Roots of Murder

by R. Jean Reid

  “Who got it, do you know?”

  “It was that Pelican Property group. Someone ashamed enough not to want his name on the stolen property. They also took over the Jacobs farm up there. Now it’s Back Bay Estates, Back Bay Country Club. That poor woman.”

  Nell recognized the location, of course; that was where most of the money of Tchula County ended up, especially the old money. The Country Club was considered the most posh on the Gulf Coast, with membership criteria to make sure it stayed that way. The houses averaged about 1 to 2 acres each, and access was by a winding, secluded road. The developer had taken time and money, leaving many trees intact to heighten the sense of being in a wooded glade. The homes were diverse, from Tudor to modern, and the most expensive had access to the water.

  “The brothers whose house burned. Was it possible it was arson?” Nell asked.

  “And murder? No, or at least not direct murder. Gary Radnor was the volunteer fire chief at the time and he’d served with my brothers, so he came by regular to check on me and my mother. He told me those men—I don’t remember their name, I’m sorry, someone should, but I don’t—had built a fire, been cooking fish, and got too drunk to pay attention to the blaze. He did say he thought they had some help with the drinking. The brothers scraped by with fishing, some handy work. Not much more than a few nickels to rub together. Gary said they found about four bottles of bourbon there and not the kind those men could afford. He thought, and I agree, someone gave them the liquor, knew drunk men on the water had a good chance of being dead men.”

  Returning to her other comment, Nell asked, “Why do you say ‘that poor woman’?”

  “Hattie Jacobs. Her husband Daniel was killed in an accident and she was left to run their farm by herself, with four kids, the oldest at the time I believe around fourteen. I remember her coming in, carefully straightening out her folded bills and counting out what she owed. They were blatant and they were sloppy by the time they got to her. Thought no one or nothing could stop them. Mr. Dunning told her she hadn’t paid her taxes. She just calmly said that can’t be right and just as calmly pulled out a receipt that showed she had. It was in ink, in my handwriting. Mr. Dunning grabbed that receipt out of her hand and tore it up.

  “I was so angry I snatched it off on the floor where he’d thrown it and said she had indeed paid her taxes, he wasn’t going to make a liar out of me, not with that receipt in my writing. He got mad and started yelling, told me to go to the back, this wasn’t my business. I handed Hattie Jacobs her torn receipt and he grabbed it again and thrust it in his pocket. Then looked at us and told us we were both wrong, with this awful smirk on his face, saying Miss Jacobs—like her husband never existed—hadn’t paid her taxes and she needed to come up with them plus the penalty in thirty days or she’d lose her property.

  “She managed it once, to repay those taxes, to unfold those crumpled bills. I’m guessing her kids didn’t get new shoes that winter. But they wanted her land. They’d gotten the bayou property, but they needed the land to go with it. They talked some of the local groceries out of buying eggs from her. I remember her eldest son selling eggs out on the road in front of the farm. Some of us bought as many as we could, but we couldn’t make up for what the stores stopped buying. She also had a stand of Christmas trees. End of October that year, someone chopped them down. After that, she sold the farm, got nothing for it, and moved to New Orleans. Never heard what happened to her. Hers was the last deed I recorded. Those dry pieces of paper held the story of such human misery.”

  Penny March was silent, looking into the pine forest.

  Nell glanced down at her notes, the scribbled names. Most of them would be dead by now, perhaps a few left. Even those would have gotten away with it, save for Penny March’s memory. Nell knew there would be no justice, at best only a faint shade grasping them in the twilight of their life. But with the names Penny March had given her, the locations of the properties, she could coax the story from those dry pieces of paper. Not easily, she admitted, but without these guideposts, it would be an impossible maze of documents.

  Nell felt angry, but she also felt eager and keyed up, the feeling she always had when she knew the story was there.

  “It won’t be justice,” she said, again taking the old woman’s hand, “but it will be remembrance. You’ve given me enough to find those old records, prove what you’re saying, trace the few living witnesses, add their stories to yours. Those men—their past will hunt them down. Living or dead, they won’t escape.”

