The Crossing

by Gerald W. Darnell

  “Sure,” she said, handing me a recent photo of Henry and Yarnell standing in front of her house. “Please take any of these you want.”

  “Thanks, Colleen, this one will work just fine. Either Joe or myself will let you know if anything develops, and please get in touch with me immediately if you need anything. We are staying at Chiefs, so if you need me, just see Tommy like you did yesterday. Also, please visit with Henry every chance you get, he needs your support. Okay?”

  “Thank you so much for your help. We love you, Carson,” Colleen said giving me a big smile.

  The band and choir were singing and playing ‘The Church in the Wildwood’ as Joe and I got back in the Ford and pulled away. A small gathering of neighbors had joined the show and was standing on the sidewalk singing along with the choir. It was quite a show.

  “Joe,” I said as I pointed the Ford down Front Street, “I want you to get over to Skeeter’s this afternoon. Talk to Tammy’s boss and some of her co-workers; see what you can learn about her habits – both work and personal. I haven’t talked with her husband, Sonny, but I get the impression they didn’t have a real close relationship. There might be another man involved, maybe more than one, and perhaps someone she worked with might know something.”

  “Sure boss,” Joe responded. “Anything else?”

  “No, that should take up the rest of your day. I’ll drop you back at Chiefs to get your car, and then I'm going to see Yarnell. I don’t know if he’s working or not and I may have to go looking for him. We’ll meet back at Chiefs for dinner, and hopefully, Leroy will drop by and tell us about the fight in front of his office.”

  ~

  After sending Joe on his way to Jackson, I headed back to the Crossing and 215 Fifth Street, the house where Henry and Yarnell lived.

  There was no band or choir in the yard and I didn’t see anyone, as I parked the Ford out front and walked up to the front door. After knocking twice, with no response, I turned the doorknob – the door easily opened.

  I walked through the small two-bedroom house and found no one home. I did see numerous pieces of bedding and floor pallets, telling me that several people had roomed here last night. Trash, empty soda cans and fast-food containers were scattered about, so these roomers weren’t neat housekeepers or had left in a hurry.

  Also scattered on the dining table were several Bibles and hymnbooks, each having ‘Nazarene Baptist Church’ engraved on the spine.

  I shut the door behind me, leaving it unlocked as I had found it. Glancing to the West, I saw clouds building on the horizon. Maybe that meant rain tomorrow; I know the farmers needed it.

  Hoping that Yarnell had gone to work, I got back in the Ford and made the short drive to the Humboldt Canning Factory. Humboldt Canning manufactured RED HEART Dog Food; I didn’t know how, nor did I want to know! However, they were a thriving business in the Crossing area and provided employment for several hundred of Humboldt’s citizens. After speaking to the receptionist and waiting several minutes in the lobby, Plant Manager, Aubrey Shaver finally came out to speak with me.

  “Hi Aubrey, my name is Carson Reno,” I said, introducing myself. “I wonder if I might be able to talk with Yarnell Walker. It is important and I promise not to keep him but a few minutes.”

  “You might be able to talk with him,” he said with a grunt, “but it won’t be here. Yarnell hasn’t been at work since Tuesday. He hasn’t been here since the sheriff came and arrested his brother, Henry. Sorry, but I can’t help.”

  “Any idea where I might find him?” I asked.

  “Nope, but you could try the unemployment office! He doesn’t show up and he doesn’t call then he doesn’t have a job! Those are the rules,” Aubrey said frankly.

  “Okay, thanks for your help,” I said shaking his hand. “Would you happen to know what kind of car Yarnell drives? That might help.”

  “A black 1951 Ford and it should have one of our parking stickers on the front windshield. Good luck, and when/if you find him, tell him to see the payroll office for his final check,” Aubrey added, as he left the lobby and headed back into the manufacturing area.

  As I suspected, it didn’t take long to find that black ‘51 Ford.

  ~

  Located on the corner of McLin and Third Street was a small, combination market, grocery and beer joint. Parked out front, along with numerous other vehicles was Yarnell’s black 1951 Ford.

