High Strung Page 14

  His arrest and the embarrassing circumstances were top story all over the television news. Nashvillians were quick to exploit its fallen angels and kick them to the curb, lest they be tainted with guilt by association.

  The arrest’s mandatory three-day drying-out time, plus thirty days in the county jail, was his cold turkey rehab. Cheap, effective, and he remained in seclusion while he sweated and rolled the poison out of his system. Between episodes of projectile vomiting, screaming, groaning, and begging God to kill him, he made his list of amends to those he had hurt, let down, and failed. He promised this second chance would be the only one he would need. That was too difficult to go through again. His choices were to suck it up and stay clean, or die. He chose life.

  Bynum and Cafton heard about Dangcat’s predicament and made a business decision initially based on their hearts. Their hearts believed in redemption. Their business strategy was to be the best of the best. Before his fall from grace, Dangcat was known as the finest soundboard man in town, making magic on some of the best albums for some of the worst Grammy-award-winning artists.

  Giving Dangcat an opportunity to get back on track could be a win/win for them all.

  It helped that County Sheriff Barcheers was a closet user, pusher to the stars, and Dangcat’s personal dealer. He was a dirty secret in the music industry and held a similar place of disgrace among the law enforcement community.

  Fearing being outed by Dangcat, Barcheers was all too happy to assist in doing him a favor, hopefully in return for his silence about their former transactions and his own drug proclivities.

  Bynum and Cafton met with Dangcat in the jailhouse to ensure he was clean. This would be the best time in the world to get him—there wasn’t a cleaner restaurant than one that had just failed inspection and was awaiting the follow-up visit. He had been a loyal member of the Merriepennie family ever since.

  “So, what do I tell the brat, since Dangcat isn’t around to finalize the record?” Bynum asked.

  “Tell him Dangcat is still missing, and I have pulled a mix tape of their record to see how far along it is.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Caf. I’ll check back in a few days.” Bynum couldn’t wait to tell the brat something to get him out of his hair.

  Chapter 11—Grounded

  “There is nothing like the comfort and peace of a big ol’ farmhouse in the middle of nowhere,” Cafton said, standing on Leigh’s front porch, taking in the vista. “People like me have to go to state or national parks to get this kind of view and tranquility. You live in it every day.” He stood there, totally absorbed in the sounds of nature and breathing air so pristine it was almost intoxicating. What a perfect place to quiet his mind.

  “I love this place,” agreed Leigh. “It’s just beautiful. It has everything. Pastures, woods, a pond, rolling hills. In fact, during World War II, the U.S. Army held tank training right around here, because the terrain is so similar to France.”

  Leigh watched Cafton, enjoying his contentment. She could practically see his stress wafting off his usually tense shoulders. “Was it worth the forty-five-minute drive?” she asked, really wondering if it would be worth the forty-five-minute drive many times in the future.

  “Oh, yes. Yes for the view. Yes for the quietude. Most of all, yes for the company.” Cafton was the most serene he had been in a long time. Leigh’s demeanor and lifestyle—in fact, just her presence—had a centering effect on him. He felt, for the first time since his mom died, grounded.

  “Ready to go in and meet Sophie? She’s a huge snuggle bug, but she will want to give you the once-over before she allows you near me. Don’t worry, she’s protective, but not mean. She has never bitten anyone, even people who were cruel to her.” Leigh knew a sixty-pound Pit Bull meticulously sniffing someone head to toe could be alarming, but she had no doubts Sophie would be a perfect lady.

  “Let’s go. I can’t wait to meet her!” Cafton loved meeting any animal, but meeting Leigh’s companion would be special. It was like meeting a family member who had the power to give the seal of approval or the stamp of disapproval to a relationship.

  As they stood in front of the door while Leigh unlocked it, they heard Sophie snuffling underneath the door. Leigh opened the door, and said, “Sophie, this is Cafton. He’s my good friend. Go say hi.”

