Caroline Burnes - Flesh And Blood

What he said made sense, to an extent. “Maybe that was the only gun he had.”

“I just don’t understand it. It was a really fine gun. A Smith & Wesson, blue steel, hand-carved grip. An antique. Killers like those punks wouldn’t carry a piece because of its aesthetic value or the history of it. He could have sold that piece and made enough to buy several automatics. Most times killers drop the piece anyway. They want something cheap.”

He had a point. “Was there anything else? What about the man with the gun? Did he have a diamond in his ear, or any type of jewelry that might tell why he was called Diamond?”

“He was wearing that mask. I couldn’t see anything.” Robert took a breath. “Emma, I’ve thought about it over and over again. I should have been able to stop it. I should have…”

I went to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Stop it, Robert. There wasn’t anything that you or I could have done. Frank, either. I’ve thought about it, too. I wondered why he couldn’t let them take the woman, why he had to try to step in. And the answer is, that was the kind of man he was. Neither of us would have cared for him as much had he been any different.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Keep thinking this through.”

“What are you looking for, Emma? The police said they never got any kind of lead. I called them every day for almost a year.”

“I’m thinking that there may have been more here than just a simple robbery-murder. I don’t know how or why, but maybe those robbers were in this store on that night for a specific reason. You could help me by thinking along those lines.”

“You’re saying it was a setup, specifically to kill Frank?”

Robert’s eyes were wide with shock. It did sound preposterous. Robberies happened all the time. People got killed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was easier to believe than deliberate murder.

“I’m not saying that it’s true. I’m just saying that I’m thinking about the possibilities.”

“Why, Emma? Why? Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t have a clue. As I said, I’m just looking and thinking. Maybe you could talk to the other store owners in this neighborhood. See what kind of robberies they’ve had. See how many turned violent. That kind of thing. Frank was on the floor. He was defenseless. They could have knocked him unconscious or wounded him. They didn’t have to kill him.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll canvass the neighborhood. Want me to call you?”

“No, I’ll call you. I’m going to be hard to catch these next few days.”

“Emma, have you uncovered something?”

Robert’s hand on my shoulder was strong, supportive. “No. Nothing like that. It’s just a feeling.”

“I know what you mean. For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking more and more about it.”

“I’ll be in touch, Robert.”

I pulled up the shade and flipped the sign to Open as I went out. Although I’d learned nothing, I felt a kernel of hope growing larger and larger. Robert was feeling something, too.

On the spur of the moment I decided to check out the woman who’d been in the liquor store that night. I had her address from her statement, and I thought Laree Emrick might have some new details to add.

The neighborhood was off Northside Drive, a good distance from downtown. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing in Robert’s store when she could have shopped in her own neighborhood. I knew I had no right to blame her for anything, yet my entire life might be different if she’d gone to another store that night. Might be different. If Frank was deliberately murdered, then Laree Emrick had not even really played a role in the sequence of events.

The house was freshly painted and the yard immaculate. I could hear dogs barking inside when I rang the bell. Laree Emrick was a petite woman with curly brown hair. She opened the door with a smile and an order for two cocker spaniels to quit barking.

“I’m Emma Devlin, Mrs. Emrick. You were in the liquor store the night my husband was killed.”

There was no way to soften the words. She blanched and stepped back, but she opened the door for me.

“I’ve always felt it was my fault,” she said slowly as she led the way to the living room. “If I hadn’t cried…I’ll bet you hate me, don’t you?”

“No. Not at all.” And I didn’t. I had thought at one time that I might, but it was ridiculous. She was as much a victim as Frank, or me. “Please don’t think that I’ve come here to start any kind of trouble. It’s just that I have to settle this in my own mind. I want to be sure that Frank’s death was…the worst kind of accident.”

“I don’t remember much.” She motioned me onto the sofa and she took a seat in a wing chair. “To be honest, I’ve tried very hard to forget it all.”

“Maybe we could both forget if we finally examine that night.”

“You sound like my husband.” She sighed and began to talk. Her story was much the same as the statement she’d given the police. She was downtown at an antique store and decided to buy a bottle of wine for dinner. It was happenstance that she went into Robert’s store. The men came in. She did as they said and they started to abuse her. Frank intervened and they killed him. She remembered none of the conversation, none of the details.

“Did it ever cross your mind that those men would have killed my husband no matter what he did?”

She looked up at me. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead. “You know, there was another customer in the store. The robbers ignored him completely. Now that you mention it, maybe they did seem to watch your husband more.”

“Are you certain, Mrs. Emrick?” I felt a thrill of hope growing.

“I told my husband it was like a train racing downhill. There wasn’t any stopping it once the killers walked in the door.” She hesitated. “Yes, I’m certain. They paid more attention to your husband than anyone else, or anything. Even the money. You know, they never demanded more money. They just took what was in the cash register.”

“Thank you, Laree.” I took my leave. My visit had upset her, but I had another tiny straw of evidence. If it was not real evidence, then at least it was mortar to help build the wall of my new theory.

I thought about going to my home, but as soon as I had the idea I gave it up. I wanted to discuss my ideas with someone. I could have called my brothers or my mother, but it wasn’t them I wanted to see. My brothers would be skeptical, to say the least. Mom would hover and worry. She was already concerned about me, and I didn’t want her to know I was spending my time playing amateur detective. No one could have hated what happened to Frank more than my family. But they’d gone on. For them, it was over. And like most survivors of tragedy, they didn’t want to be dragged back to the abyss.

I took the interstate to Vicksburg. Nathan Cates was the man I wanted to talk to. He’d share my sense of accomplishment. I didn’t examine my feelings in this, I simply accepted them. It seemed that I’d done nothing but probe at myself for the past five weeks. Nathan Cates’s interest in my problems was a luxury I was simply going to enjoy.

Ravenwood seemed too empty when I drove through the gates. It was silly, but I was disappointed when I didn’t see Frisco tied to the camellia near the drive. I hadn’t invited Nathan to return, so I shouldn’t have expected him. I had a sudden inspiration and got back in the van and drove to the battlefield.

Instead of the activities I’d expected, the Vicksburg National Military Park was quiet. I had to remember that it was April, still a month before the siege of Vicksburg actually began. The height of reenactment fever would come in the later months, along with the tropical heat. There was a cluster of young soldiers near some roughly constructed shelters. They carried old rifles and pistols and wore their Johnny Reb caps at jaunty angles. At first glance, they might have stepped out of the pages of history. Of course I knew them for what they were, hired actors who played the role of Confederate soldiers to entertain tourists.