  Everyone turned and looked when I walked in the front door; it had probably been quite a while since a white man had taken this venture. I looked around and if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn Henry was sitting in a worn wooden chair next to the drink box – it had to be Yarnell.

  “Yarnell,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Carson,” Yarnell yelled as he got up and walked toward me. “I heard you were in town and I’m sure glad you’re here to help Henry. Sit down and let’s have a beer, it has been a long time.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, but let me skip the beer for now. Have you got a minute to talk?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he answered quickly. “Let’s go outside and sit on the bench. We’ll let these old drunks get back to telling their lies,” he laughed.

  We both walked out the front door and sat down on a short bench that ran along the front of the building.

  “Damn Carson,” Yarnell said with a big smile. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you. And now when I finally do, it’s under bad circumstances. Have you been to see Henry?”

  “Yep, a couple of times. When’s the last time you went to see him?” I could tell Yarnell didn’t like the question.

  “Just after he was arrested, Carson. I’ve been busy, with work, you know,” he lied.

  “I stopped by Humboldt Canning before coming here. Your boss said you haven’t been there since Tuesday and haven’t called either. He also told me that when I saw you to tell you to stop by payroll and pick up your final check.”

  “Oh,” Yarnell said looking at the ground.

  “Yarnell, what’s going on with all these Memphis people in town? And why would you have Henry sign a paper authorizing a NAACP lawyer from Nashville to represent him?” I asked with a frown.

  Yarnell continued to stare at the ground, and thought for a minute before answering. “You know about that, huh?”

  “I sure do, and I don’t think that’s what Henry wants. It’s his decision to make; he’s the one in jail and accused of murdering that white girl. What’s this all about?” I asked again.

  “When we couldn’t find you, I called this Reverend Jeremiah Higgs in Memphis. A fellow at work told me about him and the ‘Nazarene Baptist Church’ and how they might be able to help. I told him the situation, and the next thing I know he shows up here with that paper I had Henry sign. Then after that, the whole town started filling up with his congregation and members from the church. They came in cars, church buses and even a few of them rode the Greyhound up here. Colleen has got a house full and so do I; every motel in town is full.” He was still looking at the ground while he spoke.

  “Alright Yarnell, that damage is done and we’ll deal with it. But, there is something else I’ve got to know and I promise you’re not going to like the question!”

  Yarnell briefly looked at me, and then resumed staring at the ground. “What is the question?” he finally said.

  “Have you taken any money from these people? Specifically, have you taken any money from the Reverend Jeremiah Higgs?” I asked.

  Yarnell fiddled with his shoelaces and tried hard to avoid eye contact; he knew I was looking straight at him. He finally decided to answer. “Look Carson, these people promised to help Henry and promised to do it for free. They also promised to help with other expenses and see that things got taken care of, you know? I mean, Henry ain’t working but bills still got to be paid, you know? The man gave me some money to help with the rent and said the congregation would be raising additional money to pay other expenses. He said th
is lawyer, Mr. Abernathy, was a real good lawyer, and he wouldn’t be charging for his work. Carson, I’m just trying to do what’s best for Henry, that’s all.”

  “Really,” I said disgustedly. “That’s why you quit your job? That’s why you would sit here and drink beer instead of going to work? Is that why you haven’t been to see your brother but once since he’s been in jail? If you’re trying to do what’s best, I wonder who that best is for – Yarnell or Henry!”

  Yarnell didn’t look at me and he didn’t speak. He just stood up, and walked back into the little grocery. I got in the Ford and headed toward Chiefs.

  ~

  I didn’t see Joe’s car, so I assumed he hadn’t returned from Jackson. The Thursday crowd had already started to gather, and I certainly hoped the atmosphere would be lighter than it had been last night. I parked in front of my Cottage and used the rear door to enter Chiefs. Nickie met me almost immediately.

  “Come with me, “Nickie ordered, as she put her arm through mine and started walking briskly toward the front door.

