chapter 50
JAKE HAD HAD a busy day. He had taken Katy deer hunting, and just getting her out of bed before daylight had been a chore. Inside the shooting house, Katy had texted on her cell phone more than she watched for deer. He’d allowed her to do what she was enjoying, but when a nice buck trotted across a power line and she couldn’t get ready fast enough, his frustration boiled over. He said some things that he immediately regretted and spent the rest of the morning apologizing.
Jake kept reminding himself that the purpose of their hunting was about spending time together and not about killing something. He was relieved that being in a shooting house didn’t seem to bother Katy or bring up any painful memories from their ordeal on the Dummy Line. In fact, she didn’t seem troubled by it at all. Jake thought about it enough for both of them. He wondered if texting was a diversion. Then he finally realized that for a typical preteen, texting occurs about every waking minute. She was fine.
Morgan was spending the day shopping in Jackson at the Junior League’s Mistletoe Marketplace and wouldn’t return until late that night. Katy had a birthday party to attend that afternoon, and R. C. Smithson was coming to town to talk with Jake about the family’s security.
R.C. hadn’t changed much. He may have put on ten pounds, and he’d grown a scruffy beard. He dressed professionally for his new job as a private detective, but Jake kept picturing him in his muddy, wet deputy’s uniform. Sitting in Jake’s den, they caught up on the last eighteen months. They had not met before that fateful night, and now there was a bond between them. Jake knew firsthand that R.C. was a good guy, and Katy really took a shine to him.
R.C. pulled out a notepad and asked Jake to explain everything that had happened recently. Jake walked over to the fireplace, looked into the flames, gathering his thoughts, and then sat down on the hearth and started talking in as much detail as he could recount about the Peeping Tom, the camp house, the mysterious cars that drove by, the time he had seen a strange car parked down from his house, and the cryptic letters he had received in the mail that he hadn’t even mentioned to Morgan. He described moving into the gated golf-course community and the expensive security system, which necessitated a bank loan. He explained that the local police had increased their patrolling of the neighborhood and that both he and Morgan were carrying pistols now and how he thought he was becoming paranoid.
R.C. took detailed notes, and when Jake finally paused, he said, “I’ve done some diggin’ since you called. Spoke to Sheriff Ollie. He said to tell you and Katy hello, by the way. Bottom line is that they’ve got concerns also. You may not know this, but several law enforcement agencies have been keepin’ an eye on you.”
“What? Really?”
“Yep—here’s the deal. They suspect that there was one more key player on the other team that night—this piece of shit named Ethan Daniels. His buddies call him Moon Pie or Moon. He’s an opportunistic criminal entrepreneur. He’s into anything that can make him money. He disappeared after the events of that night and stayed gone awhile. Everybody thinks he was next in line to be the top drug-running dog in northeast Mississippi after Johnny Lee and Reese checked out early and that he’s back and has taken over most of their activities, only he’s taken it up a notch.”
“Why don’t they just arrest him?”
“It ain’t that easy.”
“Why not?”
“First, they haven’t been able to catch him in the act, and second, they really want who’s supplyin’ him. The bigger fish. So they’ve been lettin’ ol’ Moon Pie have some rope to see where he’ll take ’em. They suspect he’s being supplied drugs by this Asian dude from the coast. He’s the big fish. That’s who they really wanna take down.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better about my family’s safety,” Jake said, punching a log on the fire with the poker.
“Trash like Moon Pie live for revenge. They live in the moment and don’t even think about tomorrow or consequences. If he was gonna avenge his buddies’ deaths, he’da done it already. Trust me, I know about these things.”
Jake stared at the fire and tried to work it all through his mind. After a moment, he asked, “Isn’t revenge more satisfying when it’s unexpected?”
“That’s not how these redneck criminals think. They’re programmed different. They are all about payback—an eye for an eye…and if that’s what he’s after, he woulda already done it.”
Jake turned to face R.C. “Then tell me, why are the police watchin’ my family?”