  “‘Their graves were tainted, bitter with bone,’” Penny March quoted. “My brother sent that to me, the last letter I got from him. It could be a line from some great poet or something scribbled by the person next to him in the trench. He’s buried in Hawaii. That was why I finally went there, not for the beaches but to see a poor infantryman’s grave. Just a few memories. Some faded ink and a stone where my brother had once been.”

  Memories, faded ink, and a gravestone, Nell repeated to herself. That could sum up what she had of Thom. Suddenly life seemed a long stretch; she would hold the memories just as Penny March held hers, years upon years.

  “Although I do seem to recall a beach or two in that trip,” said a woman who joined them.

  “Julia!” Penny March exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in the grocery store.”

  “Hello, dear,” Julia said as she bent down and, amidst juggling a few grocery bags, gave Penny a solid hug. She then stood up and hoisted her bags like trophies. “It’s just astonishing the lengths to which the liquor industry will go to entice people. Bad for the youth of the day, but lucky for us. Got you both hard lemonade and hard cider. Medusa only saw the lemonade and let it pass.”

  “Nell, this is my good friend Julia Tyne. Julia, this is Nell McGraw from the Pelican Bay Crier.”

  Nell shook hands. Julia was an older woman, although younger than Penny. Nell would have guessed they were sisters if Penny hadn’t introduced her as a friend. It wasn’t their looks, but an easy camaraderie and intimacy that was readily apparent.

  “You must think I’m some kind of rum runner, smuggling in alcohol like this,” Julia said to Nell.

  “But at eighty-seven, I’m old enough to drink, and enjoyment of life is more important than health. Although I firmly believe that an afternoon relaxer is more healthy than not,” Penny filled in.

  “Don’t worry, I’m just a reporter, not the vice squad. I never reveal my sources,” Nell said.

  “Good to know one’s friends,” Julia replied. To Penny, she added, “I have your weekend all sorted out. I’ll come back by and pick you up this afternoon and don’t have to bring you back until sometime Monday. Karl and Lenny are coming over tonight for pizza and poker. Then on Saturday we’re doing a bar crawl, over in Biloxi.”

  Penny broke in. “We’re doing no such thing. More likely a sedate drive along the beach. Julia, dear, Nell has been interviewing me; you’re going to make me sound like the most unstable of witnesses.”

  “Interviewing you about what?”

  “A long time ago. When I worked in Pelican Bay in the records department.”

  “Ah. That has come to light.”

  “Yes, finally,” Penny answered. “Poor Julia, she thought I would pass before her and she would be left to tell her secondhand version.”

  “You’re going to bring this all out?” Julia asked Nell.

  “As best I can. I want to do more research before I print the story. Others will remember, if you have. I’m going to track down those who lost properties and add their voices. Plus dig in the old records and look at the deeds of sale.”

  “You might compare the tax records of the taken property to those of people like the Pickings,” Penny March suggested. “I know that they paid late on several occasions.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” Nell replied. She’d already thought of that, but it
was an intelligent suggestion. “Any others that you can think of?”

  “Might try the Browns. I was too grubby to take their money; Mr. Dunning always saw them himself. I think right around the time I left their little group had a falling out. Just a few things I overheard. Something about the Jacobs property being sold instead of taken for taxes. I surmised one of those in on it had bought the whole thing, when the plan had been to parcel it out.”

  “No honor among thieves,” Julia snorted.

  “Who got the Jacobs land?” Nell asked as she ruffled back through her notes.

  “The Pelican Property group, so I don’t really know who,” Penny answered. “But that gave them the marina and the back bay property in a package, quite an attractive parcel all together.”

  “I can do a records search and find out who was behind Pelican Property,” Nell said. Rather, Jacko could do a search, as old records were his specialty.

  They were interrupted by an aide opening the door and calling out, “Lunchtime.”

  Nell glanced at her watch. Lunch was served at 11:15. She’d still been talking to Penny March longer than she’d thought.