  Sophie’s head was about hip-high to Cafton. She first looked up directly into his eyes before approaching. She slowly walked closer when Cafton offered the back of his hand to sniff. She sniffed his hand, then continued the assessment with his shoes, working her way up to his hands, now relaxed at his sides. “That’s the canine equivalent to a cat scan.” Leigh laughed.

  In a minute or so, Sophie finished her scan, backed up, and sat dutifully by Leigh’s knees. Cafton squatted down, offered his hands, palms up, toward her. “Hi, Sophie. Nice to meet you.” He remained perfectly still. Sophie walked directly toward him again, sniffed his hands, and then whirled around, finishing the spin in a play bow. The seal of approval. She liked him. She really liked him.

  Cafton and Leigh believed if an animal didn’t like someone, there was good reason. Sophie had just given Cafton an “A” on likability, on trust. Leigh was not surprised. Neither was Cafton.

  “Have a seat. Want some coffee?” Leigh watched as Sophie climbed onto the sofa and into Cafton’s lap as if she had known him all her life.

  Cafton craned his head across Sophie’s neck. “Sure! I take…”

  “Two sugars, two creams,” Leigh finished his sentence as she headed to the kitchen.

  While Leigh ground the dark roast beans and set up the coffeemaker, she peeked into the living room. Sophie had claimed Cafton, changing positions so she could rest her head in his lap while he tenderly petted her suede-like, taupe coat from neck to rump. They were already bonding.

  Cafton looked around the rustic farmhouse living room. Books, lots of books. A component turntable, amp, and speaker system. A television and VHS player on a restored oak highboy. A JFK-style rocking chair with an afghan draped over the back. A red-and-green plaid wing chair beside a wood stove sitting on a brick hearth. A heavy, cast iron kettle on the wood stove, alongside a pile of hand-split cedar kindling in a brass basket, awaiting its fate. Bird nests, driftwood, dried eucalyptus, geodes, hand-thrown pottery, funky lamps, Native American woven baskets, and lots of plants recreated the outdoors inside.

  Very natural, rural, earthy. Peaceful.

  I needed this, Cafton admitted to himself. Maybe I need her, he wondered. But what if… Possibly needing someone was breaking new ground for Cafton, as was wanting someone. But she… Doubts and fears started to creep in, telling Cafton his heart was awakening to vulnerability, to possibility.

  She returned with two steaming mugs of coffee clamped in one hand and two bread plates with thick marble cake slices and forks balanced in the other. “So you passed the litmus test with flying colors,” Leigh advised Cafton. “Sophie doesn’t like many people and trusts almost none. Her usual response to people is to keep her distance from them and plant herself between me and them. She’s polite but very protective about who gets within my personal space. The only time I have ever seen her get angry is when hunters come around, but that doesn’t happen often anymore.”

  “No wonder she’s wary. She has good reason.” Cafton understood. “How do you keep the hunters away?” Cafton detested hunters.

  “Well, now mostly by a well-earned reputation. My first tactic, before I started carrying a gun, was to scare them off. If one came on the property, I’d drive to where they were, politely show them the posted No Hunting and No Trespassing signs and ask them to leave.” Leigh sat in the rocking chair across from Cafton and Sophie so she could observe them. She carefully took a bite of marble cake and washed it down with her black coffee. She liked what she saw.

  “I’d go back to the house, stand here on the porch, and see what they did,” she continued. “If they ignored me, the very first time I heard a gun go off, I’d scream bloody mu
rder at the top of my lungs like I’d been shot. A real Psycho-type scream.” Leigh leaned back and let out a mischievous laugh. “Within seconds, I’d hear their truck start up, and they’d tear up the road, fleeing the scene of the crime. They couldn’t get away fast enough. To my knowledge, none of the hunters I’ve done that to have returned.”

  Cafton was almost rolling on the sofa with Sophie, laughing. “Brilliant! I bet they were as nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers! Don’t you know every time they saw a cop, they started sweating bullets!”

  “Yeah, that is the icing on the cake. I’m a city girl. You don’t grow up in Chicago without learning some survival techniques. My wits and upbringing were what I had to work with at the time. But when I got my pistol, it got even better.” Cafton loved seeing her grinning and her eyes sparkling as she related her stories. He could listen to her talk for hours. Or days. Or maybe the rest of his life.

