Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3)

by J. T. Livingston

  “Wake up, Skipper. Your visitor is here to see you.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Lake House

  Ernest Blankenship purchased the small, run-down fishing lodge in Cave Spring, Georgia—located about 20 miles southwest of Rome—for his wife, Elizabeth—in 1997, a year after he opened his first car dealership. He had paid cash for the six-bedroom, five-bath wooden lodge, complete with a 6,000 square foot unfinished basement. The lodge was situated on almost nine acres of woods—mostly tall pines—on the outskirts of the quaint and picturesque square located in the heart of Cave Spring.

  It was almost two o’clock when the Land Cruiser pulled up to the iron gate that blocked entry onto the lake house property. Kirk put the car in park and jumped out. He had not been here since before his mother died, so he had to pull some overgrown vines away to reveal the padlock that secured the gate. He retrieved his keys from his jacket pocket and used a small, universal padlock key to open the gate. He looked back at his friends and ordered, “Check the old woman and make sure she hasn’t loosened the duct tape.” He looked around in all directions and felt more confident than ever that his plan would work. A body could be hidden in these woods and never be discovered.

  It had been even easier than he thought—kidnapping the old lady and stuffing her into the trunk space. Kirk had allowed her a half-mile head start before he began following her along the deserted roadway. He watched her limping silhouette as she shuffled down the road; and, he waited until there were no cars or people in sight before he finally pulled up alongside her.

  Stella had been taken by surprise when the dark SUV pulled up beside her. She stopped walking and tried to steady her breathing, which became more labored with every inch that the darkened driver’s window lowered. She recognized Kirk immediately and began her pitiful version of the 50-yard dash. “Help!” she yelled, knowing full-well that even if anyone heard her on this side of town, they most likely would not come to her aid. “Stay away from me!” she screamed. “Help me!” she croaked again when she saw the passenger door open. The SUV continued, at a slow pace, moving alongside her, while the young man who jumped out of the car sprinted easily and effortlessly toward her.

  Stella reached inside her bag for the small can of pepper spray she had purchased recently. She waved it in front of the young man and yelled again. “You stay away from me!” She tried to pump the spray in his direction, but nothing happened.

  David laughed when he reached her and knocked the pepper spray from her bony fingers. “Don’t make this hard on yourself, old woman. We just want to take a ride and have a talk with you—that’s all.”

  “No! That ain’t all!” Stella choked. “Y’all are gonna kill me—just like you did poor Norman. I told y’all I wasn’t going to say anything. Now, get away!”

  David never hesitated—he drew back his clenched fist and sucker-punched the old woman, knocking her out cold. He could have sworn he heard a bone crack in her jaw, and felt a momentary stab of regret. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He caught her before she hit the ground and dragged her to the back of the SUV. “Damn!” he grimaced. “She’s heavier than she looks—a little help would be nice.”

  Michael had taped Stella’s hands behind her back with duct tape—that good, ‘ole southern remedy for any given situation—and, placed a large piece across her dry and cracked lips. He watched now as Kirk shoved open the creaking gate and jumped back inside the Land Cruiser. He peaked over his seat, into the trunk space. “Naw, she’s still out. She hasn’t moved a muscle.”

  “She’s not dead, is she?” David asked nervously from the front seat. He still felt guilty for having hit the old woman so hard.

  “Naw, she’s not dead,” Michael grinned. “At least, not yet.” He giggled the laugh of someone who has smoked way too much weed in his short life span. Unlike David, he felt absolutely no remorse at what they had done, or at what might have to be done in the future.

  Kirk drove the SUV down the long, curving graveled driveway. He inhaled sharply when the lake house first came into view. So many suppressed memories rushed in—happy memories of the times he had spent with his parents at this secluded hideaway. He glanced to the left and stared at the long dock—situated about a quarter-mile away from the lodge—that had provided his family so many happy times on their own, private lake. His father had taught him how to fish, and his mother had taught him how to swim in that lake.

