by Jackie Lynn
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, of course not. I’m speaking of Henry Matthew Oliver. Now, was he number four or number five?” she asked herself, then waved away the question. “Doesn’t matter. I just remember how he had to know the reason for everything, always searching for clues and answers. The man couldn’t bear hearing the response ‘I don’t know.’”
Rose made her signal, headed left down Main Street, and proceeded in the direction of the doctor’s office.
“What kind of work did he do? Was he a police detective or a private investigator?” she asked.
“No, dear. He was a pastor.” She dabbed the bright red color on her lips. “Presbyterian.” She smacked, sliding her lips across each other. She turned, to see that Rose had a surprised look on her face.
“I know, it’s hard to believe that for a brief stretch in my life I was a preacher’s wife,” she said. “And yet, it’s true. I even played the organ,” she added with a bit of flair in the tone of her voice.
“Anyway, Henry wasn’t very good at his work.” She flipped the visor back in place as they pulled into the parking lot. “You know, faith demands loyalty without appropriate reason or explanation.” She touched at the sides of her hair. “Henry grew to be tiresome to himself with all his doubts and queries, and even more so to his congregation. You know how church folk desire definitive and sound answers from their clergy.” She peered toward the door of the office.
“Anyway, he was about to be run out when he eventually left the pulpit and became a wine supplier. That was about the time I quit drinking.” She winked. “Eventually, we had nothing in common.”
Rose pulled into a parking space.
“I used to love my wine,” she explained. “Whites mostly. Crisp and fragrant. We spent hours together discussing the finer qualities of chardonnay, the bouquet of pinot noir. It used to excite me.” She blew out a long breath.
There was a pause before she spoke again.
“Funny, don’t you think?” the older woman asked. “Why it is that some people can’t be comfortable with the things they can’t explain?”
Rose considered her friend’s observation as she turned off the ignition.
“The poor pastor drove himself insane trying to find answers to questions he hadn’t even yet asked. Whatever is the judgment behind that kind of never-ending restlessness?”
Rose shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe some of us just like to think we can get a handle on things if we understand them, that if we can make sense of the small things, then the bigger things won’t have the power to overwhelm us.”
“See, that was the difference between me and Henry. I prefer being overwhelmed,” Ms. Lou Ellen offered. “It is so much more interesting than the alternative.”
“What’s the alternative?” Rose asked as she pulled the keys out and placed them in her purse.
“Being underwhelmed,” Ms. Lou Ellen replied. She reached for the seat belt to unbuckle it. “I find the greatest fulfillment in life comes in the acceptance of how much I do not know and then just bathing in the delight of sitting still with the mystery of it all.”
“Do you think I kept the bracelet because I need an answer to why the old man was killed? That I’m unable to be comfortable in not knowing?” Rose turned in her seat to face her friend.
“Certainly not,” Ms. Lou Ellen said. She reached for the door handle. “I think you took it because you’re a pillager and a thief.” She smiled.
Rose appeared stunned.
“I’m teasing, dear.” She reached over and patted the younger woman on the hand. “You must learn to appreciate my sophisticated brand of humor.” Then she picked up the piece of jewelry and placed it in Rose’s palm.
“You took the bracelet because you think it will reveal a clue as to why life sometimes ends so violently. You took it because somewhere deep down in your soul, you want desperately to understand how trouble can determine the journey of a man.” She patted her hand. “Or a woman.”
She closed the younger woman’s fingers over the piece of jewelry. “Certainly this man’s belonging bears an old and painful story, and I suspect it will explain what brought him to us.” She pulled away. “But it will not give you all the answers you seek. Nothing ever does.”
The older woman pulled open the door and waited while Rose walked around the car and handed her the cane.
“Rose dear,” Ms. Lou Ellen said as she shifted her legs around and stood up beside the car, “keep the bracelet until tonight. Copy down the pictures of the symbols so you can take them to the library tomorrow and reference them. When darkness falls, return the jewelry to where you found it and let one of the lawmen think he’s brilliant, having discovered it all by himself.”
“Yeah, but,” Rose objected, but she was unable to finish before she was interrupted.
“The bracelet is not why the old man was killed,” the older woman said confidently “It’s a nice piece of jewelry, good stones, good silver, but even I can see that it isn’t worth a lot of money. And since we’ve both now compromised it with our fingerprints, it is no longer a clue to his murder.”
Ms. Lou Ellen angled the cane between them. “It is, however, probably a clue to his life’s journey, maybe a clue to everyone’s life’s journey. And Rose”—she moved closer to the younger woman—“somehow I think that’s likely to be more significant to your questions.”
She stepped around her friend and headed to the office door while Rose hurried to catch up.
SIX
Rose and Ms. Lou Ellen enjoyed milk shakes at the local burger joint before they returned to Shady Grove and before Rose made her way to the sheriff’s office. It was a means of celebration that Ms. Lou Ellen was finally able to walk on her own, released from canes and walkers and even physical therapy. She had, however, made a request for another month’s rehabilitation because she had grown quite fond of her therapist.