  “I can’t imagine how it gets better, but I’m all ears.”

  “One day Sophie started raising hell about something, barking toward the back of the property. She rarely barks, and the closer the person is to her, the less likely she is to bark. I guess that’s from her history with the bastard who beat her. And she never barks at anyone in the house. She’s a stealth watchdog. Not mouthy. She silently watches everyone who comes to the house and assumes her position between me and them, and gives them stink eye until I give her directions.”

  “Sheesh, I’m glad I didn’t experience that,” Cafton admitted.

  “She immediately warmed up to you. I trust her judgment.” Leigh smiled at Cafton, feeling a closeness she had not felt before. Trust was an issue for her, just like it was for Cafton. They shared so many traits they intuitively understood one another.

  Leigh continued, “I couldn’t see anything from the porch, so I grabbed my pistol. Sophie and I jumped into the truck to go investigate. Just as we rounded a curve in the dirt road, we saw an expensive, fancy new truck pulled up into the entrance to my back acreage, parked literally two feet from my posted signs. You know the kind. Little men with big trucks. Over-compensation.” Leigh enjoyed seeing Cafton totally engrossed in her story. His smile was easy and soft. Genuine.

  “I told Sophie to stay in the truck, and I got out to find the hunters. They had a bit of a head start, but I quickly found them about fifty yards into the field, headed to the tree line. I trotted right up to about five feet behind them. Two hunters, all decked out in their camo drag, holding rifles over their shoulders. I stopped and yelled at them, ‘Hey, you’re on my property. You need to leave now!’ They turned around to look at me. I told them again they were trespassing and there was no hunting on my property. They looked at each other, laughed, turned back around, and headed toward the trees again.” Leigh stopped while she and Cafton simultaneously scarfed down the last bites of their marble cake. “I was livid.”

  “I ran up close behind them again and told them they had been duly warned, and I was not going to warn them again to get off my property right now! They started laughing again and asked me just how the hell I intended to make them leave. They said they knew all the law enforcement folks, so no one would arrest them for trespassing. Oh, hell no, I thought.” Leigh placed her plate on the end table, wiped her mouth, and stood up to re-enact the rest of the story.

  “I pulled out my pistol, held it down by my side and told them I really didn’t want to use it, but I would if I had to.” Leigh stood like Annie Oakley, wide stance, gripping the imaginary pistol by her side.

  “They laughed again and said there was no way a pretty girl like me was going to shoot them. I told them they were right, and turned around and started sprinting to the roadway. I yelled to them over my shoulder, ‘But I sure as hell will shoot the shit out of your truck!’ and started running toward it.” Leigh was laughing so hard she could hardly get the rest of the story out. Cafton was doubled over laughing. Sophie, caught up in the story and Leigh’s contagious delight, rolled over on her back for a tummy rub, which Cafton immediately administered.

  “I learned pretty quickly about boys and their trucks. They are inseparable. They treat their trucks like family. If I had threatened to blow their balls off, they would have continued to scoff at me, but their truck? Oh, no, not the truck!”

  Leigh got her breath, sat down, folded her legs up in the chair, and continued, “You have never seen two bubbas move so fast in your life. They ran by me like their asses were on fire. They got to their truck before I did. As they cranked it and backed out, I gave chase and told them I would not ask next time, I’d just blow the shit out of their truck. Haven’t seen them or any other hunters since. I suspect the word got around at the local watering hole there is a crazy bitch who will kill your truck if you go on her property. A crazy woman with a gun. They want none of it.”

  “Day-um! I have no doubt you would blow the shit out of their truck. I also have no doubt you can handle yourself in any situation you’re faced with.” Cafton beamed.

  Leigh got quiet and softly said, “Speaking of which, what is going on with you and some creep that makes you feel you need to carry a gun? You’re the kindest, sweetest, most gentle man I know. It has to be something awful to push you to that.” Leigh realized just the thought of someone wanting to hurt Cafton brought out her protective instincts.

