Seminole Bend

by Tom Hansen

  “Lew, I understand how you feel. But please let me make some calls to our office in Pittsburgh and see what I can find out. It won’t do you any good to go looking for Janet without knowing exactly where she went.”

  “Janet wouldn’t just get up and leave like that without talking to me first,” countered Lew. “I can’t explain her letter but I’m worried something happened. Could you call the police up in Uniontown and start an investigation?”

  “Lew, I will make the call, but legally Janet will be considered a ‘Voluntary Missing Adult’ because she wrote a note explaining her absence. They probably won’t even file a report for a week, but I’ll see what I can do. Hang tight at the airport. I’ll call you on this line as soon as possible.”

  The flight to Pittsburgh had just departed when Agent Jones called back. “Lew, I talked the Uniontown PD down to a forty-eight hour waiting period and they will open a file first thing on Thursday if you don’t hear from her first. It’s best if you stay in Florida until we know where she is. Once that happens, we can either fly you back to Pittsburgh or wherever she is staying. Please take a taxi back to the Holiday Inn and kill some time by the pool or something. Or we could pick you up and take you back there, if you wish. I’ll call and let the hotel know you’ll be returning. One thing, we would like to accompany you when you return to Uniontown. Not really a request, I might add.”

  Lew wasn’t sure why the FBI wanted to go to Pennsylvania with him, but he assumed it had to do with Sheryl’s wedding ring. He also knew it wouldn’t do much good to argue with Agent Jones.

  “Alright, fine Jones. I can get my own damn ride back to the hotel. But I’ll be at your doorstep first thing on Thursday morning. And then I want some action, got it?” Lew was determined to get the last word in and make sure it was hammered home.

  “Sure thing, Lew. But call me immediately if you hear from Janet before Friday.”

  Lew hung up the receiver without responding. He thanked the US Air folks for their hospitality, grabbed his bag and headed for the car rentals. He had no plan to spend the next two days hanging loose by the Holiday Inn pool.

  CHAPTER 30

  Tuesday, March 9, 1982

  10:30 a.m.

  L ew gave the Hertz agent his MasterCard and opted for the collision damage waiver because he planned to test the limits of the accelerator and his own common sense all at once. He inquired as to the fastest route to Seminole Bend and the car rental rep cracked a smile and replied, “We’re Number One, but we don’t rent helicopters!”

  When the rep noticed Lew staring blankly at him, he added, “Just kidding, man.” The rep then pulled out a large paper with a map of Florida on one side and boxes with blown up diagrams of major cities on the other. With a yellow transparent marker, he highlighted the route.

  “Take the 836 to the 826, head north to Highway 27 and turn right onto US 98 in Okeelanta. Highway 98 winds around the big lake and takes you right to Seminole Bend, can’t miss it. You know, Lake Okeechobee is the second largest freshwater lake totally enclosed in the United States. Lake Michigan is the biggest, but the other Great Lakes are partly in Canada, so they don’t count.” The Hertz comedian and trivia expert was really getting on Lew’s nerves. He had no time for a geography lesson.

  Lew upgraded to a black Pontiac Trans Am with a decaled painting on the rear spoiler of Smokey, Sheriff Buford T. Justice, chasing the Bandit. He adjusted the mirror, glanced at his reflection and thought, “I see a little bit of Burt Reynolds in this face.” Moments later the Hertz check-out security guard cautioned him, “Be careful with this baby, sir. This here car’s our pride and joy.” An hour later Lew turned onto Highway 98 and headed north. He completed his first eighty miles in a mere sixty minutes, passing twelve slow-moving semi’s hauling sugar cane in the process.

  Thinking he had finally reached a mild form of civilization, Lew pulled into Bennett’s Airboat Palace, a decrepit shack that was located just a few feet from the rim canal that looped around Lake Okeechobee. Like many other tourists he was looking forward to seeing the expansive lake, but the US Army Corps of Engineers ruined that hope back in 1928 when they constructed the thirty-foot tall, hurricane-taming, Herbert Hoover Dike, which separated the rim canal from the Big “O”. As he got out of the rented Pontiac, Lew noticed a weather-beaten, middle-aged, tall man hosing down an airboat just off the dock behind the shack. Too many years in the Florida sun had turned his skin into wrinkled leather.

