John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“Put me down as an employee, and pay me a buck.”

“At least let me cover your expenses.”

“Can you recommend a motel?”

“I rattle around in a big old house with four bedrooms. There’s just me and my dog, Ruger.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anybody.”

“You kidding? Guest room is private, has cable TV, clean linens, and a bathroom with big bars of soap.”

“That’ll do,” Winter said.

“What size uniform do you wear?”

Winter’s shocked reaction brought laughter from the sheriff. “Just messing with you, Massey. Raise your right hand.”

Winter smiled. He had the feeling that the sheriff was like an iceberg-what was below the surface was far more substantial than what wasn’t.

While Brad went to get the toothpick ready for shipping, Winter picked up the office phone and dialed a cell number in Washington, D.C. He smiled when a familiar voice answered, “Alexa Keen.”

“Alexa, it’s Winter.”

“Winter. Have you gotten yourself arrested?” she asked.

“What makes you ask that? Oh, the caller ID.”

“Tunica County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Not yet,” he said.

“Sean told me you were doing your deer hunt in Como.” She laughed. “So how’s that family-bonding-over-blood thing going for you?”

“Faith Ann killed her first deer. A major buck too.”

“I still think that’s a shame, Massey,” Alexa said. “Teaching that child to murder poor defenseless animals.”

“She’d beg to differ, and obviously you’ve never been assaulted by a deer. Their little hooves are like razors. Anyway, it’s all in the name of game management and a well-rounded education, which was her argument to get me to let her go hunting.”

“Cheaper than a shopping trip to Europe, I suppose. She is an extraordinary young lady,” Alexa said. “Must be hard on you, being so obviously average and surrounded by extraordinary people. So what are you doing in Tunica? Not gambling, I hope. It’s a superhighway to ruin, you know.”

Winter told her about the Adams murder, the card, and the used toothpick he’d found. “I need DNA really fast. Awhile back you told me about some new DNA deal that takes hours, not days,” he said.

“I did indeed. It’s called EDM.”

“Wasn’t the lab in Nashville?”

“ProCell. I suppose I can have DNA expedited for your sheriff buddy. You get it there ASAP. The procedure they’re doing is fast, but results aren’t going to be accepted in court. They need three days for accuracy.”

“Can I do that without having those results included in any official report along with the tests? I’d cover the costs, of course.”

“Sure, but why?”

“No big deal. Just a favor for a friend.”

“A favor for a friend is loaning them your car,” Alexa said. “Your friends tend to ask you to close the gates to hell.”

On the way to look for Alphonse Jefferson, Brad decided to drop in at the Adamses’ home and pay his respects to Sherry’s parents. A tall, distinguished-looking black man with graying hair stood alone on the porch of a small home in the predominately black section of Tunica.

Beneath a smoke gray sky, Brad parked on the street and the men got out of the cruiser. They followed behind a fireplug of a woman wearing a black-cloth coat with rabbit fur trim. The hat perched on her head looked like a two-tiered chocolate cake someone had decorated with a trio of long red feathers. Folded potholders protected her bare hands from the heat of the covered casserole dish she carried.

A professionally painted message on the tire cover of the conversion van parked in the Adamses’ driveway read LIFE IS GOD’S GIFT TO YOU. HOW YOU LIVE IT IS YOUR GIFT TO GOD.

“Welcome, Sister Bertha,” the man on the porch said in a deep melodious voice.

“Brother Adams,” the woman said. “Sad day for the world, but it’s a day of rejoicing in Heaven, because an angel has arrived at the pearly gates, praise His holy name.”

“Go on inside, Sister Bertha,” Mr. Adams said, opening the door. “Mother’s in here.”

After the woman had gone into the house, Brad took the steps and stood before Sherry Adams’s father. Winter followed him silently.

“John, my condolences,” Brad said, offering his hand, which John Adams took and shook firmly. “We’re going to find out who did this.”

“Sheriff Barnett,” he said, smiling sadly. “Thank you so much for coming by to pay your respects. A little while ago your daddy brought us a beautiful baked ham. Dr. Barnett is a saint of a man.”

“John Adams, this is Winter Massey. He’s from North Carolina and he’s offered to help.”

John Adams turned his eyes on Winter and extended a strong hand.

“May the Lord speed and guide you in your work, Mr. Massey,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Winter said.

A familiar, road-film-streaked Lincoln pulled as far into the driveway as possible and stopped, its rear end blocking the sidewalk. The driver’s door flew open and Leigh Gardner stepped out, slammed the door behind her, and waited for Estelle to get out before they both walked purposefully to the porch. Estelle nodded at the sheriff and Winter, kissed John Adams’s cheek, and went inside. Through the open door Winter saw a large solemn group of people standing around in the living room.

“John,” Leigh said, hugging John Adams. “I told Bob Hanson to make sure our Sherry has the best of everything. You and Mary just make the selections and Six Oaks will cover the expenses.”

John Adams straightened. “You don’t have to do that, Ms. Leigh.”

“Don’t be difficult, John. I loved Sherry, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

John nodded solemnly, his eyes filling with tears. “We thank you, Ms. Leigh. Sherry loved y’all too.”

Leigh hugged him again and held the embrace for several long seconds. “Sherry was a member of my family too.”

“Leigh,” Brad said in greeting.

“Sheriff,” Leigh said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “How is your investigation coming?”

“It’s going forward,” he said.

Leigh studied the sheriff. “I’m going to offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the party responsible.”

“I think offering a reward is premature, Leigh,” Brad said.

“And why is that?” she asked, bristling.

“Because it’ll create worthless tips I’ll have to run down,” Brad said. “Hold off for a couple of days and let us work the case first.”

“And do you share Brad’s opinion, Mr. Massey?”

“Yes, I do,” Winter said.

“John?” Leigh asked Sherry’s father. “What do you think?”

Mr. Adams nodded. “The Lord works His will in mysterious ways. If the sheriff says he needs time more than money, I expect I agree with him. The Lord will punish the guilty, and He alone will decide if the man who killed Sherry is going to be delivered into the law’s hands, or into His own for judgment. Render unto God that which is God’s, and render to Caesar what is Caesar’s.”

Leigh considered his words and nodded. “Then it’s your call,” Leigh told Brad. “I’m going to wait until Monday. If you don’t find the killer by then, I’m going to give God a hand with Caesar’s end.”

She turned and went into the house, closing the door behind her.

“John, if you hear anything that I should know, you call me.”

“You know I will, Sheriff Barnett. When will Sherry’s body be coming home?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Brad said. “I’ll make sure she gets back so you can plan your service for Saturday.”