Word Has It (Wordplay Mysteries Book 1)

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  Wanda said each name five times in her mind to imprint them there. She made a mental note to look them up in the old school yearbooks. “What happened to them?”

  She shifted her gaze to something outside the window. Her voice lowered, as if now far away in the past. “I don’t recall. I know Colton was shipped off to a military academy. I think Tommy dropped out of school. Or perhaps they expelled him. He lived with his dad on the Ferguson Dairy Farm. His dad was one of the hands, hired right out of high school. They lived in one of the workers’ shacks, but his father basically let the boy run wild.”

  “No mother?” Wanda had gotten out an advertisement for a dress shop in Cleburne she’d found in her purse and had begun to scribble the information on the back of it.

  “Nope. Died shortly after childbirth I believe.” She continued to stare out the window as if her mind tried to grab a piece of the past. “The man tried, I guess. He worked long hours at the dairy farm and was a loyal employee. I seem to recall that Tommy got in trouble, real trouble in seventh grade. Mr. Ferguson offered him a job assisting the gardener on the grounds after school in the spring and summer months. For a while, it seemed to do the trick. Then, after Colton’s parents died, Tommy seemed to regress. I guess they were bad for each other. Tommy, Bubba, and Colton used to hop the trains and ride into Fort Worth. Would be gone for days. Had the police after them several times.”

  “And the other one? Bubba?”

  The old woman slowly shook her head. “Arrested for vandalism and underage drinking when he was in tenth grade. Sent to juvenile hall. I have no idea what happened after that. Some of them you just can’t turn around.” She dipped her head and began to twist the old wedding band on her left hand.

  Betty Sue picked up on the cue and changed the subject. “So, how are your son and his family? They live in Dallas, right?”

  The lady raised her gaze, the twinkle returning. For the next several minutes they let her chat on about her grandkids, one of which had married and was expecting her second child. The other two were career-minded.

  Then, Wanda could tell the woman’s energy waned. She stood and extended her hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us today, Mrs. Tucker. God bless and keep you.”

  “And you, my dear. What was your name again?”

  “Wanda. Wanda Warner.”

  “Ah, I remember you. You came when you were in third or fourth grade, right? I never taught you because the year you would be in my class, I was staying home with my baby girl, but I recall you being one of the brightest students in your class. Always getting awards. Went to state in the spelling bee, didn’t you?”

  Wanda felt her cheeks warm. “That was a very long time ago.”

  After waving goodbye, Wanda mulled over the information they had gleaned as they traipsed to the car. “Do you recall those two boys, Betty Sue?”

  “I do now that she mentioned them. Hoodlums. Bullies from day one.”

  “And Tommy’s father worked on the dairy farm. I wonder if he knew about the cave?”

  “I doubt it.” Betty Sue clicked the fob to open the car door. “He would have been hired after high school in the late 1940’s. Long after the bootlegging stopped.”

  Wanda waited until they were buckled in then she asked. “How do you figure that?”

  “Easy. Carl was in my first grade class in 1981 so he had to have been born in 1974 or ’75. Colton, in sixth grade, would have been born in 1968 or ’69. So, if Tommy’s dad was hired right out of high school that would have been in 1948 or ’49.”

  “No later than 1950 to have a twelve-year-old boy.”

  “Right. Which means he worked there for over thirty years. The dairy farm closed in ’82 during the oil crisis.”

  “Of course. Many Texans lost their shirts in those years. Scrub Oak almost became a ghost town. Big Bill worried that we’d have to move.”

  Betty Sue took her hand from the wheel to squeeze her friend’s fingers. “I am so glad you didn’t.”

  “Me, too. We both planted gardens to get by, remember? We’d trade veggies back and forth to make soups.”

  “I do. And pooled our dollars to buy a ham hock to share.”

  Wanda let off a long sigh. “Tough times. Bill would take the church bus into Fort Worth to work, along with six other men, because we couldn’t afford gasoline for the car even at rock-bottom prices.”

  “My Henry travelled, as you know, selling farm equipment. He had to get that job on a farm in Kansas. For three years, the girls and I only saw him on holidays.”

