Marlee: Crimes We Think They Might Commit

By Gary B. Boyd

The reader experiences what Chester Luttrell sees in his world. The old man learns by observation. The retired police officer is a mentor. Marlee Kinion celebrates her twelfth birthday with a crisis that only Chester can resolve. The retired police officer quietly and methodically guides the young girl through her problem. Rookie Deputy Jim Chamberlain is faced with a series of burglaries and vandalism in his Forest Hills beat. Chester stimulates the young deputys thought processes so he can solve the crimes. His former protg, Detective Barbara Johnson, struggles to unravel the mystery of a teenage boys disappearance. She seeks her old bosss guidance to find the boy before it is too late. Chester knows how to find the answers, but he doesnt want to make the process too easy. He expects each answer found to be a learning experience, a life lesson to be used again and again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504952248

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

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© 2015 Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    09/24/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-5223-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-5224-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015915758

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Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Chapter 1     Fallen Fledgling

Chapter 2     Marking Dog

Chapter 3     Crow Caucus

Chapter 4     Lone Fox

Chapter 5     Of Bucks And Does

Chapter 6     Fawns

Chapter 7     Red Hawk

Chapter 8     Cats And Automobiles

Chapter 9     Flight Of The Hawk

Chapter 10     Cat Fight

Chapter 11     Deer Parts

Chapter 12     Crippled Doe

Chapter 13     Circling Vultures

Chapter 14     Dog In The Trashcan

Chapter 15     Cat On The Roof

Chapter 16     Squirrel On The Wire

Chapter 17     Brown Wren – Tawny Cat

Dedication

To my wife, Shirley, who always supports me and edits my work;

To my daughters, Angela and Tina, who edit my work and keep the story line intact;

To my niece, Kelly, who assisted in editing this book.

Preface

When Man Learned to Talk

The process changed,

Things rearranged

And he needed a thinking brain.

No more all four

Like it was before

Man had learned to walk.

Things got better -

It began to matter

If things were simple or arcane.

It wasn’t the same,

It wasn’t a game

When Man learned to walk.

Experiment -

A detriment,

But a learning tool nonetheless.

Without fetter

It got better

When Man learned to walk.

His mind abuzz

Asking because

It was better than a single guess.

He learned to share

And to take a dare

When Man learned to talk.

He learned too much,

Feelings and such,

And began to feel duress.

It became clear

He found new fear

When Man learned to talk.

Ideas abound

When talk’s around,

But obstinacy can cause pain.

It’s not okay

If you don’t sway

When Man learned to talk.

Anthropomorphism: the attribution of human behaviors to things in nature, most often animals.

Man cannot accept the world as it is. He never could. He cannot understand nature’s ways unless he put it into a form that fit his paradigms. Every action of every creature is scrutinized and studied using human actions as the standards by which everything is measured. Whether you love animals or despise them, you see in them human attributes; that is what makes them either adorable or despicable.

Phantosmia: olfactory hallucination.

That smell that lingers in your nasal passages long after the source of the smell is gone. Is it the result of an illness or is it the result of a few stray molecules of the chemical combination that creates the smell? Smells evoke memories of all sorts. In some cases, the smell can be obnoxious and unnerving, especially if it is a disgusting smell that is associated with horrific memories.

Rationalization: to express reason for conduct to justify it as proper.

Humans struggle to function as societal creatures. Their co-mingling cannot be abided without proper reasoning for their decisions and the ensuing consequences of their actions. Not matter how heinous, any action can be rationalized as necessary by a creative mind. Sometimes, the creative mind will merely describe the execution of the action as doing the necessary.

Justifiable homicide: homicide committed in self defense, in the line of duty or to prevent a heinous crime.

Taking another person’s life is never a good thing… except when such action saves the life or lives of innocents. That is not always an easy legal line to ascertain, but the line does exist and is there for the general good of society. Properly applied, justifiable homicide protects the very existence of societal norms.