“That strapping young man just makes me feel better,” she had said to the doctor, who recognized what he was doing was an abuse of his power but who agreed to write the order.
“One more month,” he’d said as sternly as he was able, then handed her the prescription form. She had agreed with a wink.
After she let Ms. Lou Ellen out at her house, the three-legged dog patiently waiting for her at the door, Rose stopped by her trailer to pick up her cell phone and check messages before she headed back into town. Thomas had called, saying he missed her and that he would be in Fort Smith for an extra day. His cousin was having a difficult time picking out a tractor and wanted to check out a few more dealerships.
Rose was anxious for Thomas to return so that she could discuss the murder with him, hear his thoughts about the bracelet and his ideas about why someone would have killed the old man.
She changed from the long-sleeved shirt she had been wearing and put on a short-sleeved one, keeping the light jacket. It was not as cold as it had been in the early morning, since the sun had come out and the day was getting on.
She took the bracelet out of the jacket, examined it, and then returned it to the front pocket. Then she drove back into town, thinking again about Ms. Lou Ellen and laughing at her friend for talking the doctor into letting her have another month of physical therapy and the way the older woman had pranced into the waiting room after the examination. She’d paraded to the far wall, turned, held both arms out to her sides, and walked like a fashion model on a runway, finally stopping in front of Rose’s chair. The younger woman smiled, remembering the delightful scene, and was glad to see Ms. Lou Ellen fully recovered. She had been her primary caregiver for the entire time of the healing process and it pleased the nurse to see that her duties would no longer be needed.
When she arrived at the downtown office, Sheriff Montgomery was not back from lunch. She was actually relieved that she would not have to see him, since she got to his office much later than she had planned. She walked into the building and was greeted by a receptionist, who was sitting at a large desk just by the do
or.
The older woman called a deputy to the front and Rose was then instructed by the young man—Roy, she thought his name was—to go to the conference room and write a statement of what she had witnessed. He told her to jot down everything she had seen and done regarding the discovery of the dead man, beginning with her earliest memories that morning. She was given a pad of paper and a glass of water and then was shown to the large table in the center of the room and left alone.
The conference room was in the rear of the facility and had large windows on three sides. From a seated position at the table, Rose could view the entire office. She could see the front door and the back of the receptionist, the people coming in and leaving through the main entrance. She could observe the desks where the deputies sat, only a couple of them present, and she could view the side entrance, which was next to a small kitchen where the staff went in and out to grab a bite to eat or to get a drink from the vending machine.
Rose sat and watched the activity around her for a few minutes, procrastinating about what she’d been asked to do. With a sigh, she finally began writing all that had occurred from the moment she left the campground office to search for the late-night arrival until the sheriff had been called. She recorded every detail, as best as she could remember.
She wrote down how she drove around all the sites in the main area of the campground, how she ran into a few of the campers, and how she then followed the dog to the camper in the unused section of the grounds. She recorded the approximate times of each event.
She listed the model of the camper, the make of the truck, and how she had seen the small opening in the curtain, which led her to discover the destruction inside and the man lying on the floor. She wrote of how she used a rock to break the window and how the camper looked once she got inside.
She recorded that it appeared to her, based upon her professional opinion as a health-care provider, that the man was deceased. She noted that there were large bruises around his neck and that she’d found him beneath the table, lying under a sheet, and that it appeared as if he had been dead for more than a few hours.
She wrote for about fifteen minutes, as clearly and with as many details as she could remember, and then she stopped, put down the pen, and leaned back against the soft padded chair. Having worked in a hospital for more than twenty years, she knew how to deliver a thorough report, but since it had been almost a year since she had been required to write one, she found the task exhausting.
She decided to take a break and she stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Then she glanced up and around the office again. She saw the deputy who had brought her into the conference room sitting at his desk, eating a bag of chips. He was reading from a folder of papers.
She saw two women standing near the water fountain next to the kitchen. She thought they must be administrative workers, since they weren’t wearing uniforms. They were chatting and drinking sodas. She had never seen them before. She looked around the office until she turned back to the front entrance and noticed a large man talking to the woman at the front reception area.
He was dark-skinned, standing very tall and dignified, and his hair, long and silk black, was tied in a ponytail that trailed down past his shoulders. He was wearing a dark suit, navy or black—Rose couldn’t tell which—and he carried a briefcase, which he continued to hold while he talked, his long, thick fingers curled around the handle.
He stood at an angle in front of the desk, so that Rose saw only his profile, a long side view of a well-built, well-dressed stranger. He kept both arms at his sides, appearing very businesslike. He is certainly an eye-catcher, Rose thought.
And then, suddenly, while Rose sat watching him, as if she had called him, he turned and stared right at her through the conference room window. It was as if he knew she was in there, as if he had registered that she was studying him.