  “And Bill would come by every evening to check on you.”

  She smiled. “I have never been more grateful for you and your husband.”

  Wanda felt the heat rise from her neck into her eyes. She hated sentimentality. Once she started crying there was no stopping the dam from bursting for at least a half hour. She always preferred to let that happen late at night when she lay in her own bed. She swallowed and redirected the conversation. “I imagine the Fergusons had invested heavily in oil and mineral rights back then.”

  “Yes. And as you recall, the wells around here all shut down.”

  Wanda snapped around in her seat, straining the belt against her shoulder. “That’s right. There are two still abandoned ones just a few miles north of town. Big and Little Betsy.”

  “Uh-huh. I used to trek my students there to look at them. They’re fenced off now to preserve them from vandals, but there’s a historical marker plaque that describes their heyday.”

  “I bet the kids had fun.”

  “Yes. The rigs were on the edge of the old dairy farm. Betsy is often a nickname for a cow. Get it? The Fergusons sold most of the land in the eighties to that investor who tore down the worker’s shanties and established the resort.”

  Wanda felt a shudder ripple up her spine. “Wasn’t his name Otto Ford?”

  “And everyone kiddingly called him ‘Auto’ behind his back because he was always sputtering about his money and prestige. A real motor-mouth.” Betty pulled over, stopped the car, and put her hands to her opened lips.

  The two stared at each other and then whispered in unison. “The Scrabble board.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Much of what Betty Sue recalled had escaped Wanda’s radar. But then, Betty Sue had been a teacher and naturally knew everything about her students and their families.

  Wanda figured she must have been asleep at the wheel through many of those years. Busy raising kids and holding down the fort as her hubby commuted long hours. She’d spent most of her time figuring out how to scrape pennies together to send her two kids to state universities, though both also had held jobs and earned partial scholarships.

  Then, after Bill’s stroke in 2004, she became the bread winner doing freelance writing. She continued to do that for fifteen years, even after his second, fatal one hit in 2006. It kept her going until she decided to retire in 2019.

  Perhaps she had become bored with the easy life and needed a project. Maybe that’s why her energy had renewed since forming the watches and investigating Carl’s innocence. Is that why she felt so adamant about resolving the mystery? Wanda decided not to delve too deeply into the whys for now and concentrate on the who and how.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon in the library with Betty Sue, flipping through old yearbooks, scanning old newspaper articles, and reminiscing. Somehow, if the Scrabble board clues rang true, the Ferguson cave where Colton, Tommy, and Bubba used to do things they were not supposed to do, and “Auto” Ford were tied together. But how, they had yet to figure out.

  “Let’s look up Auto. A big shot investor has to have a paper trail in the newspapers.”

  “Maybe his family and the Fergusons ran in the same social circles.” Betty Sue clicked at the keyboard. “Let’s check out the society pages in the Dallas paper around the 1980’s.”

  “Okay. While you are doing that, I’ll scan the Wall Street Journals and financial news.”

&n
bsp; A half hour later, the two had pieced together enough information to link the two families. The Fords, distant relations to Henry’s dynasty, moved from auto manufacturing and sales into real estate development. Otto’s father, Aloysius had been a self-made man. He had sold the land, which became the dairy farm, to the original Ferguson patriarch. They may have been involved in the bootlegging together, but the oil discovered under the land had been the true investment. During the early1900’s people began drilling for oil all over the state. Because of the large pockets discovered in the area, many young men settled here and signed up to be rough necks working the drills. Some were not paid but were promised a small percentage of the mineral rights if oil was struck. Aloysius used that money to put himself through college and law school.

  When the Depression hit, Aloysius Ford became the attorney for many of the landowners and oil drillers. Recalling his own past hard times, he traded mineral rights for his services since cash was scarce. When the economic boom exploded after WWII, he cashed in on those favors and made millions. The Fergusons had been one of the families he had represented. Tied economically and socially for decades, it only made sense for Otto Ford to bail the Ferguson dynasty out and buy their land in the 1980’s, since he already retained most of the mineral rights.

