Murder in Caney Fork by Wally Avett

Author:Wally Avett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2021-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

“SO YOU GOT shot at Saturday night?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes sir, and I’d like someone to come out and take a look.”

The sheriff looked hard at me but said to go back home and a deputy would be along in a little while to investigate the incident.

I went by the law office, told Uncle Herman about it Monday morning and drove back home. Uncle Herman shook his head, as puzzled as I was.

The deputy arrived in about an hour, driving an old Ford police car that he said had been used hard by the Carverville Police before he got it.

“But it’s got a bulletproof windshield,” he said. “Take a look at that, about two inches thick. Po-lice department got it new in ’37 and drove the wheels off it. We got it from them ’bout six months ago. Burns a lot of oil, but it gets me there and gets me back. Who shot at you?”

It was an obvious question, I knew, but it sounded funny. I told him I had no idea.

“You been screwing anybody’s wife lately?”

“No, sir.”

“That’ll get you shot at, fer damn sure. It always does. Well, not always. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll look around and take some measurements, write up a report. You may have to help me some.

“I been up about all night,” he said.

I supposed he had been working some law enforcement matter, maybe a fire or another shooting or something like that.

“No, nothing like that,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night on account of that chicken liver casserole.”

“What?”

“You ever eat at that diner down by the railroad?”

“Once or twice, but not regular.”

“Well, I eat down there a lot. The train men all eat in there and they have good food. The cook learnt to cook, they say he did anyway, on a chain gang down in Georgia. He’s not from around here.”

“A chicken liver casserole?”

“Yeah, about once a week he makes a casserole with fried chicken livers in it and crumbled-up cornbread and whole grains of corn, you know, all mixed together. It’s got melted cheese on top of it—it’s real good.”

“Never heard of anything like that.”

“Well, I don’t think it was the casserole, but it might have been the slaw. He puts chopped-up tomatoes in his slaw and it’s good too, but I think the cabbage might have been rank. You know, starting to get too ripe fer eating.”

He leaned against the side of his vehicle and I thought he was going to puke. He didn’t, but he belched twice real loud, rolled his eyes and belched again.

“Where was you standing or sitting or whatever when the shooting started?”

“I was getting out of my car, about here.”

I showed him where I had run, bullets hitting around me, onto the porch and into the house. He got a steel tape measure from his car and made a little drawing. We found where two bullets had made furrows in the ground and were sketching the hits when Uncle Herman and Darlene drove up.

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