Without remorse, Man makes progress in his world. Progress is defined differently depending upon each person’s level of base-need fulfillment. For the pauper, base-need is having a nourishing meal. For the more affluent, base-need is having food and shelter. For the well-to-do, base-need is having food, shelter and luxuries that enhance ones lifestyle.

But for all classes of humankind, a sense of well being and acceptance is a primal base-need. As the poet once uttered, No man is an island. The sense of isolation changes the very soul of a person, rendering him or her suspicious of everyone and everything, unable to fit into society properly. Isolation drives the human mind into a downward spiral from which there is no self-determined escape; the only recourse is intervention.

Within human societal arrangements are sub-cultures; each with its own codes of honor and of ethics. To become part of that sub-culture, one must adhere to the codes. Attacks on that sub-culture are met with full force defensive maneuvers. Disruption of the codes undermines the ability of the individuals’ to continue their defined route to progress.

Forest Hills, especially the Red Oak Loop, had a deeply held sub-culture; everyone looked out for one another. The code was simple: nothing would be allowed to threaten or disrupt the tight-knit family of neighbors. Chester Luttrell was the self-appointed caretaker, The Rock of Red Oak Loop; the fundamental keeper of the code. Those closest to him garnered a high level of protection, no matter the cost. His experiences as a police officer provided him the knowledge and skills to do the necessary to provide that protection.

Chapter One

FALLEN FLEDGLING

T he dog days’ sun parched the ground and caused vegetation to droop. Supplied water kept lawns and gardens verdant in spite of the heat. Stately oaks and other species of trees spread their leafy limbs to break the bright rays. Those sprawling shadows resulted in areas of shade; less sultry, favored respites from the searing sun. Facing southwest, the old man’s front porch ran parallel to one of the major arteries through a large rural housing development. He was settled into his favorite rocker, prepared to watch the world whirl past. He saw the eleven-year old approach. The way her lips were clenched between her teeth indicated that a simple smile was all he should communi cate.

Marlee stepped up to the top porch step without saying a word. Her pale blue eyes briefly connected with the gray eyes of the old man before she softly walked toward a wooden rocker near his. She checked the seat and brushed away unseen dust before she curled a leg beneath her and sat back in the creaking chair.

The old man did not say anything. That was not her way. He slowly rocked and waited.

Without looking directly at her, the old man saw her brush a long wisp of brown hair away from her eyes. She rocked for awhile. The old mortise and tenon joints accounted for the squeaks and creaks of the chairs. A breeze whipped up and pushed the oak leaves that hung heavy on an ancient tree in the front yard. The shade did not quite reach the old man’s rocker. Marlee’s chair was fully shaded. Out of sync, they rocked and watched the leaves flutter.

The breeze stopped. Heat built in the direct sunlight. The old man felt sweat slip from beneath the straw hat that shaded his eyes and cheeks. He thought about moving to another rocking chair on the shady side of the porch. Had he been sitting alone, he would have done so without reservation. He knew better. The action, as simple and easily understood as it would have been to most people, would likely cause the girl to leave. He rocked and sweated… and waited.

Abruptly, Marlee spoke, her words edged with pain. He doesn’t like me.

He’s wrong. The old man was unsure what the words meant, or who they represented. Marlee was not always easy to understand. She simply spoke her mind as if the listener already knew what she was thinking. But, she deserved a response; so he responded as succinctly and supportively as he could.

Marlee’s rocking chair stopped swaying. The old man did not allow his to stop. The change might cause the girl to leave. Something was bothering her; she was there for a reason known only to her. He rocked and waited for her reply. He would help if he could.

A bluebird swirled down from a thin oak limb in a blue and orange flash. Strong wings flapped urgently as the bird demonstrated its tremendous aerial skills and keen focus during its downward plunge. It landed on its feet in the freshly cut grass and jabbed vigorously at a flying insect that it had successfully nabbed and subdued during its acrobatic, somersaulting dive. Suddenly aware that it was being watched, the bluebird clutched its quarry firmly in its beak and fluttered away to a bush. Within the bush’s leafy sanctuary, the bird could consume the morsel in privacy and safety.