  Lew walked up to Phil Bennett and offered his hand for shaking, “Excuse me, sir. Sorry to interrupt your business, but I was just wondering if you could give me some directions?”

  “Penn State, eh?” Phil said while pointing at Lew’s Polo shirt with the Nittany Lion emblem on the pocket. “You a graduate or just a fan?”

  Lew glanced down at the pocket and smiled, “A big time fan. Thanks for noticing.”

  “So, you must be another one of them lost snowbirds, huh?” Phil uttered sarcastically. “Northern folks been moving out of here lately, so it’s nice to have one come in.”

  “Moving out? Why’s that? I thought this lake was an angler’s paradise for us Yanks. Can’t catch big bass like you got down here back home in Pennsylvania.”

  “Got nothing to do with the fish. Them flapping little critters are still here and hungry. You must not read the newspapers up north.”

  “I’m not following you, sir. By the way, the name’s Lew Berry.”

  “Howdy, Lew. I’m Phil Bennett and you’re standing at the gates to my palace.” They shook hands a second time. Even Phil could joke about the shabby framework of the business he so deliberately misnamed. “What I meant by the news is we’ve had a bunch of killings here the last month. An old lady named Potts was murdered in her home when some guy smashed a pot over her head, no pun intended. And just minutes later, her husband was killed in a traffic accident. Then some dude slips and falls over at Elmer’s Hardware Store killing himself, and about the same time an old man is run over by a car in the BoldMart parking lot. But worst of all was when our basketball coach was killed trying to save his wife who just crashed into a culvert up on Highway 441 and died.”

  Lew dropped his chin down to his chest and tear drops were forming in his eyes. Phil abruptly stopped his narrative of the recent tragic events in Seminole Bend and with a hint of compassion said, “Hey, what’s up man? Was there something I said?”

  Lew regained his composure and replied, “Sorry, Phil. Need to tell you something. That basketball coach, Brett Berry, well he’s my son. I’m here to gather some of his belongings.”

  “Oh my God, Lew. I humbly apologize. I need to just shut my trap sometimes.” Phil gave Lew a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Lew wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

  “It’s alright. You didn’t know. Anyway, I haven’t seen Brett and Sheryl’s new house that they built in December and actually don’t have a clue how to get there. Any chance you could help me?”

  “Yep, I know they built a new home up on the golf course. I hate to say it, but town folks and me found that awfully strange, you know. Please don’t take this the wrong way cuz we all respected your son, but he wasn’t making much coaching and she wasn’t working. No one could figure how they got the money to buy a new house, and it’s a dandy I hear.”

  “I’m not sure how they afforded to buy one either, Phil. Just assumed they had been saving up, I guess. They didn’t ask me for any cash. Anyway, you think you could give me directions to their place?”

  “Would love to, Lew, but not many folks know where they live. Heard it was kind of hidden behind a bunch of trees on the seventh hole. None of my gossiping friends have ever even seen it.”

  “Can you show me the way to the golf course then?” asked Lew. “Somebody should be able to help me from there.”

  “Maybe I can do better than that. Ever been on an airboat, Lew?”

  “No, why?” replied Lew with a puzzled look.

  “Back when the golf course was being buil
t, they dug an irrigation canal right off the Kissimmee River all the way up there, about fifteen miles I’d say. The golf course is owned by a rich rancher named Roy Jackson, so it must’ve set him back quite a penny digging it. People around these parts found that building a water trench was a bit peculiar seeing we get plenty of rain down here. Anyway, the canal is pretty much hidden from the river, but I know how to find it. If the Taylor Creek locks are open, I can get ya up there faster on my airboat then you probably could do driving.”

  “Wow, sounds like a plan. But don’t you need to stay here in case someone wants to rent a boat?”

  “Naw. This here’s my only airboat left and if we’s driving it, ain’t no one gonna rent it. I had four of them, but some snowbirds already rented two of them for the week and the third one was destroyed a few weeks ago by a couple of deputy sheriffs.”

  “Deputy sheriffs? What happened?” Lew inquired.

