Gone to Green

by Judy Christie

  He didn't like me, and I had been especially suspicious of him since Aunt Helen had suggested he might be stealing. But I could never put it all together.

  Resisting the urge to hop up and rush to the paper, I tried to focus on Walt. With a complex theft scheme unwinding in my brain, that was difficult.

  Even though we had been out several times, I had not invited Walt to my house yet. The drive out to Route 2 made his trip down to Green even longer, and keeping him in town kept him at arm's length. Meeting in the newspaper parking lot was easy.

  He seemed surprised and a little hurt, though, when I wrapped up our date early and asked him to take me back to work. "I'm sorry, Walt, but I just have so much going on. I need to go over some records at the paper and take care of a few things." As soon as he drove off, I ran into my office and started digging through files. The clues were pretty obvious. I couldn't believe I hadn't picked up on this before.

  I called Iris Jo. "I'm so sorry for bothering you at home on a weekend, but is there any way you can come to work for a while?" This was a woman who had worked for the Big Boys for years, so she didn't seem surprised at all by my request. When she arrived, I was practically dancing around my office, in excitement, anger, and nervousness.

  "You sell the paper?" she asked in a somber tone.

  "What? No, no, no," I said. Sooner rather than later I was going to have to come clean with all of these people who cared about this paper, this town, and me. "It's something else, something big. I need you to promise me you won't mention it to anyone, not anyone. Promise me."

  "I promise. You know I don't talk about the paper's business, Lois," she said, sounding a little hurt.

  She was right. She wouldn't tell any of my secrets. She was loyal, honest, and she liked me. "I know, and I'm sorry if I implied otherwise. I'd trust you with my life, but I'm not sure what we're going to find out."

  By now she was totally confused.

  "Have you ever wondered if Lee Roy was stealing from the paper?"

  Her eyes got big, and she hesitated. "A time or two. But I never could pinpoint it. Why?"

  I outlined my theory to her.

  "That makes sense in a weird way," she said. "I can see where he might not mind taking money from you since it's pretty clear he doesn't like you. But he's tight with Chuck and Dub. Do you think this started when they were still here?"

  "I'm not sure. I need your help to put it all together." For the next six hours we pulled invoices for advertisers and compared them to ads that had run in the newspaper for the past six months or so. Consistently we found ads that did not jibe with their bills. As I had expected, the primary recipient of Lee Roy's special ad rates was Major and his real estate business and car dealership. On the other hand, Eva always paid top rate, and her bills coincided perfectly with what she ran.

  The amount of money the newspaper had been shorted was considerable.

  "If this doesn't beat anything I've ever seen," Iris Jo said, running her hands through her hair. "I should have picked up on this. I am so sorry. I could have saved you a lot of money. This was my job, and I didn't catch it."

  "Don't beat yourself up, Iris. You had no concrete evidence Lee Roy was stealing, and he chose a pretty slick way to do it. How could you notice money was missing if it never came to the books in the first place?"

  "What are we going to do?" I liked the way she said "we" instead of "you." I knew she would back me up, no matter how much fur might fly.

  "Well, we're going to act like nothing is going on, that we're cleaning out old files. If you're up to it, tomorrow afternoon we'll look at some more back editions and try to figure out when this started. Then I'll probably need to talk to Duke and to Walt, see how to proceed legally."

  Before we headed home, we grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Cotton Boll and tried to chitchat, but neither of us could quit thinking about Lee Roy, the missing money and the challenges ahead. As we parted, Iris Jo gave me a hug. "You know you're welcome at church tomorrow if you want to come. We'd love to have you."

  "Thanks," I said and climbed into my car, exhausted and wired.

  When I got home, there was a medium-sized dog lying on my front porch. Cautiously climbing out of the car, I headed for the back door. The dog growled and whined and its tail thumped the porch. I looked closer, trying to figure out what was going on. It looked like one of Chris Craig's dogs ... Kramer, was it? No, Kramer was the big, lean dog. Mannix? Yes, that was it. Mannix.