A large gathering of coal black crows descended on an oak tree in the front yard of a house farther down the curved street. The noises they made were intentionally irritating, meant to inform other food competitors that they were claiming the area. The old man watched the crows. He knew that his seeming inattention to the young girl would embolden her to continue.

I don’t like him back, she stated. Marlee’s rocker began moving again. He does mean things.

I don’t blame you. I don’t like him either. The old man rocked, never looking directly at the smooth, brooding face of the eleven-year old.

Marlee was special. Her mind raced with thoughts and ideas. Those racing thoughts caused her to be pensively withdrawn at times and energetically outspoken at others. She did not always fit in with her peers and their childish ways. At times, she seemed more mature than chronology would indicate. The old man sometimes wondered if the youngster had inherited an old soul when she was born. She lived in her own world most of the time, only venturing out when the mood struck. The rocker stopped again. Marlee’s face registered concern as her brows pulled together above the bridge of her nose. She gripped the chair arms and leaned toward the old man. In a scolding tone, she said, You shouldn’t not like someone.

The old man knew then that he was deeply embroiled in the conversation with the girl. That happened from time to time. He did not know if it was because her mother was too busy to talk or if the girl actually liked to talk with him. He accepted his role without reservation. The girl apparently used him as a sounding board for some life lesson that she needed to internalize. That’s very wise, Marlee. Where did you learn that?

The girl’s eyes blinked with puzzlement for a few seconds, and then she slowly said, You told me that, Chester. When I was a little girl, you told me You shouldn’t not like someone, because everyone is good inside. Don’t you remember?

Chester Luttrell fought back a smile. He allowed his eyes to connect with Marlee’s for the first time and nodded his head contritely. You are right, Marlee. I should remember my own words. Thank you for reminding me. He held her gaze until she slid back in her rocking chair and began rocking again, faster than before.

I’m still angry with him, Marlee stated tersely. He’s mean. Her eyes fixed on a cardinal that had perched itself on a small oak limb that drooped low over the shaded lawn. The redbird called its territorial warning to any other male cardinal within hearing range.

Chester rocked in silence for a moment. He heard the returned challenge of another male cardinal. The resident cardinal fluttered angrily and repeated its challenge to the potential interloper. Chester needed to resolve what Marlee’s expectation of him was in the conversation. Finally confident that she expected him to offer something, he replied, Sometimes, if I’m really sore with someone, I work in my garden, dig in the dirt. I try to transfer my mental soreness to my muscles.

That makes no sense, Marlee said, not as a challenge to the statement but as an audit of how it fit into helping her with her problem.

Chester grinned without looking directly at the youngster. I like to dig in the dirt. I like to dig a hole when I’m upset with someone. It’s kind of like I bury my problems in that hole.

Marlee continued rocking silently.

Chester checked her reaction. He could see that she needed some reassurance that her problem was accepted by him. If what he did is bad enough, I don’t blame you for being angry. But, will your anger make him better? Will being angry make you feel better?

The girl’s rocker speed increased. She watched the cardinal fly to another limb and challenge its world again. The interloping cardinal immediately returned the challenge and flew into Chester’s front lawn airspace. The resident cardinal intercepted him and a brief aerial battle, flapping wings and clicking beaks, ensued. The interloper left as quickly as it had appeared. Marlee pulled her lips in between her teeth and moved her jaw side to side. She concentrated on the feel of her upper and lower lips sliding against one another until they became too dry to slide. She wet her lips with her tongue and continued the process. The rocker slowed and she blinked away moisture in her eyes. I haven’t told him.

Chester rocked and waited. It was not time for him to speak. Marlee had more words to add. He knew that because of past experiences. She was thinking, processing various life lessons as she sought an answer to the quandary that the old man had presented.

Marlee’s rocker stopped abruptly. I need to tell him that he is being mean and that I don’t like it.

How will you do that?