  She walked me out front, and then turned to look me directly in the face. “Carson, I have a message from a woman, and I’m pretty sure, this isn’t the kind of woman you normally get messages from.”

  “Huh?” Was all I could manage.

  “Nora Whitmore called you about an hour ago. She said if you arrived BEFORE 6:00, to have you call her. And if it was after 6:00, you were not to call her under any circumstances. According to my watch, it is 5:55 P.M., so get over there on that phone and call this woman. She seemed desperate.”

  Nickie handed me a sheet from her green order pad with a note and number scribbled across the page. It read:

  ‘Nora Whitmore SU4-8497 Do NOT call after 6PM’.

  I didn’t respond to Nickie, but instead went directly to the phone and placed the call. A very weak female voice answered after the first ring. “Hello,” is all she said.

  “Mrs. Whitmore, this is Carson Reno. I have a message to call you. How may I help?”

  “Thank you for returning my call,” she said in a slightly stronger voice. “Thomas gets home at six and I don’t want him to know we have talked. Can you possibly meet me somewhere in the next thirty minutes?” she asked.

  “Absolutely, would you like to come here? I’m at Chiefs.” I suggested.

  “Oh no, no, that would never work. Too many people would see me. Do you know where Bessie’s Café is located? It’s on Burrow Street.”

  “I do,” I answered. “Would you like to meet there?”

  “Yes, please. I’ll meet you there at 6:30, and I won’t have but about 15 minutes. I’ll tell Thomas I’m going to the market. Will that be okay?” she asked.

  “I’ll see you there,” I replied as I hung up the phone.

  ~

  Bessie’s Cafe was near, but not in the area known as the Crossing. Bessie’s is a favorite place to eat for the locals offering fantastic home cooked meals with cold ice tea, but no alcohol. I wasn’t eating, so I ordered coffee and took a seat next to the front window.

  At exactly 6:30 a blue and white 1959 Chevrolet Apache Truck pulled up and parked next to my car. The woman driving seemed almost too small to see over the steering wheel and even smaller when she opened the door and stepped out. She was wearing a black Sunday hat with a veil she had pulled back over the top. Underneath, I could see short-cropped hair that had not had much attention recently, and she was wearing a dark skirt and a white blouse with a dark sweater covering most of the blouse. Using both hands, she was clutching a black ladies handbag, and holding it tightly against her chest. This was Mrs. Nora Whitmore, Tammy’s mother.

  Although meek in appearance, Mrs. Whitmore was deliberate in her movements. She entered Bessie’s Café and walked directly to my booth and sat down.

  “Mr. Reno, I am Nora Whitmore, Tammy’s mother. I don’t have much time, but I need to talk to you.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Whitmore. Please tell me how I can help,” I said gently.

  “My husband, Thomas, is a good man. He’s hard, he’s tough and sometimes he doesn’t understand things he can’t control. But, he loved our daughter, Tammy, and he has taken her death very hard. What I am going to tell you is something I’ve known for a while, but would never have told Thomas. I’m sure it will eventually come out, but somehow I think your knowing about it might make it easier once it does.” Nora had a shaky but deliberate tone.

  “Thank you for your confidence; I promise to use my best judgment and discretion. What do you want to tell me?” I asked.

  “Thomas is not a bigot. He works with colored folks everyday at the grocery and we have many colored friends, but I don’t think he could tolerate his daughter going out with one.”

  “Huh?” I was surprised and caught off guard.

  “Mr. Reno, Tammy and Sonny’s marriage was over. It basically ended when she lost the baby, and they never seemed to forgive each other. I can’t say I agree with that, but I do understand it. Anyway – somewhere, somehow Tammy met a colored man and had been sneaking around and seeing him. Don’t ask me how I found out, but I did, and I finally got the nerve to confront her one afternoon.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “She didn’t deny it, in fact she admitted it. I tried to explain to her that her father would never understand, but she blew it off by saying he would never find out. Well, now that she is dead, I’m sure he’s going to find out and I don’t know how he’s going to react. I know you are in town trying to help Henry, and I just thought you should hear this from me,” Nora said.