  “I’ll go tuck these in your room, dear,” Julia said to Penny. She bent down and kissed Penny, then headed off.

  “You’ve been a great help, Ms. March,” Nell told her. “You said you knew why the bodies were put in the woods. How does this connect?”

  “Proof? I have none. But there was so much money involved, all that land. Three people died at the same time. Someone fought back. And died for it. Life can be brutal and it can be random, but I still hope it can’t be brutal and random enough for two great evils in one place at one time, instead of just one.”

  “You might be right. And we may never find proof.”

  “Look. Please look. Put something bitter in their comfortable graves.” She was silent for a moment. “Can I get you to give me a wheel? I’ll wait forever for one of the aides to remember I’m out here.”

  “I may have other questions,” Nell said as she unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair. “Is it all right if I come here again?”

  “I do have such a full social schedule, but I think I might be able to work you in.”

  Nell pivoted at the door, to open it with her hips and gently bring the chair over the stoop. She flashed back to her mother in a wheelchair. The final month, as her mother lay dying of cancer. Nell had just graduated Columbia then, and yet she was still the single daughter, the one with the duty to come home and care for a dying woman. She had hoped that death so close would change her mother, but it hadn’t, or not in the way Nell had wanted. If anything, dying made her mother more demanding, more grasping, as if she had to exert every last bit of control. She badgered Nell to call her brothers; she wanted constant attendance, a stream of people to see her, although she could stand only a few minutes before dismissing them. When told the summoned relative wouldn’t be coming, her mother would bray, “Vivien would have gotten them to come.” Nell didn’t tell her mother she’d attempted to get Vivien to help, but Vivien had dismissed her and their mother, saying, “It’s a waste of time for anyone to go out there. A forty-five minute drive for a two-second visit? Give her a photograph.” When Nell complained about being the one her mother harangued, Vivien had also dismissed that. “She’ll be dead in a few weeks; you can stand her moods that long.” Vivien had hung up before Nell pointed out that Vivien couldn’t stand their mother’s moods for a few minutes.

  “Ah, you’ve taken over my duty,” Julia said, interrupting Nell’s thoughts. “Thrown me over for a younger woman, have you?”

  “Nothing of the kind. I merely wanted you to have time to safely stow the goods and me to get to lunch while it’s still warm.”

  “She always finds an excuse,” Julia said easily to Nell.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the lunch room; most everyone else was going in the same direction. One of the aides appeared and took over the wheelchair duty. A hasty goodbye, and Penny March was wheeled in to her lunch.

  “They don’t like visitors around during lunch,” Julia said. “Afraid we might steal a biscuit or something.”

  They walked together back through the lobby. Indeed, Ms. Medusa, as Julia and Penny seemed to have labeled her, had her eyes watching for purloined bread.

  “It must be hard to pass by that woman every day,” Nell said once they were safely out of hearing distance.

  “Oh, not really. Just one of life’s little challenges. We do have to occasionally remind her that these are not inmates and she is not a prison guard. But it can also be useful to have a clear adversary who is easily vanquished.”

  “How long have you and Penny known each other?” Nell asked.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t seem that long, doesn’t seem we could be so old,” Julia said softly. “Penny and I have been together for a little over forty-eight years now.”

  “How did you meet?” Nell asked.

  “I was a little wild in my youth—nothing serious, mind you, nothing at all if I’d been a boy; driving a little too fast, cussing. Judge was going to give me a fine and ten days in jail, so I piped up and asked him to give me the same chance he gave the boys and let me join the military. I didn’t think he’d really do it, but he did. So there I was, signing up for the Women’s Air Force. I thought I’d made a major mistake when I found out I had to wear lipstick, but I learned to like it. They decided to send a nice little Wisconsin girl to the heart of the south, so they assigned me to Keesler in Biloxi. I met Penny on my second day there.”

  “And you’ve been together ever since?” Nell asked, having finally guessed that they were more than just friends.

