Bit said: “They’re going to be happy now, Mom, thanks to you. Mason, Luke, their little sisters, all of them, the people in the lake.”
Laura looked at her daughter, cocked her head and asked, “Just how do you know all this?”
Bit gave a secretive smile. “I just know.”
Epilogue
BEFORE THEY WERE ALLOWED to leave the crime scene, Laura first had to answer a few more questions from the police. Then, after convincing them and the EMT squad they were okay, they got into Paul's mud-splattered old Jeep and drove away.
Laura refused to look back at the house as Paul gunned the Jeep up Yonah Trail. The Jeep was a disaster inside. Torn seat covers, visible springs and empty beer cans and potato chip bags littered the badly fraying floorboards. But the heater worked fine, and that was all that really mattered to Laura as the Jeep grunted its way up the road, left muddy and barely passable from the previous night's storm. They even passed a police cruiser that was stuck in the ditch.
"Should we stop and help?" Paul asked.
"Keep driving," Laura replied, hands pressed toward the warm vents. "I'm sure they've got a backup plan for this kind of contingency."
⸙
THEY REACHED THE main road, passed through the sleepy hamlet of Greeley, then continued west toward Dahlonega.
The road was a two-lane that twisted and wound across the mountain, but at least it was dry and graded. Rounding a curve, they came to a steep overlook and Laura thought she caught a glimpse of a shimmering, green lake in the distance. She assumed it was Bear Gap Lake. She hadn't noticed it on the way up last week because of the rain.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" she asked Paul.
Paul pressed down on the accelerator and the old Jeep seemed to leap through the air.
"I was only kidding," Laura joked. "I'd like to get back to Atlanta in one piece."
⸙
A FEW MILES DOWN the road, Laura noticed a graveled parking lot on the left side of the road. As they drew closer, she saw a ramshackle old building and familiar red gas pump. She asked Paul to pull in.
"Here?" he asked, glancing at a make-shift fruit stand next to the tumbled-down old building covered with weeds and gigantic kudzu vines.
"Please."
Paul slowed, eased off the road into the weedy parking lot and stopped. Still looking around, he smiled and said, “I don’t think I’d recommend buying anything here.”
“I’ll be right back,” Laura said, opening the door and jumping out of the Jeep. She walked over to the old store and stared. A rusted tin sign on the front door said it was closed. She peered in between a few rotten boards and saw nothing but cobwebs and oil-stained shadows.
"What are you looking for?" Paul yelled from the Jeep.
Laura came back and said, "I don't understand it. We stopped here on the way up last week to buy gas. It was open. There was an old man inside at the counter who sold apple head dolls and gourds. There was another man, a big fellow named Lonnie. He's the one who pumped our gas from that old pump."
"Are you sure?" Paul asked, glancing at the rusting pump. "That old thing looks like it hasn't been used in ten, twenty years."
"That's impossible."
"Maybe you've got it mixed up with some other store."
Laura shook her head. "No, this is the one. We stopped here, and I went inside and paid for the gas. I left Bit sleeping in the car."
"I remember, Mom," Bit said from the window. "That nice man helped me."
"Whit Anderson," Laura said. "Dr. Whit Anderson." A faint smile crossed Laura's face as she recalled the dapper physician from Miami saving her from the bear. Or at least the man she thought was Whit Anderson. "I know, sweetheart. He helped me once too."
⸙
LAURA LOOKED ACROSS at the fruit stand and saw a couple of plump women huddled in black shawls and white aprons. They were bagging boiled peanuts and giving them a curious look, as if wondering whether they might be tourists hungry for some local produce.
"Wait here," she said to Paul and Bit. "I'll be right back."
She found herself hurrying over to the little stand, as if the pair of women swathed in their thick shawls and aprons might vanish in a puff of smoke.
The two elderly women sat squeezed into wicker chairs that creaked and groaned, as if they might collapse any second beneath the weight. Laura imagined a forklift lowering and lifting them from the chair.
Next to them was an enormous black iron pot filled with shelled peanuts and boiling water. A cloud of smoke wafted over the pot. The smell was intoxicating.
"Can we help you, Missy," one of the women asked kindly. She had rosy, round cheeks and an amazing triple chin that tumbled down in layers across her massive bosom. At the tip of her third chin protruded a gooey black mole. A wicker basket full of bagged hot-boiled peanuts rested between them. Taped to the basket was a hand-scrawled sign that read: “2 dollers each.” "You look kind'uv lost."
Laura smiled. "No, just a little confused. That building over there," she said, pointing to the dilapidated, weed-choked structure. "I thought it was a store. Can you tell me what happened to it?"
The second woman raised an eyebrow and glanced across at the other. "Why, honey, that ain't no store. Ain’t been for a long time."
"Are you sure? I stopped here about a week ago. I think it was called Chief's, or something like that."
This time both women raised their eyebrows in tandem. "You must be a'thinkin' about some other place."
"No," Laura persisted. "This is definitely the place. I was here. I was inside that store less than eight days ago. I paid cash for gas to an old man. I think his name was Chief. There was another man. His name was Lonnie. I couldn't forget a couple of men who looked like those two if I tried to."
The first woman grunted, hefted herself to her feet. "Honey, maybe you better just sit down a spell and let me explain something to you." She pulled a white plastic chair out from behind the stand and watched Laura plop down. "You say you were here, inside that store, about eight days ago?"