Rose quickly looked away, feeling as if she had been discovered or caught, and peered down at the pages on the table. She felt her face redden as she tried to appear as if she was reading over what she had written. She waited only a few seconds, hoping he had turned away, but when she glanced up again, the receptionist was on the phone and the man was gone.
At that moment, the conference door opened and in walked Sheriff Montgomery. The sudden entry startled her and she jumped.
“Well, so glad you decided to come by.” He shut the door behind him and moved to the chair across from Rose without registering her surprise. “I thought you would be here before lunch. I got tired of waiting on you and ran some errands.” He noticed the pad of paper and her pen. “Looks like they got you taken care of.”
Rose looked around the station. The sheriff had entered from the side entrance and the tall, dark stranger was nowhere to be seen. The two women near the water fountain had returned to their desks.
“It took longer at the doctor’s office than we thought.” Then she faced the sheriff and confessed. “Actually, we had a little celebration at the Dairy Queen. Ms. Lou Ellen was given a clean bill of health.”
“Well, that’s dandy for you and your friend.” He sat down and picked up the pages Rose had finished.
“You done?” he asked, referring to her statement.
“Just about,” she replied, shaking off the feeling of being caught. “I’ve gotten to the part where I broke the door and found the dead man.”
“Right,” he replied. “The unlawful entry.”
“The good instinct,” she quipped.
He raised his head to look her in the eyes. “Okay, Nurse Franklin,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “A medical emergency.”
She smiled. “Hey, did you find out who the guy is?” She stopped abruptly. “I mean was.”
“Not yet,” he replied. “But we did contact the police in Gallup, New Mexico, where the truck is registered. We should hear something by the end of the day, I imagine.” He placed the written statement back in front of Rose.
“Finish this up and then bring it over to my office.” He nodded with his chin to the far side of the station.
Rose peered behind her and saw the door to the corner office. She had not noticed the space before. She nodded and then asked, “Is there a large Native American population in West Memphis?” She was still thinking about the man she had just seen, wondering if he was local or was visiting.
“Not a population at all,” he responded. “Not since the Europeans arrived in the 1400s. The Mississippi valley used to be home to a great many Indian tribes,” he noted, “but that all changed once Columbus and those other celebrated explorers found the shores of these United States.”
Rose considered the sheriff’s words. She realized she knew only very little about the Indians in the southeastern part of the country. The stranger at the reception desk still had her interest.
“Are there any groups still around here?” she asked, wondering if the man she had seen and the dead camper were related in any way.
“Not really organized,” he replied. “Even though we’re west of the Mississippi, which is where they were all sent at the time of the Indian Removal Act, they marched them on past us into Oklahoma. So there are not too many tribes around here. It’s strange that they’ve all gone, since geographically we aren’t too far from Poverty Point and the Hopewell societies.”
Rose was puzzled.
“You never heard of Poverty Point?” he asked. Then he waved his hand in front of himself. “I forget that most folks don’t know the Indians’ story in this part of the country. It’s not usually discussed in the history books.”
He sat forward in his chair. “I started reading about the cultures after I found an old fossil when I was hunting near Hot Springs. It turned out to be a carving, a shell gorget with a strange figure on it. I took it to the museum director at the state capital and he told me it was from around 1300, a ceremonial piece from the early tribes somewhere in the Southeast, maybe Mississippi. Anyway, it got me interested in that part of history. Turns out that the
river used to be a big gathering spot for Indians all across the country.”
He stopped and took a deep breath, realizing he was more than likely boring Rose. “It’s a hobby for me.”
Rose thought about the bracelet, how Sheriff Montgomery could probably explain a lot about it, that it might even generate some warm feelings between them, but then she remembered that she had not told him about it when he asked her at the murder scene if she had any other information. She hadn’t included it in her statement. She decided not to say anything about it, since she worried that telling him now might ultimately make things worse.
“You suddenly interested in Indian history because of the dead man?” he asked, pulling Rose from her thoughts.
“Sure,” she said. “And then I just saw a guy at your front desk, not more than ten minutes ago. He was definitely Indian,” she said. “I just wondered where he might have been from, if he might have known the deceased.”
Sheriff Montgomery turned to look at the front entry. He turned back to Rose. “Wouldn’t know,” he said. “I came in from the side, so I haven’t checked my messages.” He focused again on the uncompleted pages in front of Rose.
“Well, finish this up and drop it on my desk on your way out,” he said as he stood up from his chair. “That will be all we need from you for now. I’ll be over at Shady Grove again tomorrow morning to check things out again.”
He moved to the conference room door, then turned around. “You’re not going to involve yourself any further in this, are you?” he asked, giving her a suspicious look.
“Not unless I uncover another medical emergency,” she replied. She waited a moment, then smiled innocently.
The sheriff made a huffing noise and shook his head. “I’m asking you nicely, Rose. Stay out of my investigation.” Then he turned and walked out of the conference room.
Rose watched him as he went to the front desk and spoke to the receptionist. He took a handful of notes, which Rose assumed were his messages, and then headed into his office. She took a drink of water and finished her report.