  He followed the driveway around to the back of the lodge where an enormous patio overlooked the three-acre, private lake. The patio was bare except for two concrete picnic-style tables and benches. “Wait here, until I check inside,” Kirk ordered his friends. “Don’t take your eyes off that old woman either.”

  David offered a thumbs-up for confirmation. He looked back at Michael, who had lit up yet another joint and was on his way to his own, private temporary oblivion. “Another one, Mike? Really?”

  Michael giggled and held the joint toward David. “Hell, yeah! This is good stuff—want some?”

  Stella uttered a small groan from the trunk area and Michael giggled again. “See! I told you she wasn’t dead.” He got on his knees and peeked over the back seat into the trunk space again. He held the joint out to Stella. “Hey, old lady—how about you—you want a hit?” He giggled again and flopped back onto his seat. “Never mind,” he laughed out loud. “You already took a pretty good hit, didn’t you?”

  David groaned and opened the passenger door. He walked around to the back of the SUV and opened the tailgate. The first thing he noticed was the huge red mark on the old woman’s lower left jaw. He grimaced at the dried blood at the corner of her mouth when he pulled the duct tape off. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

  Stella lay on her right side, unable to manage a sitting position with her hands secured behind her. She lifted her head slightly and spat a wad of bloody phlegm at David’s feet. “Go to hell,” she managed to croak.

  David helped her to a sitting position. “There’s no place for you to run, so be smart, okay? Just do what you’re told and you just might get out of this alive.” Kirk had not revealed the entire plan to him, but he felt sure that his best friend just wanted to scare the old woman enough to make sure she left town for good.

  Stella stared at the young man and confirmed to herself that he was indeed part of the group that had killed poor Norman. She turned when someone giggled behind her, and recognized the other young man as being part of that same group. “All of you are gonna burn in hell for what you did to Norman—burn in hell, I say!”

  Kirk heard their voices from his position inside the basement. He glanced quickly out the sliding glass door and saw the old woman sitting on the tailgate, her feet dangling a good eighteen inches from the ground—one of her shoes was missing. He turned back around and removed the small flashlight from his back pocket. He found his way to the kitchen, where the fuse box was mounted inside a large food pantry, and flipped several switches. He was relieved to see that the power outages in Rome had not affected the lake house. The basement immediately became flooded with light, and Kirk’s brain became flooded with more memories.

  He allowed himself a few minutes to take it all in as he moved around the basement that had been converted into a massive game room. Three comfortable sofas and four recliners were scattered throughout the room, all of them situated for easy viewing of the wall-mounted 65” flat-screen television. The focal point of the luxurious basement was the large, commercial-size pool table located in the very center of the room. There was a wet bar at each end of the remodeled basement and two enormous stone fireplaces at each corner of the oversized sliding glass doors. Another door at the left corner of the room opened to a master suite that was complete with a king-sized bed and full bathroom—to include, an 8-person, Jacuzzi. The Jacuzzi was empty now, but Kirk remembered so many good times, relaxing in it after a day of outdoor activities with family and friends.

  The three f
riends spent the next three hours getting Stella situated in the basement suite and going over the rest of Kirk’s plan. When Kirk felt that everyone knew how it was all going to go down, and knew their respective parts in the plan, he told them to wait for him in the car. He checked the long chain that had been secured to Stella’s left ankle and stared at her as she sat in the middle of the large bed. “That chain is long enough for you to make it to the bathroom. There’s water and sandwiches in the small fridge next to the Jacuzzi. Don’t look for any way to escape, because there isn’t one. We’ll be back soon, and I better not find this room in a mess. Do you understand, old woman?”

  Stella curled her swollen upper lip at him and snarled. “Burn in hell!” She refused to show him how scared she really was. The thought had not escaped her that she might now be the one to die under “mysterious” circumstances.

