Shadow Grass

SHADOW GRASS

Fiction By

Dan Lee

A Cain and Able Mystery

Volume 3

Published by

Danny Boy Stories

COPYRIGHT WARNING

The entire contents of this publication, as well as the Danny Boy Stories logo, and the cover art, are protected by Copyright Law and International Conventions

© Copyright 2018

By

Danny Boy Stories, a sole proprietorship

aka DeVon C. Lee

aka D. C. Dan Lee

Warsaw, IN 46582

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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SMASHWORDS ISBN #9780463377178

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of anything contained within this publication may be reproduced without the expressed, written consent, of the author. Names, people, places and events in this volume are entirely fictitious and any similarity to real persons, places or events, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

July 2019 is an important time for my wife, Amanda, and I. We will celebrate 60 years of life together. She keeps me focused and on track. I cannot tell you how much she means to me. Happy Anniversary, Honey.

PREFACE

Shadow Grass is a story of two private investigators, working as Cain and Able Investigations, who face the complicated and complex chore of finding the killer of citizens in a small crossroads town near Kansas City, Missouri.

The perpetrator does more than kill a victim, the murderer tortures the poor soul with sharp garden tools.

As in other Cain and Able Mysteries, Danny and Ruth find themselves targets of deadly attacks on their lives.

Chapter 1

My favorite summer vacation thing is just lying in the soft grass, gazing into the crystal blue sky watching the puffy clouds change their shape. My favorite place to do that is an unattended strip of grass next to a farm fence row. There the grass is very tall, thick, and lush from summer rain storms.

I was not alone on this warm August Indiana late afternoon. Next to me lay Missy Steward. Next to her was Caroline Ferry with Todd Tennant beside her. Soon to be new high school freshmen, we were whiling away the time watching the clouds roll by, changing shapes to suit our imaginations.

"Hey, Danny, that one looks like your peter," Todd called out.

"Enough naughty talk, Todd Tennant, Caroline said, sitting up. You’re just nasty."

"Aw, come on, Caroline. I didn't mean nothin," Todd said.

"You can just walk me home, now, Todd," Caroline said, brushing the dried grass and dust from her blue shorts.

You coming, Danny? Todd asked.

"Yeah..." I said.

"No, we'll be along in a few minutes," Missy interrupted.

We listened to the crunch of the gravel as our two friends walked on the road toward town away from the field of tall corn next to us.

As the footsteps diminished, Missy slid closer to me and laced her fingers in mine. Am I going to be your girl, now, Danny? Missy asked.

"Uh, well..."

"Good. I knew you liked me," Missy said. She rose up on her left arm and pressed her lips against mine.

Startled, I jumped into a sitting position. Wow, I've got to get home, I said.

"Now, just you wait a darned minute, Danny Cain, Missy demanded. This is important. Am I going to be your girl, or not?"

My mouth was full of cotton, and I could not answer. I... I...

Missy took my face in her hands and softly kissed me again. I know you like me, don't you, Danny, she said. I tried to sit up straight, but bumped Missy's shoulder. She took it to mean I was advancing and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me, raising Goose bumps on my arms and on the back of my neck. At the same time there was this electric feeling on my inner thighs.

"I gotta go,"

* * *

Saturday, May 11, 1957

I’m something of a daydreamer when not otherwise occupied by something important. The early morning sun was golden behind us as I drove the K-Car along U.S. 24 toward Kansas City, Kansas. We’re finally heading home after being away for a few months.

My mind meanders through the past more often than the future. Would a shrink question a 25-year-old man day dreaming?

I remember Missy Steward. She was beautiful, neat, and trim, with great legs. If I had not been so nervous… okay, afraid… of girls, Missy would have made a peach of a girlfriend as we started our freshman year. I wonder what would have happened if we had become a couple. But, Missy may have figured I hurried home because I wasn’t interested, and that was that.

I remember almost nothing of my last three years of high school? My memory is a blank from the time I ran into our home to find the bloody scene of my parents and brother. Dad took mom and my brother out before ending his own life with the same shotgun. My next vivid memory after that was bounding off the military bus into Marine Basic Training. I have only one memorable time in those three years. Although, according to my report cards I still have, I made National Honor Society with my grades.