  "Hey, fellow, it's okay. You're Mannix, aren't you?" I tried to soothe the dog without getting too close. "It's okay. What's wrong with you, big guy? Are you hurt?"

  The dog didn't get up when I walked around and into the house, instead giving a halfhearted bark and a whimper. I, on the other hand, let out a loud sigh. This was just what I needed tonight. Digging around for the tiny Green phonebook, I found the coach's number and dialed it, only to get no answer. I walked to the front of the house and used the screen door as a barrier between the dog and me, just in case he decided to bite. He whimpered again, gave a short growl and put his head down. His tail was still wagging, and I thought that was a good sign.

  I dug out my emergency flashlight and shone it on him. Sure enough, there was a big smear of blood on his back, and his fur was matted where it had soaked through and dried. I had no idea what to do. I was deathly afraid of dogs, worn out, did not know how to go about getting this one treated, and was certain that my top-ranked employee was stealing me blind.

  Desperate, I looked up a veterinary clinic in town and called. They suggested I carry the animal to my car and bring him in for a check up.

  I put a towel in the back seat and nervously approached the dog. "Easy, Mannix. I'm going to help you, buddy." The dog whimpered, but did not growl. I gingerly picked him up and carried him to the car. When I laid him down on the seat, he growled, but it was feeble and not very threatening.

  I drove by Chris's house, hoping he would have come home, but the place was dark. I even turned around and drove back by a couple of his ponds, but didn't see him.

  A nice young woman answered the night bell at the animal clinic and came out to help me carry Mannix. A quick check showed the dog had a deep laceration on his back. "I'm not sure if he's been hit by a car or gotten hung on something sharp," she said. "It'll require a closer look. He definitely needs stitches, but I don't think we'll have to do surgery."

  I signed the paperwork, hoping I was doing the right thing. I noticed people out in the country were crazy about their dogs-but treated them differently than city people treated theirs. They let them run around in the yard, and they didn't seem to baby them so much. What if Chris thought that taking his dog to the vet was a stupid idea?

  When they took the dog back to the treatment area, I called Chris again and again, using the phone on the sign-in counter. Finally, I tried Iris Jo and told her what had happened.

  "He just left here frantic about Mannix," she said. "He'll be so relieved. I'll let him know."

  Fifteen minutes later, Chris rushed into the clinic, and I quickly updated him. He came across the waiting room and gave me a big, tight hug. "Thank you so much, Lois. I don't know how I can ever repay you. Thank you. He's probably sort of a dumb mutt to you, but I love that animal, really all three of them. I didn't think he could get out of that fence. I feel terrible."

  "Well, I think I'll head on back home. I'm glad everything worked out."

  He stood up and hugged me again. That man could hug. He was a big, tall guy, sort of a forty-year-old version of the young athletes he worked with. "I owe you big time. I'll buy you dinner or something soon."

  "You don't owe me, Chris. That's what neighbors do for each other. And besides you cleaned up my yard and didn't even take credit for it."

  I opened the clinic door. "Well, I guess I do have one favor to ask. Stop by or give me a call in the next few days and let me know how Mannix is doing."

  Driving home, I didn't feel quite so tired. I felt good about tack
ling my fears and getting the dog to the vet. Truthfully, I was somewhat touched by Chris's gratitude and the two warm hugs. Maybe this was a guy I could be friends with, since he lived just down the road. Of course, I wouldn't be here much longer, but maybe we could stay in touch.

  I thought of him again just before I fell asleep and wondered what his wife had been like.

  The next morning I overslept and woke up with that weird feeling where you know something is wrong but can't quite remember what it is.

  Immediately it hit me.

  I had uncovered Lee Roy's illegal actions at the newspaper and had to deal with them. No way could I leave that for the new owner. That brought to mind other topics always hovering near the surface of my brain-Eva's interest in the paper and the Asheville job. If I didn't give Eva a shot at The News-Item, I'd be cheating her in a way-and possibly even the people of Green. She knew how to run things and make money. But wouldn't she also make a great mayor? What if I kept dragging my heels on Asheville? They were impatient already.