Laura nodded.
"And you talked to a man named Chief? And there was this here other feller called Lonnie?"
"Yes, that's right."
The woman leaned over and whispered something into the other woman's ear. The second woman swung her flabby head from side to side. She made a sound, something like, "Um-um," then resumed scooping out peanuts from the black pot and dumping them into brown paper bags.
"Well, you're right about a couple of things, Missy. There shore 'nuff used to be a store here, kind of like a filling station that sold cheap trinkets to the tourists. It warn't no bad place, mind you, just never made no money. That's ‘cause nobody much comes by this way anymore. Not since they turned that little town on the other side of the mountain into some crazy German-styled village."
"Then this is the place!" Laura erupted. She wasn't going insane. "I knew it! Then, what happened? Where is everybody? Why does it look so…so unused?"
The first woman picked at the mole on her chin, then lazily lifted her heavy head in the direction of the store. She made a grunting noise again, wiped brownish spittle from her lips with the back of her hand. "The other thing you are right about is, there was a couple of old-timers who ran the place called Chief and Lonnie. They was brothers, best I recall. Kind'uv empty in the head, if you know what I mean, but they was good enough old boys. That Lonnie, I hear tell, he was one of the best mechanics on the whole mountain. Could take a motor apart and put it back together before you could wipe your ass clean with a Kleenex."
The second woman spoke up. "I swear, Tallulah, stop beating around the bush and tell the lady what you're driving at!"
"I'm a'gittin' there, Martha, jus' hold yore blame horses, you old beanpole." She straightened, continued: "Well, one day—it was in the fall of the year, best I recollect—their old pickup truck run off the road over near Panther Holler. It's a mighty sharp curve up there, and it was raining hard as a cooter's dick
that day anyway. Broke'em up purty bad, the way I heerd it, scattered their brains all over the road."
Tallulah plucked at the mole again, this time yanking out a long, black hair. She examined it for a moment, then flung it away. "But, Missy, that was more than thirty, forty years ago. Chief and Lonnie, that is what was left of 'em, was buried up near Greeley in a little family plot not far from the lake."
Laura felt herself spinning, starting to feel faint.
Martha added: "And wouldn't you know it? Those boys warn't even cold in the ground a'fore the county people came along and closed their old store down. It ain't been open since."
Laura managed to ask: "Would their last name happen to be Chaney?"
The old women looked at each other in surprise. "Why, Chaney it was," Tallulah said, nodding.
Laura thanked the women and got up to go. As she did, another wave of dizziness hit her.
"Missy, you look kind of poorly," Tallulah said. "Are you feeling all right?"
Still dazed, Laura leaned against the table for support.
"Would you like something cold to drink?" the woman asked. "We've got some cold apple cider back here in the bucket. Might help put some color back in yore cheeks. You're welcome to a mug full, if you'd like. No charge."
Laura shook her head slowly. "No thank you. I'll just be going."
"How about some fresh mustard greens? Got a good buy on 'em today. Two bunches, dollar apiece. Or, what about a few head of purple cabbage? Picked fresh this morning."
"Some other time," Laura said and walked away.
⸙
"WELL, WHAT DID you find out?" Paul asked.
He and Bit were leaning against the Jeep, using their fingers to draw pictures in the dust and mud on the hood.
"Everything. Nothing."
"What kind of answer is that?" Paul asked.
Laura stared blankly for a moment. "Just that."
They climbed into the Jeep and Paul started up the motor. "Where now?" he asked.
"Atlanta," Laura replied. "The fastest way you know."
The two old women at the fruit stand waved as they drove past. Paul gave the horn a tap and waved back.
"You know,” he said, "there sure are some nice folks up here in the mountains after all."
Laura didn't reply.
About the Author
E. RANDALL FLOYD is the author of several #1 amazon bestsellers, including The Dark Side of History, True Evil: Monsters, Murderers & Maniacs. His Civil War novel, Deep in the Heart, became a national bestseller and is now in its sixth edition.
A native of Baxley, Georgia, he started his journalism career as a Combat Reporter, then wrote for the Stars & Stripes newspaper before embarking on a lengthy journalism career in Europe and the United States. Before becoming a full-time author, he taught journalism at Georgia Southern University and history at the American University of Iraq and Augusta University. He is also a former syndicated newspaper columnist and motion pictures screenwriter.
He now lives in Augusta, Georgia, with his wife, Anne, and their cat named Sam.
Correspondence for the author should be addressed to:
E. Randall Floyd
629 Stevens Crossing
Augusta, Georgia 30907
Please visit Mr. Floyd’s website at:
http://www.e.randallfloyd.com
His email is: [email protected]
Other Great Books by E. Randall Floyd
Non-Fiction Titles
Into Thin Air
The Dark Side of History
True Evil: Monsters, Murderers & Maniacs
The Lost Maidens of the Okefenokee
In the Realm of Miracles & Visions
In the Realm of Ghosts & Hauntings
100 of the World’s Greatest Mysteries
The Good, the Bad and the Mad: Weird People in American History
Ghost Lights and Other Encounters With the Unknown
America’s Great Unsolved Mysteries
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More Great Southern Mysteries
Great Southern Mysteries
Fiction Titles
The People in the Lake
Deep in the Heart
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Go to http://www.erandallfloyd.com for more information
about these and many other books by E. Ra
The People in the Lake Page 28