R.C. put a fresh dip in his bottom lip and thought for a long moment. Then he said, “Well, ’cause they got a different mind-set, if you will. They’re givin’ ol’ Moon Pie more credit than I do. They think that since he slipped away from us, he’s smarter than the average dope dealer. They may be right. Also, I do know that, since y’all are kinda celebrities, and since Moon Pie’s got lots of patience—he’s a hell of a poacher, after all—that it’s worth it to them to make sure y’all are safe. Also, I think that they really wanna catch him doing something worth federal time. It’s like killin’ two birds with one shot—protectin’ y’all and keepin’ an eye on Moon Pie at the same time. At any rate, law enforcement from West Point, Columbus, and even Tupelo—both city and county—are watchin’ and waitin’. Some of those drive-bys and odd vehicles you’ve noticed are probably unmarked cops, just checkin’ on y’all.”
Jake shook his head.
“They didn’t want you to know and have you worried all the time.”
Jake let out a nervous laugh. “So where were they when this Peeping Tom scared the crap outta Morgan and Katy, and what about my camp house burnin’ down?”
“I can’t explain that. All I do know is that whenever Moon Pie goes missing, somebody’s checkin’ in on y’all. As far as the camp, I was a deputy along that river for years, and at least one old camp house catches fire every year for no reason. It just happens.”
“Well, my insurance company claims it was arson. They aren’t gonna pay for it.”
“I hadn’t heard that. If you’ll give me the adjuster’s name and number, I’ll call to see if I can find out anything. Maybe I can help.”
“So are the police watchin’ this guy right now?”
“Maybe not every minute. Twenty-four-seven surveillance costs too much…but they are keeping an eye on him for sure.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
R.C. flipped back several pages in his notebook. “His mom lives in Tupelo. He has a trailer over by the Columbus Air Force Base, and they believe that he has a houseboat docked at the Columbus Marina. It’s not registered in his name, though. He’s actually pretty clever. At any rate, he runs a business on the old side of Columbus called the Gold Mine. He buys and sells gold. That’s his front. He’s also a suspected poacher.”
Jake stood. “R.C., that’s too damn close. I can’t believe nobody ever told me that he lives just twenty minutes down the road! This is unbelievable! What should I do?”
“Nothing. From what I’ve seen around here and what you’ve told me, you’re doin’ all you can to protect your family, and I promise you’re being watched. Just let the pros do their job.”
“Man oh man. If that guy was actually runnin’ with those rednecks, he’s bad news too. They were pure evil.”
“I agree…but the police think Moon Pie can lead them to a dude that’s even worse. They’ll get ’em both. I’ve gotta ask you somethin’. You got anything to eat?”
Jake exhaled. “Yeah, sure. Whatcha hungry for?”
“You got any sardines and crackers?”
“Uh, no sardines. We probably have some crackers, though.”
“Crunchy peanut butter and white bread?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll just make a sandwich,” R.C. said, following Jake into the kitchen.
“What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll take a Tab.”
Jake took a hard look at him to gauge his seriousness. “We don’t have Tab. How about a Diet Coke?”
“That’ll work. What about a banana?”
This exchange reminded Jake that R.C. marched to a different beat and was totally clueless that he was different from most folks. As Jake searched for the peanut butter, he said, “Tell me how you got into the private-detective business.”
“Remember the BP oil spill?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I got hired by BP to provide security for their executives when they were on the coast. They also paid me real well to hang out with the locals to find out what regular folks were thinkin’ and doin’. But to be honest, I really miss law enforcement.”
“You seemed like a natural cop—like you really enjoyed your work,” Jake said with a twinge of envy.
“Yeah, I really do miss it,” R.C. replied, almost in a whisper.
Jake looked at him. “R.C., what do you think I oughta do?”
“Nothin’. Don’t do anything.” R.C. smeared peanut butter on white bread.
“That’s gonna be real hard, knowin’ that he’s so close.”
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s the best thing. Let the law handle it. They want him as badly as you do.”
R.C. took a long, hard look straight into Jake’s eyes, stressing his point. Then quickly, as if he had just remembered something important, he clapped his hands and said, “Man, I almost forgot. I’ve got four tickets to the Rascal Flatts concert tonight. My girlfriends can’t go. Long story. You want ’em?”
“Are you kiddin’? Absolutely! Whoa, wait a sec. Did you say girlfriends?”
“Like I said, it’s a long story.”