  “Penny thought I was a little young for her, but yes, we have.” Julia was silent, then added, “This was her choice. I argued. Guess I could have argued harder, but I think we both knew when it got so hard for her to walk. She said, this way I can avoid the chores but still have the fun. This isn’t such a bad place, really,” Julia continued, as if she had to explain to Nell. “The only really annoying person is Medusa, and she’s only there eight hours a day. I can know Penny is well taken care of, that there are nurses around, that she’ll get breakfast even if I sleep late.”

  Nell put her hand on Julia’s arm. “I took care of my mother for a while, less than six weeks. It exhausted me. I can only wish my family had the wisdom to make the choice you’ve made.”

  “I guess I do explain a little too much, don’t I?” Then Julia asked, “How much about Penny will be in your article?”

  “I’ll have to back up what she says as much as possible, but she did give me most of the story and she should get credit,” Nell replied.

  “Don’t worry about the credit. Penny won’t care,” Julia said with the assurance of knowing someone for a lifetime. “I think she’d rather not be mentioned at all, certainly not by name. The important thing is people know what happened. Plus … I worry about her. Talking to you is one thing, but her heart is weak and if she had call after call, it would be hard on her.”

  “A lot of money changed hands. Some of those hands might still be around,” Nell said. “Do you think someone might seek revenge?”

  “After she’s told you? It would be pointless, wouldn’t it? But then criminals aren’t always the most logical people. Tell the story, but leave us out if you can. She’s an old woman. Death is close. But she should die in her bed.”

  “Until you or Penny tells me otherwise, I won’t use her name.”

  “Thank you.” Julia stopped at her car. “If you ever get a hankering for poker and pizza, we do it just about every Friday.”

  “Thanks. If the stakes aren’t too high, I might just take you up on it.”

  “Stakes are pretty high. We play strip poker.” With a wave, Julia got in her car.

  Nell waved back and continued to her car. As she got in, she thought, Thom and I shou
ld have had forty-eight years. She suddenly pounded the steering wheel, an overwhelming feeling of fury and despair washing over her. “Goddamn Jones!” she said through clenched teeth. She sat still, fighting back tears, fighting how fragile her control was. Any step she took could open into an abyss of grief; how long would this go on? She roughly rubbed her hands across her face, as if that could wipe away the emotions.

  Maybe it’s not just me, Nell thought; maybe some of my anger is for all these lives ripped so far apart. What would it be like to have you home, your land, everything you’d worked for taken from you, with no justice possible because of the color of your skin?

  She took a deep breath, then another and another before she was finally able to start her car. I can get Junior Jones off the road so he won’t kill anyone else in a drunken stupor, she thought. And I can tell the story of this injustice.

  “Maybe it’s time to ask Marcus Fletcher,” Nell said aloud, willing her voice to be steady. She drove away.

  ten

  Dolan reported, in his usual laconic fashion, that Carrie had assisted him with much-needed filing but he’d finally decided her talents were put to better use picking up lunch. “I ordered a tuna salad for you, I hope that’s okay,” he finished.

  Nell wanted to thank him for both the lunch and for taking on Carrie, but the best she could do was, “Thanks for handling everything.”

  In the sanctuary of her office, she started writing down the story assignments. She was guessing the best lead they had on the bodies was Marcus Fletcher and what he knew. He might be able to hand everything to her. He might just point them in a likely direction. Jacko was clearly the one to send to the old records, but he could probably use help.

  She debated for a while before finally deciding on how to handle things. She and Jacko would do most of the work on the twin stories of the bones and the property. She’d leave Carrie with most of the reporting on the upcoming elections. Carrie hated old records, but did pretty good interviews. Nell suddenly realized that she was facing the daunting task of a major story, with only two green reporters to help. She and Thom had an almost intuitive way of working together, and in a lot of ways he had been the one who had made them pull together as a team, from flirting with Ina Claire to boyish gruff kidding with Dolan to giving Carrie a male mentor she responded to. Somehow Nell needed to remold them into a team, and she needed to do it now. “Damn it, Thom,” she muttered under her breath. “Why didn’t you pass on that trick before you checked out of here.”