  “Deputies Willy Banks and Sam McCormick went out fishing one night and busted up my airboat. Willy said he was going to pay me double the cost of buying a new one in a few months. Ain’t seen Sam since the accident, but I figure he’s alright or Willy would’ve told me different. Willy’s a good man, though, in fact, his nephew played on your son’s basketball team. His name is Tyrone and he’s only a sophomore. Great athlete, he is! Well, then again, his daddy, Tyrus, was one of the best back in his time, too.”

  “Do you think this Willy Banks knows anything about my son and his wife’s accident?”

  “He sure oughta. This here county ain’t that populated, so I’m assuming most everyone in the sheriff’s department knows most things that happen to everyone round here.”

  “When we get back, can you point me in the direction of the sheriff’s office,” asked Lew. “Just would feel better if I knew exactly what happened that night, you know.”

  “Sure don’t blame ya, Lew. I’d want to know myself iffin it was my kids. Say, you hungry by the way?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m starving. You know a good place to eat, Phil?”

  “After we cross the lake there’s a place called the Angler’s Delight restaurant right on the Kissimmee River. They got great catfish caught on the river and deep fried with the best corn meal batter round these parts.”

  “Let’s do it, Phil. My mouth’s watering just listening to you.”

  * * * * *

  The Taylor Creek locks were the northernmost entrance to the lake and the rear access was open to the canal when Phil and Lew arrived. Phil guided his craft into the confined caisson carefully with five other boats of various sizes, grabbed the frayed rope that was hanging from the lip, and waited for the steel gate to close behind them. As the water level rose, Lew looked around and was amazed by the engineering feat that surrounded him. But when they reached the level of Lake Okeechobee and the top gate opened to allow the boats to exit, Lew was stunned. He thought the airboat was about to enter an ocean. Nothing but water lie straight ahead all the way to the horizon. A flock of Florida mottled mallards rested in the spikerush and water reeds off to the right. Lew could imagine native alligators moving in with only their snouts showing ready to gobble up an unsuspecting fowl luncheon.

  Phil’s twelve-foot airboat installed with an opposed six-cylinder Piper aircraft engine clipped across the eight miles of choppy water to the Kissimmee River’s mouth in about ten minutes, give or take a few seconds. Moments later they docked at Angler’s Delight Marina and made their way into the restaurant. They sat in a booth by the window overlooking an array of watercraft; everything from aluminum rowboats to mid-sized cabin cruisers.

  A young man wearing a Seminole Bend High School Warrior t-shirt was talking to a well-built, gray-haired, lanky giant of a man wearing a University of Florida Polo shirt in the booth across the aisle. Listening intently to the conversation with their elbows on the tabletop sat a middle-aged man and woman who didn’t say much, but kept nodding their heads in affirmation. Phil glanced over, noticed the group, did a double take and then stared at the man in the Polo shirt. “Well, I’ll be damned! If it ain’t Martin Woods sitting there chatting to Kenny Gormon and his mom and dad, Maxine and Marvin.”

  “Martin Woods? You mean the Martin Woods who played on a couple of championships for the Boston Celtics? That Martin Woods? He’s the Florida Gator’s coach now, ain’t he?”

  “Sure is. Damn good player in his time. Played with Russell and Havlicek on Red Auerbach’s teams in the sixties. He must be here recruiting Kenny.”

  “Kenny must be a good player. I don’t remember Brett mentioning his name, though.”

  “Kenny pretty much single-handedly ended Martin Park’s seventy-three game winning streak last month. Helluva player, yep, helluva player!” Phil boasted.

  “Didn’t know about Kenny,” Lew said while looking away and out the window. Another teardrop had begun to trickle down his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of his closed fist. Phil knew immediately that he had brought up a heart-wrenching topic and wished he could take it back.

  “Sorry, Lew. I just remembered that was the same night Lew and Sheryl were killed. There I went and done it again to you cuz I can’t keep my dang big mouth shut.”

  “I thought I was over it, but I’m feeling like a miserable grown up baby,” Lew responded as the waitress placed two glasses of water and a couple of menus on the table.

  “Be back in a few minutes to take your order,” interjected the waitress and then hastily headed off to the kitchen. Angler’s Delight was starting to get crowded.

