'Really good, especially on our Web site. Lot of folks like the Appalachian stuff. Takes 'em back to a simpler time, I suppose.'
'I think we could all use a bit of that. Well, thank you.'
'Hope you come back. Got a sale on black bear cubs sculpted from chunks of coal. Makes a right fine paperweight.'
'I'm sure.'
Stone walked out of the 'feel-good' shop feeling like he was navigating the last few yards to his own death. He really was all alone again.
CHAPTER 18
THE ASPHALT ROAD gave way about a half mile out to macadam. Stone passed by a stone church that had a small steeple with a dry-stack stone wall encircling the property. Next to this house of worship was a graveyard. The former graveyard caretaker Stone took a moment to walk through the burial plots. The same family names kept popping up on the headstones. Stone saw the grave of Samuel Riker. He'd died five years ago at the age of forty-one.
There were many Tyrees also sprinkled around. One tombstone, darkened by age, was the resting place of Lincoln Q. Tyree. He'd died in 1901. Stone thought it must be a bit disconcerting to pass by a graveyard with a marker already bearing your name, but perhaps the good sheriff didn't come this way often.
Two graves still had fresh flowers on them and the mounds of dirt looked new. Rory Peterson had died a week ago. The name on the other grave made Stone do a double take. Debby Randolph had gone to her Lord a day after Peterson had died. That's apparently why the woman at the shop had acted a little strangely. Peterson was forty-eight while Debby had only been twenty-three.
Stone walked on, turning left at a fat oak with thick sprawling branches that resembled more Atlas holding up the world than a mere tree. Hanging from one of the branches was a sign that read 'A Midsummer's Farm' with an arrow pointing to the left. He went on for another hundred yards down a crushed gravel path until he came to the house, although that term clearly didn't do it justice. He wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this.
'Antebellum' was the first word that jumped to mind. It was large, constructed of white clapboard and sections of stone with black doors and shutters and no fewer than four stone chimneystacks. A broad front overhang supported by rows of elaborately milled columns offered up a fine porch with rocking chairs, sturdy tables, hanging plants and an upholstered swing anchoring one end. The landscaped yard stretched on and on with the perimeter bordered by stacked stone walls. In a cobblestone-paved motor court was parked a muddy pickup truck along with a Mini Cooper in racing green with a white top.
The work to be done was in the stables that were almost out of sight from the house. He spent the next several hours mucking out stalls and sorting bridles and reins and other equipment as several horses whinnied and stamped their hooves in other stalls.
Stone was rubbing his aching back when he heard the horse's hooves pounding his way. The fifteen-hand- high chestnut drew up next to him and Danny jumped down. He pulled two beers from his jacket pocket and handed one to Stone. 'Heard from Ma you were out here.'
He popped the can lid and a bit of the liquid spewed out. 'Horse riding and beer delivery ain't a good fit,' he said.
'Knee looks to be okay,' Stone noted.
'I'm a fast healer. What are you doing?'
'Mucking stalls among other things.'
'I'll help you.'
'You sure?'
'Got nothing else to do right now.'
They went into the stables and Danny grabbed a shovel after tethering his horse to an iron ring stuck in cement in the ground.
Stone eyed a bruise on the side of the man's face. 'It was the other side that fellow nailed on the train, wasn't it?'
'Duke was too fast for me in the stall this morning. Clocked me in the face when I was trying to bridle him. Damn horse.'
'But a beautiful one.'
'You ride?'
'Not if I can help it. You call this place a hellhole? Which part-the pool, the mansion or the cool car parked in front?'
'I'm the exaggerating type.'
'Seriously, why would you want to leave something like this?'
'It's hers, not mine.' Danny slung horse manure into a wheelbarrow.
'You're her son. You'll inherit someday.'
Danny stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, muscled physique. 'Who says I want it?'
'Okay, fair enough. You an only child?'
'That's right.'
'I saw your father's grave coming up here.'
'That's why we got all this stuff.'
'How so?'
'Lawsuit against the damn coal company that killed my old man. See, coal companies almost always win those things, or else settle for pennies on the dollar 'cause they got all the good lawyers wrapped around their little finger. But Mom held on, proved her case. Coal company appealed but in the end she kicked their ass, they caved and she got her blood money. And the only thing it cost us was her husband and my dad.' Danny tipped another shovelful of horse manure into a large wheelbarrow and banged his tool against the metal side as if in exclamation.
'And your mom still runs the restaurant?'
'She likes to keep busy, and people need to eat.'
'The whole town looks pretty prosperous.'
'Coal prices highest in decades and there ain't enough miners to do the job. When demand's higher than supply, wages go up. About doubled in fact over the last five years. High wages, low cost of living equals prosperity for the common man. Simple.'
'You sound like an economics major.'
'Nah, just a dumb ex-jock, but I got eyes, ears and a little bit of common sense. Where you bunking tonight?'
'Must be a motel or something around here?'
'Back in town, couple blocks from my ma's place and around the corner from the courthouse, there's a place that has rooms to let. Cheap but clean. Bernie Sandusky runs it.' He laughed. 'Tell old Bernie that Danny sent you.'
'Why, that'll get me a reduced rate?'
'Nope, more likely get your butt kicked out the door.'
'Why's that?'
'Bernie has a real cute granddaughter named Dottie. Few years ago he caught me and Dottie in one of his rooms working on our
Stone watched until Danny and his ride disappeared from sight. He finished his work and later idly followed a path that wound around a small hill covered with scrub pines. Abby's property seemed to have no end. He reached