  “Perhaps he knew the wells were drying up. So, he figured the land might be worth something.”

  “Reasonable to me Wanda.” Betty Sue sat back and stretched her arms over her shoulders. “My eyes are tired. Let’s call it a day and go grab a burger.”

  Wanda laughed, then duck her head when she caught Barbara’s stern glare, her finger to her lips. In a low voice she bent closer to Betty Sue. “You want junk food??”

  Betty Sue folded her notebook and grabbed her purse. “Occasionally.” She raised her nose and exited the library.

  Wanda scrambled to gather her things and followed. Disappointment set in when Betty Sue let her order first. She got a cheeseburger, onion rings and iced sweet tea. Betty Sue ordered a hamburger, no bun, a bottle of water, and a salad.

  “Since when did Better Burgers start making salads?”

  Betty Sue scooted into the booth with her tray. “They always have as far as I know.” With a shrug she stabbed her plastic fork into a piece of lettuce.

  Wanda’s appetite waned. She ate half her sandwich, only three onion rings, and sipped her tea. Her mind, however, kept churning. Thoughts tumbled as if someone shuffled the tiles in a bag for a Scrabble game. Tiny bits of information, none of them making words or sense.

  “So then what have we learned from our afternoon of intense research?”

  Betty Sue tilted her head to the side as she sliced a piece of hamburger and dipped it in mustard. “I am not sure.”

  “Well, other than Otto Ford had to have known Colton, and Tommy and Bubba.” Wanda crunched down on another onion ring. Heck with the grease, cholesterol, and calories. She’d bought them. Why waste them?

  “How? Why would a rich tycoon have anything to do with three hoodlums?” Betty Sue chomped on more salad.

  Wanda sighed. “Maybe they did odd jobs for him while the resort was being built?”

  Betty Sue pushed the thought away with her hand. “I am sure he had a foreman, and contractors to oversee the day labor. And those kids were not the type to get their armpits sweaty with an honest day’s work. Believe me. Although Mrs. Tucker did mention Tommy had worked on the Ferguson grounds a while.”

  “Well, I still feel there is some connection.”

  Betty Sue wiped her mouth. “Then there is only one way to find out. Ask Carl or find Colton and ask him.”

  “I know.” Wanda rested her chin on her hand and scooted the saltshaker next to the pepper. “Not an easy task to undertake.”

  Betty Sue patted her arm. “If anyone can figure this out, you can.”

  Wanda wish she had her friend’s confidence. Trying to talk with Carl would ruffle too many feathers, especially Todd’s, whose she had slowly begun to smooth over, she hoped. And how in the world could she locate Colton? Mrs. Tucker had helped with some background information, but nothing beyond the fact he’d been sent to military school decades ago.

  Wait. Perhaps the school’s alumni association could help. Even if he was expelled or dropped out, they might have some information. It was worth a try.

  “Betty Sue. I better go. Thanks for all your help today.” She snatched the ticket from the table. “Dinner is on me.” She shuffled her things together and rose after leaving a nice tip on the table.

  Betty Sue, stopped, her mouth opened to receive her last bite of hamburger meat. She set her fork down with a questioning frown. “Bye.”

  “I’ll call ya later.” With a wiggle of her fingers, Wanda left, then realized Betty Sue had driven. That meant she had to walk home. The bank clock read ninety-two degrees.

  With a groan, she trudged up 12th Street the four blocks to Spruce. Well, maybe she’d work off that last onion ring on the way.

  Dripping wet and panting, she unlocked her back door to be greeted by an overanxious dachshund bouncing and twirling like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “What is it, Sophie? My word. You act as if I’d been gone for a month.” She set her things down on the kitchen counter and reached in the fridge for the jug of iced water.

  Sophie whimpered and plopped into her bed, her long chin draping over the edge.

  Wanda laughed. “All right.” She bent down to rub the velvety ears. Soft, pleading, brown eyes gazed back at her. After a minute of petting and cooing she dug a doggie bone treat from the box and gave it to her pet.