  "We've gone back to our other candidates," the publisher had emailed me the previous week. "Let us know if your timetable changes."

  Getting out of bed, my first cup of coffee in hand, I called Aunt Helen. She had not seemed herself since her short stay in the hospital, and I made an effort to talk to her every day or so. When I tried her room, no one answered, so I called the nurse's station to leave a message.

  "Oh, Lois, she asked us to call you, but we haven't had a minute. Helen was taken to the hospital again this morning. She had some shortness of breath."

  When I got to the clinic, she had already been moved to a room, but she looked much worse than when last I had seen her. She was on oxygen, and her color was bad. My mother would have said she looked peaked.

  For just a moment when I entered the room, I thought she didn't know me, but she quickly roused and greeted me. "You'd do anything to get out of going to church, wouldn't you?" she said.

  "So would you apparently," I replied, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. "You got a crush on the ER doc or something?"

  "You journalists, can't get anything past you, can I?"

  "So what's wrong with you?"

  "Well, I'm eighty-three years old, a coot, and I seem to have some sort of problem with my heart. Apparently the home's fish sticks and French fries menu choice did not agree with me. What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm thirty-six years old, never been married, own a newspaper I don't know what to do with, and have no idea what to do with my life. And right now fish sticks and French fries sound pretty good to me. Since you're doing so well, I think I'll run down to the cafeteria and see what they're serving for breakfast." I was hungry and out of sorts.

  Aunt Helen was asleep when I returned, and at first it scared me. I thought she had died while I was eating bacon and eggs. I leaned over to see if she was breathing.

  "Boo," she said right in my ear, in that deep, wavering voice I had first heard on the telephone in my office. I jumped and squeaked.

  "You thought I had croaked, didn't you?"

  I hung my head, a little embarrassed.

  "I was just taking a catnap. Come sit over here." She patted the edge of the bed and moved over to make room for me to sit. I could tell Helen was tired, but it was clear she had something on her mind.

  "Child, can I give you some advice about that newspaper?"

  "Sure," I said, knowing she would give it to me one way or the other.

  "Hang onto it. Be a good steward of it, the way you have been. Don't squander your gifts. Expect good things-great things-to happen. Have some fun. God has great plans for you.

  And then she drifted off again.

  Over the next few days, Aunt Helen's condition deteriorated quickly. They considered moving her up to Shreveport to an intensive care unit, but decided it was too risky. She had apparently suffered a mild heart attack and developed pneumonia, which she couldn't seem to shake.

  She was seldom completely conscious, although I often thought she knew that I and a bevy of others were in the room. Young women from church came by to talk about lessons she had taught them, and older women told great stories about her friendship and crazy things she had done through the years. I sat with her for hours, hoping my presence would reassure her. She had gone downhill so quickly, joking with me and giving me advice one minute and lapsing into a comalike state the next.

  One afternoon Walt and his father came to see her. If Walt senior's presence didn't wake her up, nothing would.

  Walt and I chatted quietly in the hall, leaving his dad with Helen. I figured some message might need to pass between them.

  "I'm sorry I haven't returned your calls," I told Walt. "I've been trying to spend as much time up here as I can, and by the time I get home, I'm just pooped and it's late."

  He put his arm around my shoulders. "It's okay, really. I understand. The way you treat Aunt Helen is one of the many reasons I'm crazy about you."

  I was startled. I knew he liked me, but we had kept our relationship pretty much on the surface.

  I changed the subject. "I've got a problem at the newspaper. I need to talk with you about it." I looked around to make sure no one could hear. "I haven't gotten all my ducks in a row yet, but I know someone's stealing from me. I'm going to need your legal help again."

  "No problem. We can tackle that as soon as you are ready. But you be careful, okay? People get a little crazy when someone backs them into a corner."