That single thing I do remember about high school? The last shower in the locker room after the final basketball game I ever played. How could I forget Mary Jo Wysong?

I remember Korea all too well. Following military police training in August 1951 at Fort Leonard Wood, MO, we flew to Korea. We trained to handle MP duties at bases and communities, but North Korea had different plans. They invaded the south On June 25, 1950, only two weeks after high school graduation. There was intense fighting when I enlisted, so, I knew I’d end up in the fight. An infantry unit headed for the front lines became my home.

Jimmy Overholser is a constant memory. We suffered through basic and advanced training together and flew into Korea on the same airplane. My last vision of Jimmy was his body parts and Korean soil flying through the air. He took a direct hit of a North Korean mortar shell. I tapped the brakes on the K-Car and slowed to a stop on the roadside.

Oh, Danny, what is it Sweetheart? Ruth slid closer to me, wiping my eyes with a tissue. It’s’ the war, again, isn’t it, she asked. Ruth had an uncanny way of knowing exactly what was bothering me. In fact, often she could finish my sentences.

Yeah, I said. Couldn’t help myself. I was thinking about the past and there was my last sight of Jimmy. What a buddy, he was.

Ruth squeezed herself straddling onto my lap, with the steering wheel pushing her hard against me. Her arms slipped around my neck as she gently kissed me, snuggling into my neck and cheek. My unfettered love for this woman now occupied my mind. Everything between us clicked like gears meshing in a fine watch. It is simple: I’m damned glad I married this woman.

There are those who come into your life unexpectedly and put an indelible imprint on your heart. That was Ruth Able.

* * *

As we came over a hill, there it was, dead ahead, sprawled out like a giant octopus before us: Kansas City, Missouri. On the opposite side of the glistening water ribbon running north and south to the west was Kansas City, Kansas. We’d be home before noon. Somehow, I was apprehensive. I pulled the car into one of those roadside picnic tables. Let’s stretch our legs for the short run home, Sweetie, I said.

Sounds good to me, Ruth said, bouncing out as if she were only 10-years-old. She rushed to the driver's side and planted a hot kiss right where it belonged. How’s that for a morning greeting, Big Guy?

Well, you are a bundle of energy after getting up at four o’clock in the morning, I said. Got any more of that sweetness? I took the woman in my arms for a hug against my six-four muscular frame. I ignored the horn of a passing car. Okay, let’s go, I said abruptly, and reached into the car for my shoulder holster and jacket.

Something up, Danny? Ruth asked.

Nope. Just one of those feelings I get sometimes, I said, pulling my jacket on over my Colt .45. The pistol nestled comfortably in the holster under my left arm. I looked around in all directions, started the K-Car and pulled back out onto U.S. 24. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ruth checking the Beretta in her purse.

One thing about high school basketball and Marine training, both gave me an eagle eye, and slingshot reflexes. In the Marines, I honed my skill with the .45 to perfection. I can put two, two, and two between the eyes with ease. My instant decision-making skill resulted in an excellent defensive shot, not an errant bullet at the wrong target. It sounds boastful, but I worked damned hard developing my skills and I’m not keeping it a secret.

Work on the new Interstate Highway System into the area was obvious. It slowed our progress in Missouri and a detour across the river. Old U.S. 24, the major route west through Indiana and Illinois, got no improvements. It seemed a damned shame, too.

Martha Barclay leaned over attending to her spring tulips next to the house. She jumped when I tapped the horn turning into their driveway. She called for Billy, her husband. Both hurried to the car to greet us. The Barclays own the large over-the-garage apartment Ruth and I rent. The three-car garage resulted in an apartment larger than most.

Land sakes, Ruthie, you are just as pretty as always and a sight for these sore eyes, Martha said.

Well, Big Man, Billy said in his jolly way, Sure have missed you two. Put that paw of yours right there, he declared, sticking out his ham-sized right hand.

