SAFELY BURIED Chapter 10: Cellular Hell

I slammed my brain in gear and ran out to the road. Old man Neidig’s truck was nowhere in sight. He was probably not there. It could be a blessing in disguise—I wouldn’t have to talk to him and make a fool of myself. And why bother Jodie and her stepfather again? Somebody would come along and give me a ride. Or I could drag myself back up the hill and call the police from there. Then I could call the Gleaner and have someone come get me. But time was passing. If I didn’t call the police soon, Paula would get away (if it was Paula). Besides, it would take too long to climb the hill again. I wasn’t up to it anyway. I set out for town.

I was halfway past the Grapevines’ house when the front door opened and Don Grapevine called, “Hey, Phil, is that you? What are you doing?”

I stopped and took a deep breath as I rethought my strategy. “Taking a hike,” I yelled back. “To Campbellsville. Somebody stole my car.”

“What?” He shut the door behind him and strode toward me across the lawn. “Stole your car? What happened?”

I told him in twenty-five words or less.

“You can use my phone,” he said.

“Thanks. I didn’t want to bother you again.”

“It’s not a bother. Let’s go inside before you get sunstroke.”

I followed him into the house and tried not to drip on anything. I called the jail and asked for Sheriff Eggemann. The dispatcher said he was out of town and would not be back until Monday.

I said, “I want to report a stolen car.” I described my blue Civic and gave him the license-plate number. Then I said, “It’s possible that a woman named Paula Henry took it, but I can’t say for sure. She’s wanted for questioning in the Garth murder case. The car is heading toward Brickton right now.”

“What direction, sir?”

“Traveling east from the knobs.”

“We’ll get on it.”

Now that I had called the police, I began to relax. The air-conditioning helped too. I turned to Grapevine, who was staring at me with a puzzled and concerned expression.

“That’s the woman who was with you the other night, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes. I hate to accuse her of stealing my car. I didn’t actually see her.”

He nodded slightly. “Yes, but she’s the most likely suspect, if she was still around here.”

“To tell the truth,” I went on, “it’s hard to see how she could do it. The car was locked, and the windows were only open a crack. I had the keys. She would have had to break in to the car, hotwire the ignition, and then drive it with her leg in a cast—unless she had taken the cast off.”

“It’s not too hard to hotwire a car, if you know what you’re doing,” Grapevine said. “And perhaps she did take the cast off. That would have probably been harder for her to do by herself than starting the car.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Of course, it’s also possible that someone helped her remove the cast.”

“If she had someone helping her, then why would she need to steal my car?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Good point. It was just an idea.”

I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to get back to the paper. Would you mind if I used the phone to get someone to come and get me?”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I can drive you to town.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Come on.”

I followed him through the kitchen and family room to the garage, then out the back door of the garage. A workshop stood off to the side of the house, and a pickup truck was parked in front of it. I was surprised to see a rifle hanging in the rear window. Grapevine did not look like a redneck who rode around with a gun on display. I asked him if he liked to go hunting.

“You bet I do,” he said. “Are you a hunter, Phil?”

I shook my head. “I used to go hunting with my father when I was a kid, but somewhere along the line I turned into a pacifist.”

“That’s too bad,” he said with a chuckle. “Maybe you should take it up again.” He unlocked the truck and turned toward me. “Tell you what—you come out here sometime this fall, and we’ll do some hunting together.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

We climbed in the truck and sat in the heat while the engine warmed up. On a day like this it didn’t need to warm up, but we sat and waited anyway. A minute later he turned on the air conditioner and we drove around the side of the house on a narrow driveway edged with flowers. The flowers ended where the slab joined the driveway in front of the garage.

As we turned onto the county road, I said, “This is a big truck.”

“I like it,” he said. “I never owned a Ford before, but when GM took all that bailout cash from the government, I swore I’d never buy another GM vehicle again. We still have an Escalade—my wife took it to Cincinnati this week—but when we trade that in, it’ll be the last General Motors product we ever own.”

“I guess I’ll have to start thinking about a new car, now that mine’s been stolen,” I said. I had owned the Civic since 2003, when my parents gave it to me when I graduated from DePauw. “Oh what the heck, at least it’s insured,” I added. “I doubt if I could get much on a trade-in anyway. It’s seven years old and it’s got nearly 150,000 miles on it. But it was running fine. I wasn’t planning on buying a new car.”

“Maybe the police will find it for you. You reported it right away. Maybe they’ve already found it.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

“If it’s God’s will, you’ll get it back.”

I didn’t say so, but I still wouldn’t be holding my breath.

We were in the knobs now, and when we reached the first ridge, I turned on my phone to check my calls. I was glad to see that Detective Lieutenant Bakery had tried to get back to me while I was in cellular hell. When I listened to his message, I was even gladder to hear he had left his cell number. No more phone tag, maybe. I wanted to call him back right away, but not with Grapevine sitting next to me.

To change the subject, I said, “Don, I want you to know I really appreciate how you’ve been helping me the past few days.”

He flicked his fingers backward. “Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for me.”

I laughed. “I don’t know about that.”

“Sure you would, just like you went out of your way when you picked up your hitchhiker the other night.”

“That was only because I thought she was in a dangerous situation.”

“Makes no difference.” He glanced over at me. “You helped her. Now I’m helping you. People should help one another. If I do something for you today, you can pay me back by doing something for somebody else tomorrow. The world would be a better place if more people behaved that way.”

“That’s a good attitude,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound patronizing. I had to stifle a yawn. The flickering sunlight and shadows were putting me to sleep.

Don looked at me again. “Do you go to church, Phil?”

Uh-oh, what had I gotten myself into? “I was raised Catholic,” I replied, “but I haven’t been to Mass in years.”

He nodded. “Young people—you’re young compared with me—young people often drift away from their religion. My stepdaughter, Jodie, doesn’t go to church either. And I’m an elder.”

“What church is it?” I asked.

“Campbellsville Presbyterian.”

“I went to a wedding there once. It’s a beautiful modern church.”

“Thank you. If you’re ever in the mood to attend a Sunday service, you are certainly welcome. By the way, that reminds me of something. When Mr. and Mrs. Garth first moved in to the old farmhouse, my wife went over to ask them if they’d like to be our guests at Sunday worship. We make it a practice to invite newcomers to worship with us. We never do any arm twisting. It’s just our way of welcoming people to our community. Well, when Jackie came home she told me Mr. Garth practically slammed the door in her face. ‘We’re atheists,’ he told her. Now, I ask you, what kind of person tells you flat out, ‘We’re atheists’? Jackie said Mrs. Garth acted as if she wanted to be friendly, but her husband made it abundantly clear that he did not want us bothering them, so you can be sure we never did.”

I said, “Glenn Neidig told me pretty much the same thing—Wayne Garth was unfriendly, but Cheryl seemed like a nice person.”

“That about covers it.” He limbered up his fingers on the steering wheel. “It takes all kinds, I guess. But it’s a tragic shame. They’re both dead now. If they were still atheists when they died, you know where they are now.”

Yes indeed, I thought. The same place I would be.