  “Thank you for your kind words, but obviously someone has a very different opinion of me. I seem to have gotten on his very last nerve, and he’s not going to take it anymore,” Cafton explained.

  “His threats sound serious enough for you to carry.” Leigh understood.

  “Actually, I have been carrying a while, but, until recently, mostly when I would be in iffy places. But of late, a series of odd occurrences have made me more cautious.” Cafton’s face changed from the absolute delight of earlier to a somber, somewhat perplexed look.

  “Like what occurrences?” Leigh became intense. Totally focused.

  “First, I started receiving threatening phone calls on my unlisted number from someone who says they want to kill me. He apparently has a mad on for me, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out about what.”

  “That’s serious. There’s more?”

  “Well, in what I suppose is a coincidence, my lead engineer at Merriepennie Music is missing,” he continued.

  “Uh-huh. A coincidence.” Leigh frowned in disbelief.

  “Then, someone firebombed my home. Firebombed. My. Home.” He almost whispered as he dropped his head downward in emotional exhaustion. As the words slowly left his mouth, he realized for the first time just how serious things were. He had been going on with his usual routines, intentionally ignoring the severity of the risks. But now, now as he said the threats out loud, it made them seem real. He realized this was more than just a string of odd events. More than a bunch of coincidences. Something dangerous was afoot. He wasn’t scared but more like perplexed. He really only experienced fear when it came to someone else, to someone he loved. But he was used to meeting adversity and chaos head-on and winning. He had just not realized until then the urgency of the situation.

  He looked up at Leigh. She was waiting for his gaze, waiting for him to process his own words. Her eyes filled with tears that just sat like puddles trapped by her eyelids until Cafton’s expression released them. As the tears dropped onto her flannel shirt, she went over and sat down beside Cafton, thigh to thigh. She held her hand out. He took it in both of his and pressed their hands to his heart.

  They sat there, holding hands, leaning on each other in perfect silence. In the quiet, Cafton heard birds chirping outside and Sophie’s contented snoring with her head in his lap. He thought Leigh’s hands felt like the hands of a nun. Smooth like satin, but strong, built by years of decent and good acts. He could feel Leigh’s goodness, her compassion, and her strength. Her love.

  Cafton was no longer alone. He had a soul mate.

  Chapter 12—The Orangutan Theory

  Ketchum had been hounding the medical exami
ner for the final autopsy and lab reports on his head case. He needed more to go on than a toothless head. He sat in his unmarked car with the windows rolled down, enjoying the radio and cool-ish breeze while he waited for the ME to drive out and go to lunch. He avoided Jeff like the plague. It’s not like most people who avoided the ME and his lab, Ketchum was immune to the death, atrocities, and detached body parts. He had seen others puke, swoon, flee, and even pass out cold on top of a cadaver being autopsied, but he had not had any problems like that in years.

  Ketchum avoided the medical examiner, not his work. The ME was just a little too jolly, a little too helpful for his liking. Every now and then, Jeff would ambush Ketchum with an impromptu show-and-tell about his health. Ketchum never knew when he dropped by for a report if Jeff would shove some sliced and diced, diseased body part under his nose and berate him about how this will be his liver, or colon, or brain, if he didn’t stop eating red meat or drinking or smoking so much.

  Ketchum was not in the least concerned about his health. He embodied the New Orleans life philosophy: Laissez les bons temps rouler! Let the good times roll! Hell, those vices were the only happiness in his life, so he wasn’t about to give them up. Sure, they would kill him, he acknowledged. But at least I will live until I die, he rationalized.

  If Ketchum hadn’t believed Jeff was expressing sincere concern, he would have punched his lights out the first time the ME pulled his anatomical admonition years ago. Ketchum, then a newly minted detective, was shocked and grossed out when Jeff dangled what looked like a deflated, scorched, riding lawn mower tire inner tube in his face, and worriedly told him, “This is probably what your lungs look like right now. Right now! But if you stop smoking today, your lungs will heal.” Ketchum back pedaled around a surgical table, trying to get away from the disgusting and terrifying tarry lung monster.