  Phil couldn’t think of anything to say that would make Lew feel better, so he said nothing. They both grabbed their glasses and took a sip of water.

  A few minutes later Lew broke the ice, “So, do you think Kenny is good enough to make it at Florida?”

  “Sure do,” retorted Phil confidently. “The kid hustles and never misses. Best shooter I’ve ever seen, and that includes high school, college and the pros! Only one problem is that Kenny wasn’t a starter on the Warrior’s team. Rarely do bench players get a shot at the SEC or any other big school conference, you know. Heck, most don’t even get to play in a small college.”

  “If Kenny was that good, why did Brett not start him?” Lew asked.

  “Not sure, but probably had something to do with Jimmy Jackson getting most of the playing time. Remember I mentioned that rich rancher named Roy Jackson who owns the golf course where we’re headed? Anyway, his kid is Jimmy Jackson and ...” Phil caught himself in mid-sentence and paused. He wasn’t going to upset Lew again. “Well, nothing. I’m wrong to even bring it up.”

  “Bring what up?” quizzed Lew. He had a perplexed look on his face.

  “Aw, nothing, Lew. Brett was a great coach and a good man. You had quite the remarkable son. Should be very proud of him.” Phil was ready to change the subject, but his diversion only made Lew more mystified.

  “Tell me, Phil. If you’re hesitant to say something bad about Brett, don’t worry. I’m fine. What’s this about Jimmy Jackson and his dad?”

  “No big deal, ya know. But rumor has it that Roy Jackson throws his money around quite liberally to get what he wants. Didn’t want to tell you, but some folks round here think he paid for Brett’s new house so Jimmy could play. I’m not so sure, though, cuz as I told ya, Brett was a good man. A really good man.”

  Lew took another sip of water and sat in momentary silence gazing out the window. He was trying to process the implication that Phil had just presented. He had a hard time believing Brett could be bought and his integrity be compromised. Phil was eager to switch the conversation away from sports. “So, you gonna have the catfish for lunch, Lew? I highly recommend them!”

  During lunch, Lew and Phil chitchatted small talk in every colloquial direction that avoided basketball: types and sizes of fish in Lake Okeechobee, scale of unfriendliness posed by native alligators, power of hurricanes in South Florida and amount of sugar production in the area. But throughout the sea of prattle, Lew
couldn’t keep from thinking about his son taking kickbacks from a rich rancher.

  Noticing that Coach Woods and the Gormon family had finished eating and were now involved in a serious discussion at their table, Lew handed the waitress his MasterCard and asked her to put the check that was lying in a leather binder in front of the coach on his own tab. The waitress walked over to the Gormon party, pointed to Lew, then explained to Coach Woods that he would like to pay their bill. The Gormon’s and Coach Woods all turned to see who the generous man was who had picked up the check, but none of them recognized him. But Marvin Gormon spotted the other man and said, “Well dang if it ain’t Phil Bennett sitting with that man. Wonder if he’s giving the guy an airboat tour or something.”

  Coach Woods got up and walked over to thank Lew. He reached out his lengthy arm for a hand shake and Lew stood up to greet him. Phil watched in awe.

  “Do I know you?” asked Woods.

  “No sir, but my son, Brett Berry, was the basketball coach here in Seminole Bend before he died in an accident,” replied Lew.

  “Sure thing. I never knew him personally but heard tremendous things about him. Very sorry about your loss.”

  “I appreciate that, Coach. I remember watching you compete when you were with the Celtics. You had some great teams! Do you miss your playing days?”

  “A little bit,” offered Woods. “But I miss smelling Red’s cigar smoke during practices even more!” His reference to Red Auerbach caused a chuckle and the ice was officially broken. Phil then stood up and introduced himself.

  “Well, I just wanted to express my appreciation for picking up the check. It certainly wasn’t necessary.” Woods patted Lew on the shoulders.

  “Happy to do it, Coach. From what Phil tells me, Kenny Gormon is quite a player. I’m assuming you’re trying to sign him?”

  “Not only a good player, but a terrific kid. High GPA and marvelous attitude. He’s got the whole package.”