  Kirk shrugged and walked away. He looked back at her and said, “Too late—I’m already there.” He closed the bedroom door and locked the glass doors behind him. “Yeah, it’s too late to turn back now…”

  Jason had been prepared to walk the seven miles to the county jail if he had do; however, he had reluctantly accepted a ride from one of the café’s regular customers, who gladly agreed to drop him off on his way home.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Zimmerman,” Jason nodded as he closed the passenger door and pulled up the zipper of his worn, weathered jacket. He pulled on the gloves that Skipper had given him and waved good-bye to the old man who Doug had asked to give him a ride. “Drive safe now—these roads are still icy.”

  “Oh, I’ll be just fine, young fella,” Mr. Zimmerman grinned back at the younger man. “I wish I could hang around and give you a ride back to the café, but I gotta get home and take this vegetable soup, that Mr. Max made, to the missus—she was too sick to get outside today in this weather.”

  “Not a problem,” Jason waved again and watched the old 1969 Dodge pick-up continue its slow putter down the main road, back toward town. He turned and stared at the large detention facility that stood before him.

  The Floyd County Jail was built in 1982 and renovated in 1996; it was the largest county-owned building in Floyd County. The Detention Division was 256,000 square feet and housed 828 beds. It served Floyd County, the city of Rome, and Cave Spring, Georgia pre-trial detainees, as well as county-sentenced and state-sentenced inmates. The 828-bed population was at almost-full capacity on almost any given day.

  Jason took a deep breath and moved forward. “You shouldn’t be in here, Skipper,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  Jason showed his military identification and was verified on Skipper’s visitor’s list. He went through the required electronic surveillance equipment and emptied his pockets; his personal items were kept in a basket for him to retrieve upon his departure. A clerk provided him with a brochure that explained the jail’s new video visitation process; she offered a brief explanation of the new system and said that it might be something he would want to consider before his next visit—especially if he visited during another ice storm. She explained that more than half of all jail visits were now done via video visits. Jason nodded with feigned interest and waited behind the Plexiglas.

  At thirty-one years of age, this was the first time that Jason had ever been inside a jail, even as a visitor. He shook his head at the reason he was here now. He glanced up when a door opened on the other side of the Plexiglas and a staffer motioned Skipper inside. The staffer closed the door and Skipper nodded at Jason before he took a seat at the table.

  “Hi,” Jason said and lifted his hand in a wave. He actually blushed when Skipper picked up the phone and motioned for him to do the same on his side of the glass. “Oh,” Jason smiled, as he picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Sorry, I didn’t know how all this worked…”

  Skipper allowed a half-smile to escape. “Let me guess—this is your first time inside a jail, isn’t it?”

  Jason nodded. “I’m guessing it isn’t your first time?”

  “You’ve got that right. I’ve seen my share.”

  “I bet you’ve never been inside one—accused of murder—have you?” Jason was more than a little curious about the man who was such an enigma to them all.

  “How can you be so sure of that?” Skipper looked serious, until another small smile broke across his face. “No, Jason. I’ve never been accused of murder. That’s a first—even for me.”

  “Nobody believes that you did it, you know.”

  Skipper looked around the tiny visitation room and shrugged. “Well, it’s obvious that someone believes it, else, I wouldn’t be here. Although, I have to admit, it’s a lot warmer in here than it is outside. I heard there was an ice storm last night.”

  “Yeah, the temp really dropped.”

  “Are the others all okay?” Skipper wasn’t sure why he needed to know the answer to that question.

  Jason nodded. “Yeah, everyone’s okay for now. PJ is still in the hospital, but she’s getting stronger every day. Doug—the fella from the café—goes to see her several times a week. The owner of the café offered a room for me, Joe, and Bernard to sleep in until the weather warms up; they’re good people—the ones who run the café.”

  Skipper nodded his head slowly. “And what about our good friend, Stella?”