  Maybe Sophie would leave her alone long enough to make a few phone calls. Back on her laptop, Wanda searched for military schools near San Antonio. She ruled out Texas Military Institute because it was coed. She doubted the Arthurs would have sent Colton to a school with girls. San Antonio Academy. All boys. Formed after WWI. Known for its disciplinary and academic excellence. Bingo.

  Wanda dialed the number.

  The receptionist answered on the fourth ring.

  Wanda put on her best little old lady voice. “Hello, I hate to bother you but we are a bit desperate. You see there was a shooting in our North Texas town and one of the men was identified as Carl Smithers.”

  Wanda stopped and swallowed. Not a lie, exactly. She’d confess that tonight in her prayers, or she’d never get to sleep.

  “I am chairperson of our neighborhood watch association and we are trying to locate his next of kin.”

  “Oh? How could we possibly help?” A squeak of a chair spring came over the phone speaker.

  “He had a brother named Colton Smithers. The boys were orphaned back in the eighties and Colton, being the eldest, was sent to your school by a benefactor. I hoped your Alumni Association might have some record of his whereabouts.”

  “Let me connect you with our admissions director. She has been here for over thirty years. Perhaps she might know something.”

  Wanda waited on hold as “I am Proud to Be an American” played. Halfway through the second verse, a voice answered and introduced himself.

  “Oh, hello.” Why she had expected a female voice, Wanda didn’t know.

  “Brenda explained your situation.”

  Good. She didn’t want to have to repeat herself.

  “Yes, unfortunately, I do recall Colton Smithers. Unruly, he spent most of his time in detention. Ran away several times, but the police always located him. He had an anger deep in his eyes I had rarely seen. And he fed it regularly. Hated school. Hated the other boys. Hated any routine.” He paused and let off a sad chuckle. “Even hated the food.”

  “Don’t most kids?”

  “Yes, ma’am. About the only thing normal about him. Eventually, we had to expel him. Packed him up and sent him back to your town, I assume.”

  “Scrub Oak?” Mrs. Tucker surely would have mentioned that. Or Chief Arthur.

  “Let me see.”

  Wanda heard computer keys clicking.<
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  “Hmm, the archive records haven’t all been computerized. Only back to 1990. May I call you back? I am afraid I will have to get someone to dig through the old filing cabinets in the basement. That may take a day or two.”

  “No problem. Any help would be appreciated.”

  “I am sorry to hear about his brother.”

  Wanda cleared her throat. “Yes. Thanks.”

  She disconnected the call. Sophie raised her head and cocked it. But her tail didn’t wag.

  With a groan, Wanda got up. “I know. I know. I confess. I twisted the truth a tad.”

  Sophie let of a long sigh and turned in her bed until she faced the wall.

  “Fine. Now my dog is upset with me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brenda at San Antonio Academy called back Friday morning. Colton Smithers had been expelled at the age of 16 in 1984. Two teachers assigned to escort him back to Scrub Oak lost track of him when they stopped for gas. After a three-day search with the help of the Waco Police, the school gave up and filed papers of truancy.

  Wanda thanked her for the information and drove to the fire station to speak to Fire Chief Arthur. She found him at his desk, half-hidden behind a stack of folders. She tapped on the partially opened door.

  He smiled and waved her in. “Hey, there. Bringing me more brownies?”

  She suddenly felt contrite. Not for coming emptyhanded as much as trying to bribe him with sweets the first time. “No, I didn’t bring y’all anything. Sorry.” She fanned her face. “Too hot to bake.”

  “Tell me about it. Try wearing fire-retardant gear in this weather.” He motioned her to sit down and shoved the files a few inches to the right so she could see him better.

  “Are you too busy?”

  “Nah, Wanda. Glad to have the reprieve. My eyes were starting to cross.” He removed his glasses and wiped them. “Preparing for a State Audit.”

  “Is that bad?”

  He gave her a quick shrug. “Nah, the Texas Commission of Fire Prevention drops in every few years to make sure we are compliant. Routine stuff. I admit, I haven’t been diligent about keeping up with the paperwork, though. Hate doing it.” He shrunk into his shoulders. “The wife handles all the bills and things at home.”