  Suddenly there was a great commotion, and nurses rushed into Helen's room. She had died with the love of her life at her bedside, ironic since they had been apart for sixty years.

  The doctor ultimately said her heart was weak, but I knew that wasn't the case. She was one of the biggest-, strongesthearted people I had ever known.

  I wish I could have had her in my life longer.

  18

  The Bouef Parish Sheriffs Department is holding two Jersey cows and a donkey found wandering on the old Route 2 cutoff. To claim the livestock, identify them and be prepared to pay the loose animal fine.

  -The Green News-Item

  The police came to the building to arrest Lee Roy. He cursed as he was led out. "You'll pay for this, Lois Barker. The McCullers will have your hide."

  Once the district attorney talked about prison, however, Lee Roy wasted no time in laying the blame on the shoulders of the newspaper's former owners. He insisted Dub and Chuck had been siphoning money from the paper for years, had not paid taxes on it, and had not told their two siblings and Aunt Helen, who shared ownership of the paper. He was adamant they had helped him with his scam and taken a rather large cut.

  With that much to go on, Iris Jo and I renewed our efforts, spending long hours at the office. The ordeal of gathering evidence for a criminal case and firing Lee Roy made my stomach churn. Knowing the Big Boys had likely been involved was even worse. The McCullers had been much more sophisticated in their schemes, but theft was not hard to find once we knew where to look.

  "Looks to me like they were doing some of the same deals," Iris Jo said. "They took money from advertisers and didn't report it to their co-owners or the IRS. They overcharged the paper for years for expenses, used a separate account where money flowed from the printing business. That's a side business, you know, so it would be hard to see. They always took care of those books."

  The revelations made me incredibly angry.

  "The thing that makes me maddest," I said, "is that Dub and Chuck doctored the books between the time Ed made his offer and the time he was to take ownership of the paper. They took thousands of dollars out of the newspaper's accounts and into their own pockets, cheating my friend."

  My voice cracked. "Ed was a good, decent man. He saved for years to buy this paper, and he didn't deserve the way they treated him. I hope they rot in jail."

  Iris Jo was, as usual, calmer. "Your friend was a nice man. I enjoyed the couple of meetings I had with him and the phone conversations. I di
dn't know him very well, but I know one thing-he wouldn't want you to get bitter over this. Everything will work out. We're doing our part. Beyond that, you just have to let it go. Turn it over to God and hope that justice is done."

  "I don't want to turn it over to God. I want a big fat case to turn over to a federal judge." I glanced at Iris Jo and knew she was acting as a friend. "Well, the federal judge probably thinks he's God anyway."

  I leaned over and patted her arm. "Thanks for being such a great person, Iris Jo."

  Through all of this, other friends came to see me, brought me food and generally cheered me up, knowing I was reeling from Helen's death and the pain of Lee Roy's deceit. Many had known Aunt Helen longer and maybe loved her more, but she added something special to my life. Her words would guide me long after she was gone.

  The Big Boys were cool to me at the service, unaware of what I had in store for them. "We won't block your request to say a few words," Dub said, "but that doesn't mean we like it. We just don't want to be the ones causing a scene."

  They were still angry that I had exposed Major's dealings and furious at what I had done to their pal Lee Roy. They continued to maintain their ignorance about the inner workings of Major's business and Lee Roy's thefts. I figured they thought letting me speak at the funeral would solidify their innocence with the community.

  The other McCuller siblings, a brother and two sisters who lived in Tennessee and Florida, were cordial and thanked me for being a friend to Aunt Helen and for continuing the traditions of The News-Item. They had clearly long since lost interest in the paper, if they had had any in the first place.

  One of my best encouragers during these days was young Katy. She was outraged at any hint of wrongdoing in the world and had recently latched onto the idea of being a crusader. She said the sweetest things about my courage and reminded me several times a week not to give up.

  "I'm praying for you," she said once. "That you'll have the strength to see this through and to keep working for good."