  “Did she tell you who the colored man was? Do you know who it was?” I asked.

  “No, I never knew and she never told. Now she is dead and a colored man is in jail for her murder, and I’m trying to figure where I went wrong in raising Tammy.” Nora was starting to cry.

  “Mrs. Whitmore, please don’t blame yourself. I’m sure you and Thomas did all the right things, and please remember, Tammy was an adult; she had the right to do with her life as she wanted. She didn’t deserve to die, but certainly had the right to make her own choices. What can you tell me about her husband, Sonny?”

  “He was the love of her life in high school. I never really liked him, but she was happy and that is all that counted.” Nora reached into her handbag and retrieved a small handkerchief.

  “What about now?” I asked.

  “He’s a hothead and a drunk. I was amazed that they still lived under the same roof. I’m pretty sure he didn’t care for Tammy anymore.”

  “Could he have killed her?” I had to ask.

  “Could he – yes. Would he – I doubt it. I don’t think he really cared anymore, but I’m sure you will be talking to him and can decide for yourself,” she said while wiping her tears.

  “What about your son, her brother, Richie? Did he know about her seeing a colored man?”

  Mrs. Whitmore gave me a hard look. “Mr. Reno, you may talk with Richie, but leave him out of this. He and his sister were very close, and I don’t know whether he knew or not, but he does know that their father would not approve, so he would never have said anything.”

  “Thank you for your honesty,” I said sincerely. “May I stop by your house during the next couple of days to talk with you and Thomas?”

  “Yes, certainly. But he is not to know about this conversation, ever! Now, I must go before he starts to wonder where I am. Thanks for your time, and please remember this is about the death of my little girl – my daughter.”

  Nora had continued to clutch the purse to her chest during the entire conversation. As she stood up, she opened the purse and handed me a 5” x 7” black and white high school graduation photo of Tammy Whitmore Blurton.

  “I want you to have this, Mr. Reno. Please remember her.” Nora was crying as she walked out the door and crawled back behind the steering wheel of her truck.

  I sat for another 10 minutes collection my thoughts then headed the Ford back toward Chiefs. It had bee
n a long day.

  Tensions

  Joe’s car was parked in front of his cabin and I found a spot for the Ford in front of mine. The crowd had grown significantly since my visit there earlier, and I was wondering if any seats would be available in the restaurant or bar. Circling cars were two wide and stretched from the highway and side street in a seemingly never- ending parade. The carhops were extremely busy and Chiefs was having a very good night – as usual.

  Nickie and Joe were sitting at my favorite end of the bar and both waved when they saw me enter. The noise level was already exceeding safe limits, and I swear somebody had turned the volume up on that damn jukebox!

  “Where you been, handsome?” I heard Nickie ask, when I finally made my way through the crowd.

  “Checking out your competition,” I yelled over the crowd noise. “And it seems they need help! Is this normal for a Thursday night?”

  “Not really,” Nickie answered as she got up and gave me her barstool. “I see some locals and regulars, but I also see many faces that I just don’t remember. Tommy says the back parking area is full of dirty pick-up trucks with rebel flags draped in the back windows! Everyone seems to be having a good time, but I suspect they’re not in town just to party at Chiefs.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’re right,” I commented shaking my head.

  “Boss, sit down and let Nickie get you a drink,” Joe said nervously. “You’re going to need it. I’ve got some bad news.”

  Nickie scooted off to get me that drink and I settled on the barstool next to Joe.

  “Okay, Detective Richardson,” I laughed. “But before you tell me, let me see if I can’t guess what that bad news might be.”

  “What?” Joe said frowning.

  “You’ve been in Jackson this afternoon talking with Tammy’s co-workers, and they told you that Tammy had several boyfriends who frequently visited her at ‘Skeeters’, right?” I asked.

  “Right, but that’s not it boss,” Joe interrupted.

  “And these co-workers told you that one of her boyfriends was a colored man, right?” I said.