Marlee looked at the old man querulously before her face transitioned into a bemused smile, On Facebook, of course. In one smooth motion, she uncurled the leg beneath her and pushed herself upright from the chair, grasped the porch column and swung around it toward the steps. The nail is loose on the top step, she pointed and said as she descended to the sidewalk. Without pause, she crossed the flagstone walk and stepped into the grass.

Chester chuckled lightly. Yeah. I need to fix that before I catch my toe on it and fall. He watched the tall, thin girl bounce across the lawn toward the street. Check for cars before you cross and tell your Mother I said hello. He knew to ask Marlee to extend greetings to Darla because that would tell her mother where the girl had been, in case she was concerned.

I always do, Marlee responded without looking back.

Chester did not know which of the admonitions applied, or if both did. He worried about the girl, though in reality, her situation was none of his business - unless one considered the welfare of another human being his business. He moved to a porch chair that was shaded.

A flurry of activity beneath a mock orange bush caught Chester’s attention. A tawny cat frantically fled from a pair of brown wrens who were intent on chasing her from the area of the bush. They screeched ominously as they dive bombed the cat. Chester knew the birds had a nest in the bush. The pair, or a pair from a line of descendant wrens, had used the bush as a nesting area for years. He smiled as the beleaguered cat retreated without looking back. Each dive by the tiny birds gave the cat cause to increase its speed of retreat.

Chester slowly lifted himself from his comfortable chair, descended the porch steps and walked toward the bush. He expected to find that more was amiss than just the cat’s attempt to invade the nest. As he expected, beneath the decorative bush, in the dark recesses of the thick morass of thin limbs and small green leaves, Chester saw the cause of the parents’ concern. One of their hatchlings was cowed on the ground, blended into the brown mulch. It had fallen from the nest. In spite of dive bomb attacks directed at him by the two birds, Chester gently caught the tiny creature with one hand while he used his other hand and hat to fend off the desperate defenders. He carefully set the tiny, fuzzy bird into the stick and straw nest with its two siblings. He beat a hasty retreat with both parents in pursuit. By the time he returned to his chair in the shade, the mother bird had flown back to the nest to reassure herself that her babies were safe. He watched as the wrens settled back to their normal routine, bringing insects to tuck into the screaming maws of their offspring. He smiled with satisfaction.

Marlee did not directly tell the boy that his comments had hurt her feelings and made her angry. Instead, she posted a scathing comment on Facebook about some people who are evil and should not be allowed to live. It made her feel better even if it failed to correct the issue.

An hour after Marlee left, Chester watched Darla come out of her front door and walk down the sloping lawn toward the back of her house, apparently in search of something or someone. Her arms were crossed when she reappeared from her search. Her legs were moving faster than when she had walked out of sight behind the house. Her body language expressed urgency. She glanced toward Chester’s front porch. Her face showed concern. She quickly walked across the street and approached the old man in the rocker.

Hello Chester. Darla got to the subject without waiting for a reciprocal salutation. Have you seen Marlee?

Chester stopped rocking as soon as Darla entered his yard. He recognized a mother’s concern. He knew what had happened. She was over here a bit ago. I watched her go in the front door when she left here. She was upset with some boy who she said has made some bad comments to her or about her. Did you check her room?

The concern that showed on Darla’s face lessened slightly. Well, I thought I did. If she’s upset, maybe she was lying on the floor beneath the bed, or curled up in the bathtub. Sometimes she does that. I called her name, but she didn’t answer. The mother rubbed her cheeks with both hands and blew out her breath to show her exasperation with her daughter. She sometimes does that too. How upset was she?

Chester leaned forward and smiled. Not real bad. I think she was going to get on Facebook and give him a piece of her mind. I suppose that will fix it for her for now.

Without saying a word, Darla reached into a pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Her fingers danced nimbly on the small screen until she found what she was seeking. Her head tilted back slightly and she exclaimed. Ah. She did post something. Let’s see what it was. She read the tiny screen while Chester continued to lean forward in anticipation of hearing the words. She shrugged, Well, I suppose that will work, but probably not. It just makes her sound… Darla did not finish the sentence. She did not like the feel of the words she wanted to use. Sorry I bothered you, Chester. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned to leave.