  “We’ve all been looking for her—ever since she told the police what she did about you. We haven’t been able to find her anywhere, but we’re not giving up. I don’t know why she said what she did, Skipper, but she framed you. We all know that, and we’re going to do what we can to find her and prove it.”

  “We’ll see how that turns out, I guess.” Skipper stared hard at Jason. “I still don’t get it, though. Why do you and the others even care? We’re nothing to one another.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Skipper. You and I share a special bond, and the others certainly don’t want to see an innocent man go to prison for something he didn’t do. No, we think that Stella knows the truth about what really happened to Norman. For your sake—and Norman’s—we all want the real truth to come out.”

  Skipper drew his brows together. “You think that you and I share a special bond?”

  “We do share a special bond—as Veterans—if nothing else.”

  Skipper nodded. “And you think that connects us, do you? You think that the wars we fought were similar?”

  “No,” Jason shook his head. “No—I know that we fought in two very different wars, that we were treated very differently by our people and our government when we returned home—I know all that. All I’m saying is that the bond we share is evident in the pain and bitterness of it all, the friends we lost in those wars, the nightmares and the guilt we feel for having survived those wars—when so many others didn’t make it back home. You can deny it all you want, but any Veteran who has experienced that kind of loss…yes, there is a bond.”

  Two minutes elapsed without either man saying a word. They simply stared at each other through the Plexiglas until something happened—a mental connection and acknowledgement was made—because, in those two minutes, both men knew that there truly was a special bond between them. It was a bond that no amount of time would ever eradicate or diminish.

  Jason was the first to break the silence. He grinned at his fellow Veteran and asked, “So—how are they treating you in here?”

  “Well,” Skipper sighed. “From what I hear from some of the other inmates, it’s a good thing that we’re in here now, as opposed to what it was like just a few short years ago. I heard that they forced the inmates to wear the same clothes—underwear included—for a full week, that the A/C was turned off during the hottest part of the day, that they were forced to eat rotten and rancid food…so, all in all, I would have to say they are treating me like a king in here. Being old seems to have some advantages, too—I even got an extra blanket to keep me warm this morning."

  Jason was shocked at hearing so many words spurt from Skipper’s mouth; it was the most
he had ever heard the old man say at one time. “Wow—that makes being homeless sound like a walk in the park.” He smiled and shook his head. “Seriously, though, is there anything I can do for you on the outside? Anyone I can contact for you? Have you talked to an attorney yet?”

  Skipper shook his head. “No—no—and, no—to all your questions. My court-appointed attorney should be in next week to meet with me. I’ll see what he thinks about the situation. In the meantime, I’m eating three squares a day: usually, oatmeal for breakfast, spaghetti for lunch, and a mystery chicken casserole for dinner. I don’t have a cell mate at the present time, so I have my privacy. I’m keeping warm and am off the streets during an ice storm. Life is good.”

  The door opened and a guard stepped inside. “Wrap it up—two minutes.”

  “Wow, they don’t give us very long to visit, do they? If it’s okay with you, Skipper, I’d like to come back. Joe and Bernard would like to visit, too.”

  Skipper shook his head. “From what I understand, they use their own discretion for the time allowed for visitation—anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour for each visit. I’m pretty sure they limit the number of what they refer to as significant relationship visitors, to two. But, you can come back any time to visit, Jason—anytime. Hey, I heard that they even have video visitations now. I could visit with you from the convenience of my cell, without you having to travel all the way here. I know you don’t have transportation.”

  “I may check into that process, but it’s not like I have a computer handy,” Jason grinned. He stopped and thought about Cheryl and Jimmy. “But, I do have some friends that might have one I can borrow. That would be a great way to visit with you, to keep you posted on what’s going on. I’ll do that, okay?”

  “You’ve made some friends—that’s good,” Skipper smiled. “Thanks for coming, Jason. I really didn’t think we would have anything to say to each other, but…I was wrong.”