One cannot help but love the Barclays. At 250 pounds on a five-five frame, Billy is your typical jolly older man. Martha is the epitome of every stereotype Mid-Western grandma you could imagine. Hugs all around melted into an hour of pleasant conversation and cookies at Martha’s kitchen table. I don’t know if she ever entered the state fair, but she would win a blue ribbon.

At 1:30 in the afternoon, we headed out to the K-Car to unload our gear and open the apartment. Everything smelled dusty from being closed up for several months, but the apartment was inviting. We dumped everything in the spare bedroom and crashed on our bedroom comforter for a few minutes.

We’ve a lot of our friends and contacts who will want to know we’re home, Honey, I said.

Oh, I know, Ruth replied. Do you suppose Judy would make some calls Monday? We could use some relaxation after the long drive from Illinois.

Good idea, Honey, I said. I want to call Chief Marshall and the mission to see how Capt. Rogers is doing. I’ll bet those two calls alone will fill the apartment with our friends. On second thought, let’s call Judy first. She could even come right over if she’s available.

Now, my dear boy, you are thinking, Ruth teased. She is our right arm, and we need to treat her as the important person she is, too. Hand me the receiver, I’ll call her. Let’s all three go to lunch.

Judy Miller, our office manager and Cracker Jack of all trades was indispensable. She maintained our client and case files, books of account, and otherwise kept us on the straight-and-narrow. We didn’t realize right away just how good she was and hired an assistant rather than waste her talents. I remember blasting the intruder who would have raped and killed Judy had I not blown his knife-wielding arm apart with my .45 slug.

That was easy compared to Judy’s step-father and step-brother who abused her until they too met their fate. Those two kidnapped Ruth, and tortured her for three days, a horror that left Ruth unable to bear children. The awful things they must have done to her still caused me to shed tears for what my wonderful wife endured. I may be six-four, a tough Marine, but I have feelings.

Ruth ran to the door when the soft knock told us Judy had arrived. It will be a joyous reunion for us all.

* * *

Judy Miller’s habit dressing like a high school girl—pony tail, bobby socks—fooled everyone around her at the Mission. She was, we found out, very competent in office procedures, including shorthand, typing, and filing skills. In fact, Ruth and I would be lost without her in the office. Our files and records were always in perfect order for a court appearance, too.

I was not as apprehensive about being recalled to active duty, now that the Suez Crisis cooled off. Egypt relinquished control of the canal, and British, French, and Israeli troops withdrew from the area. Even though Ruth and I had been away and deeply involved in investigation, I never missed a regular Marine Reserve drill’. I visited strange units away from home. I loved the Marine Corps, might have made it a career under different circumstances.

Ruth did not realize I was anxious to get back to our crime-fighting business after a four-week hiatus. She always worried I waded too deeply into the thick of things, endangering myself more than needed. But, I am what I am.

Chief Marshall called me last night, Danny, Judy said, plopping down on our sofa with an ice tea she brought along with snacks. He wondered when you would be back from your trip. I think he has a problem and needs some help.

What is it, Ruth said.

I’m not sure, Judy said. I told him I thought you’d be home sometime Monday. Danny, I guess he has a body!

What does that mean: ‘I guess he has a body?’ I asked. Either he does, or he doesn’t.

Oh, just the words he used, Judy said. You know how he can be.

A firm rap on the door punctuated the words. It startled all of us.

Det. Capt. Matt Harrison pushed his way past Judy when she opened the door, Damned nice of you to come home, Cain, Harrison declared. Are you out collecting headlines for solving crimes everywhere but with your buds?

I clapped Harrison on the back and shook his hand aggressively. Nice to see you too, Knot head, I said. Grab a chair, this is a reunion,

Just got home, Matt, Ruth said. No beer, of course. You’ll have to be satisfied with iced tea and coffee Judy brought.

In your case, beautiful, I’ll take anything I can get, Harrison quipped.

My reunion comment was closer to the truth than I figured. It was not long before Chief Marshall and my friend Patrolman Jeff Kinkaid, showed up. I was glad to see Jeff. The two of us hit it off when I first hit KC, and Jeff helped rescue Ruth. He also stood up with us when we were married. He’s a good cop, too. Wouldn’t you know, Jeff, carrying a case of Pabst walked in behind the