Five Miles to Paradise

23

True to his word, Heck called off the search for T-Bone.

It was proving fruitless, anyway. He would continue to investigate on his own during his off-hours. It would be easy to do, for with all the hours Heck put in, who could figure out which ones were on county time and which were his own? It was a conundrum no one could untangle.

Heck was sitting at the supper table one night, when I approached him with an idea that had been stewing on the back burner of my mind.

Heck had told me that not long after he and Rayanne married, she inherited a small sum of money. She asked Heck to build a room onto their house, a pantry, she called it. 

Rayanne's plans called for no windows. When Heck hammered in some stakes marking out a small addition, Rayanne asked him to enlarge it.

"Honey, that's a full-sized room," Heck had protested. "Ain't that a little big for a pantry."

"Just do it, Hon. For me," she'd said.

So, Heck expanded the stakes to a larger dimension, and getting Rayanne's approval, he had built the room. He had lined two walls with shelves, wired it for electricity, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Here you are, sweetheart. Like it?"

"It's perfect," she said.

Heck discovered the pantry was to have another use. Although it did house the jars and cans from Rayanne's preserving and shopping, it also became what she later referred to as her 'prayer closet.'

Whenever she could not sleep, or whenever she had spare time, Rayanne would enter the room with her Bible and a list of people she wished to bring before God. She found solace in that room, and Heck was glad he'd listened to his wife and built it to her specifications.

Now, the room had reverted back to its sole use as a storage space.

"Heck," I said, "why don't you let me clean out the pantry. We can still use the space for canned goods, but why don't we set up an area for you to gather your thoughts on this case of T-Bone's disappearance."

"What do you mean?" Heck asked.

"Well, I know it bothers you. I know it is always on your mind. What if I put a small table in there, a couple of chairs? There's already light in there. I have bought several packs of recipe cards, hoping you'd agree to my plan.

What if you started putting down what you know on them, you know, to organize your thoughts. Just like you told those men that day they were tormenting me in front of the market.

I could be you secretary. Just like you told them I was that day they accused you of allowing me to sit and eat with you at your table. You showed them Rayanne's journals you had on your front car seat because you thought her friend at the library might like to read them. You told them I sat at your table writing down your thoughts and insights on cases since you had no camera or anything to record evidence.

I could write them down for you. We wouldn't have to worry about prying eyes. There are no windows in the pantry. You could lock the door, and keep the key on you. It might be a way to move forward with this thing, I don't know. At the very least, all your thoughts would be on paper."

"Leah," he said, "that's a great idea.

I've been trying to think of a way to untangle this knot of thoughts in my head about T-Bone. I think you've hit on something. It wouldn't be legal or nuthin' but it might help.

If I could get some of these things down on paper, sort them, I don't know, maybe something would pop out at me. Maybe not. But at least it's worth a try.

At the very least, writing down the few things I've discovered will free my mind while I'm out on patrol. I worry I might forget what little I know, you know, 'n somehow let ole T-Bone down. I like that ole fellah, Leah."

I started cleaning out the room the next day. When Heck arrived that evening, he found I had arranged the table, chairs, and the note cards in good order. We began that night after supper.

Heck talked, and I transcribed the words to the recipe cards.

Nothing new came to him, and it really looked like a paltry amount of information, but at least we were working together to attempt to solve this case.

He looked discouraged.

"Don't let it bother you, Heck," I said. "At least, we're doing something."

"You're right," he said, getting up from the table. "It's been a couple of days. I'm going to head over to T-Bone's place in the morning, and see if I can discover anything new. It's just a shot in the dark, but I have to keep trying somehow."

He locked the door, and we both got ready for bed.

***

When he arrived at the old man's house the next morning, he noticed the barn door ajar.

"Hey, anybody in there?" Heck called out.

"Jes' ole' Einar," a high-pitched voice yelled out from the darkness of the barn.

When the old black man emerged from T-Bone's barn, he had Pixie, T-Bone's milk cow, on the other end of the rope he held in his hand.

"I been takin' cyar dis ole' cow since Bone gone missin,'" the old Negro said.

"I see," said Heck.

"Can't waste mah day traipsin' obah hyar. Bes' I jes' brung dis' cow home wid me till Bone can come 'n fetch 'er back."

"That sounds like a good idea, Einar. You need any help?"

"Naw. She come gentle-like. Ole' Pixie ain' no trubble. Is you, gal?"

The cow mooed softly.

"Einar, you know Bone better 'n anybody, I guess. He say anything 'bout bein' worried 'bout anything lately?"

"Naw. Nuthin' come ta' mind. 'Coss, he got trubbles like de res' us. Who ain't, now days?"

"Yeah. I know what you mean, Einar. You know of anybody that might have been after him?"

"Hah. Heck. You mean like jealous mens? Dem days long gone for Bone. He ain't courted the womens in yars. The coals done turned from red hot to white in dat ole' niggah's britches!"

"No, not like that. I mean, did he say anything about somebody bein' mad at him for some reason?

"Naw. Bone don' say nuthin' like dat. Seem like he do purty good, lately. But Bone don' say much, ya know. Hard't ta' know whut's goin' on in his head."

"I know what you mean, Einar."

"Dat's all's I knows, Sher'f, suh. Whut day iz 'is? Can't seem ta' keep dem days straight, no mo.'"

"Today's Tuesday, Einar. Tuesday. Take good care of Pixie, ya' hear?"

"Oh, I's do dat, Sher'ff. I sholy will. Come on, cow. We gots ta' get obah deh hill. Come on, now."

Heck watched the two leave. Einar was as old as the hills, and it seemed to Heck, the old man's mind was more cloudy than usual. 

Heck turned and walked toward T-Bone's shack. The front door was hanging ajar, slightly open. Heck thought nothing of this. T-Bone often left it this way. He'd joked to Heck that there wasn't nothing worth stealing, so why bother to close it.

Inside, Heck was surprised. The scantly furnished room was as tidy as a pen. Perhaps a throwback from T-Bone's time in the military. 

There wasn't much to see. A couple of hand-hewn straight chairs. An old coal stove in the middle of the room. A wooden barrel against the wall that had a water bucket and dipper sitting on top of it. A small handmade table with a few wooden bowls and spoons. A small wooden box high on a shelf caught Heck's attention.

Heck was surprised when he opened the lid. Inside was a gold ring, rose gold, a double serpent ring with a small filigree colored stone in the center.