of. They're a tight knit bunch.” He began to chuckle, sending his big belly into a paroxysm of rubbery motion. “They think we are big city folk here in Dill City.”

“Then they'd be really lost in Little Rock.” Missing Amber's sarcasm, Sheriff Bonner nodded and returned to his eggs and sausage. “Tom tells me Bill had a rapport with most of the hill families.”

“Maybe he got too close to one of their stills. They're mighty particular about that. Anyway, your brother ain't the first to disappear without a trace around here,” he said, shaking his fork at me.

Amber and I had both finished eating and Bonner's sudden tidbit of information came as a surprise to us. Amber pushed her salad plate aside, leaning forward on her elbows.

“There was nothing in the report to connect Mr. Logan's disappearance with similar situations. How many other cases are we talking about?”

“Hell, for years we've had revenue agents, loggers and hunters disappear up near the Big Valley. Started before I was even a cop. Probably ten or more.”

“Ten disappearances without a clue? And you didn't think to mention it in your report?”

“Now wait just a cotton-picking minute, little lady. Ain't nothing about his brother's case here to link it to the others.”

“Except location and circumstance,” she said. “It could be a serial killer.”

“And you have no suspects?” I added.

“I said they're a tight knit bunch up there. I don't buy into any serial killer nonsense. Too many things can happen in them hills for that. Snakes, holes, wild pigs, moonshiners. Hell, maybe the Valley Monster got him.”

Amber and I waited for him to laugh. He didn't. “Valley Monster?” she said. “Is that a joke?”

“Hell, sure it's a joke, but it's one every school kid in the county has heard since before they're knee high to a toadstool. Whenever anyone turns up missing around here the Valley Monster gets the blame.”

“And what's the basis for this story?” Amber asked.

Sheriff Bonner stopped eating. With a delicate touch for such a large man, he placed his knife and fork on the edge of his plate. “You've seen the Big Valley.” He spread his arms to show us just how big. “It's like a giant soup bowl with mountains all around. Stretches fifty miles across and the bottom of the Valley is nearly a half mile from the top of the peaks. And it ain't barren. There's trees down there that ain't never been cut.”

Glancing at Amber, I could see she was as curious about Sheriff Bonner's tale as I was.

“What's the access into the valley?” I said.

“Ain't none. No roads, no trails, just miles of neck-high briars, vines, and undergrowth. Hell, there's always thick clouds over the valley that even masks the trees. Because of the clouds, you can't see into the valley from an airplane. You get lost in there, ain't nobody ever going to get you out.”

Amber pushed her half-finished glass of tea aside and said, “Can anyone at all tell us more about this valley?”

“Just the hill folk,” he said. “And they won't tell you nothing.”

The conversation was near an end but Sheriff Bonner still had not finished eating. I sipped coffee and drummed the cup as he consumed another heaping plate from the breakfast bar. When he finally finished he returned us to Dill City, at a much slower speed this time. We found the Jeep in the parking lot of Pancho's. After a quick examination of the ruined fender, we decided most of the damage was cosmetic.

“Take it to Jake's Body Shop on Main and get an estimate,” Sheriff Bonner said. “I'll see Bear cuts you a check to get it fixed.”

He opened the door of his squad car and started to get in. Then, as if remembering something he had forgotten to tell us, he slammed the door and returned to the Jeep.

“I think you folks ain't going to let this disappearance lie,” he said, leaning with an elbow on the window. “That's all right by me but just remember one thing. Those mountains are dangerous. Get yourself in trouble and it'll be too far for me to bail you out again.” He removed his hat and handed Amber a business card. “Most hill folk are decent people. They don't cotton to strangers but they keep tabs on each another. Something happens, news travels faster than an Apache smoke signal. Just get me a message and I'll beat a path up the hill faster than you can say scat.”

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Amber said.

When Amber kissed me just above the stitches in my forehead, I could see a red flush spread over Sheriff Amos Bonner's big face. Even in the muted moonlight.

“Sheriff Tate would kick my butt if I let anything happen to you,” he said, backing away from the Jeep. “You two take care, you hear?”

Bonner put his hat back on his head and returned to his car. After racing the engine, he sprayed gravel across the parking lot and hurried away into the night.

Amber saw me looking at her and said, “What are you staring at?”

“You.”

“Stop it. You're making me nervous.”

I turned away with a grin as she cranked the engine and pointed the Jeep back toward Turkey Gap. The stars were out and the night air crisp. A cool breeze whistled through the Jeep's loose canvas top, bathing my face with a frosty chill.

“What now?” I asked as we approached the campground.

“Tomorrow we find out more about the Big Valley from the only person I know that might actually tell us something we don't already know.”

“And who is that?”

“Zekiel,” she replied.