No bother, Darla. She’s just going through some growing pains. Kids can be cruel to one another at times. She’s at that age where she takes everything to heart. Just love her and she will be fine. Chester hoped that his age-wizened words would help. He knew better. Marlee did not easily accept behaviors that she interpreted as hurtful, and she interpreted a lot of behaviors as hurtful. How long are you on vacation?

Darla paused her exit long enough to respond. Such as it is, the rest of this week. That girl is going to cause me to become prematurely gray if I don’t get back to work soon. Darla tried to break the harshness of her statement with a smile and a forced chuckle.

Kids. You have to love’em. Chester said as Darla continued her move toward the street and her house. He knew that Marlee’s erratic behaviors created disorder for the young professional couple whose lives were very structured before the girl was born. He had met the Kinions when they bought the house across the street from him more than thirteen years earlier. Chester and his wife had raised four children of their own and he knew the pains of adjusting life patterns to accommodate one’s offspring. He saw the advantage of multiple children; the younger ones tended to be easier to raise because the older ones contributed to the process, wittingly or not. A single child only received input and attention from the parents.

Alone in her room, lying on the floor beneath her bed, Marlee smiled smugly. Responses from her friends were beginning to arrive. Some simply ‘liked’ her post; others put more thought into it. Nearly all were supportive of her comment. Only one was distinctly negative. She scowled as soon as she read it.

Maybe YOU shouldn’t be on FB!

The same person quickly added another comment. Or on earth. GKY! He received a few likes almost as soon as he posted the second comment.

Marlee’s heart beat faster. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Anger and hurt built within her. She knew what the boy meant. He had not gotten the message. If anything, he had turned her post against her. She planned her response.

Chester heard a rustle near an overgrown forsythia bush that marked the boundary between him and his next door neighbor. He looked, expecting to see a bird scratching among the old leaves beneath the heavy foliage. Instead, he saw a neighborhood cat, black and white mottled. The creature was poised, crouched with only a tiny wiggle at the tip of its tail. It was intently focused on some kind of quarry.

A burst of activity exposed the predator to the prey. A young, exploring gray squirrel in search of food on the ground had ventured too far from the relative safety of the oak tree. Startled by the fast approaching feline, the squirrel turned to seek refuge in a small dogwood tree that lived in the shade of the oak. The cat was too fast. With a terrified squeal, the small gray found itself clutched in the jaws of the natural killing machine.

Other squirrels reacted to the squeal and retreated to the highest limbs of the surrounding large trees. A torrent of chatters filled the air as the squirrels shouted warning calls for all other squirrels to hear. Some of the calls became long, drawn out whistles, a clear indication that the danger was ominous. Only one squirrel ventured to a low limb. The large gray squirrel was on a large limb that hung over the spot where the cat and the small squirrel were enjoined. Chester watched the mother squirrel shake her tail and chatter relentlessly at the cat.

The cat released the baby and pawed at it, curiously checking it for movement. The tiny squirrel was frozen on the grass where it and the cat had met. The cat pawed it again, almost gently as it tried to coax the immobile lump into motion. The squirrel did not move. The cat sniffed its captive and twitched its tail. The cat looked around as if to ensure no other predator was planning to take its prize. Satisfied that its catch was secure, the cat licked its lips and slowly walked away toward the edge of the forsythia bush with an occasional glance back at the small, gray body on the grass.

The cat sprawled on its stomach beneath a scraggly limb of the bush, positioned so it could watch the motionless squirrel. Chester watched, amazed that the cat did not immediately eat its catch. The domesticated cat still carried its desire to hunt and kill, a trait unmodified through countless generations of genetic manipulation by humans.

The mother squirrel continued her angry chatter for several minutes. Other, more distant squirrels discontinued their warning calls. The danger had passed as far as they were concerned. The predator had exacted its toll. They could return to their normal routine while giving wide berth to the cat beneath the forsythia greenery.