Free Deep Down (I) by Karen Harper Page A

going to count sang.”
    She flipped back a page to Mariah’s major counting month of August and skimmed the entries. Vern Tarver’s name was listed about twice a week with the name of restaurants in Highboro. Mariah’s scrawling handwriting recorded a church covered-dish supper to raise money for Widow Winchester. “Look,” she said, pointing at a Wednesday in August. “This doesn’t say Sang but Sung—Peter Sung’s name!”
    “Your hunch about talking to him sounds right on. I’ll have to check if he was in town then. Anything under the first few September dates?”
    She flipped to the current month. Since her mother had disappeared on the fourth, not much was filled in but for Vern’s name—this time crossed off heavily, jaggedly, on the third. On the fourth, scribbled in light pencil, was Semples OK.
    “Does that say samples?” Drew asked, reading it upside-down. “Maybe Peter Sung wanted some samples of wild ginseng to know the quality he could expect to buy this year.”
    “No, see—the S is capitalized. Semples.”
    “Junior and Charity Semple? They’re the only Semples in the area, and he grows raised sang up in the woods above his place. But would she count sang that’s not wild but cultivated?”
    “I’m pretty sure she always kept an eye on his crop—technical name, virtually wild sang. The crop’s health is a valid indicator since, once he plants the seeds, Mother Nature takes over. He used to have a couple acres of sang, scattered throughout the woods above his house.”
    “It’s worth a try, a place to start. And that notation is on the day she disappeared.”
    “You’re sure she got that far—that is, left the house that day and wasn’t somehow taken from here?” she asked.
    “A couple of people spotted her walking along the highway that morning—come to think of it, in the direction of the Semples’. I’ll go check on this at their place.”
    “You?” she challenged, stepping ahead and turning to face him as he tried to pass her to head out the door. She raised her chin to look him in the eye. “I thought we were working together on this.”
    “Jess, you remember Junior Semple. Believe me, he’s gotten more cantankerous and off-the-wall over the years.”
    “Is he the one who tied copperhead snakes around his sang patch?”
    “No, but he’s paranoid about poachers. He’s been in trouble before for his belief that the best defense is a good offense. I’ll take you with me whenever I need help finding a sang site, but not out to the Semples’.”
    They faced each other squarely in the doorway, half in, half out. She didn’t budge. “I realize the man used to be trigger-happy,” she conceded, “but he might tell you more if I were there. It would be like a daughter just looking for her mother with your help, not some official investigation. You’d probably spook him, now that you’re sheriff here.”
    “I don’t want you getting hurt. You should be here, in case word comes about Mariah’s whereabouts.”
    “You mean I’m allowed to stay here now?”
    “Yes, but don’t make this—”
    “Difficult? It is, Drew! I’m going with you. Please, or else you can just lock me up in your jail cell!”
    He opened his mouth to say something else, then just shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “All right. You just might be of help. But if Junior pulls anything, you do exactly what I say.”
    “Sir, yes, sir!”
    He cocked his big head and squinted down at her. “You been around marines, ma’am? Then you know the chain of command is not something to mock or ignore. Let me have that calendar,” he said, taking it from her and glaring down at it instead of her. “It may just be our first piece of evidence, not only because of Semples being listed here. Her crossing out of Vern Tarver’s name, after this long string of dates, looks really angry. And if she was upset, maybe he was, too.”
     
    No one answered Drew’s “Hello!” or knock at