by R. Jean Reid
“And if it couldn’t be anything save murder, you couldn’t do anything but report it.”
“Are you suggesting the paper ignore this story?”
“Nothing of the sort, but to play a decades old murder on the front page? Is that necessary?”
“It’s a big story,” Nell said, suddenly wondering if her mother-in-law was in on it, too. Pelican Bay’s prominent families—could that include the McGraws? She reminded herself it was totally in character for Mrs. Thomas, Sr. to comment on the front page, particularly a page that upset her bridge club. Nell felt a trickle of anxiety as she considered it might be something more.
But Mrs. Thomas let it go, saying, “I suppose so, but if you’re going to run any more stories like this please give me some warning so I’m not unfolding the paper in front of who knows whom.”
“I’ll do my best,” was all Nell conceded. At least I didn’t get into my censorship and free press speech. Mrs. Thomas was good at bringing out the pontificator in Nell.
“Now, when am I going to see my grandchildren again?” Mrs. Thomas launched into what Nell suspected was her real reason for the call. “This is some lovely fall weather we’re having and it would be enjoyable to do some strolling with them.”
Sometimes fate was kind. Aaron would have to do without Lizzie stuffing envelopes. “Actually, I was going to see if you could keep them for part of the weekend. It’s going to be a busy one, with the elections coming up. We’re trying to cover all the candidates, plus some follow-up on the murders.”
“Well, the last thing I want them to be doing is digging around in the woods for some old bones,” Mrs. Thomas said with some acerbity, letting Nell know her activities had been observed—and reported on. “Perhaps a nice little trip over to Ocean Springs, we can take in the Walter Anderson Museum and stroll the downtown.”
“That would be quite educational for them,” Nell said, meaning they’d both hate it, but learning to be polite was one of the major steps from childhood to adulthood and this would give Lizzie and Josh ample opportunity to practice.
“Good. Then I’ll come by at around nine tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Thomas instructed.
Another thing they would hate, getting up school early on a Saturday. But Nell was going to sell them even further down the river. “There’s an event I have to cover on Saturday night. Would you be okay keeping them late or even overnight?”
“Yes, I suppose I could do that,” Mrs. Thomas said slowly, as if trying to fathom why Nell was so easily giving her what she wanted. “What event are you covering?”
Damn, Nell thought, she would have to ask. Better not to lie; getting caught would only make it worse. Mrs. Thomas, Sr. could be counted on to have spies at the Historical Preservation Society. “I’m going to the Preservation Society event,” Nell said.
“Oh? I wouldn’t have thought that would interest you. If I’d known, I had two tickets and gave them away.”
“It wouldn’t normally interest me, but several of the mayoral candidates are going to be there and a friend with a spare ticket suggested I tag along.”
“It doesn’t hurt to get out more, although not so … well, let me know if you want to go to any of their other events. I used to be on the board, so I get everything.”
Nell understood what Mrs. Thomas was going to say. Not so soon after Thom’s death. “Mother, I’m not going out for a relaxing evening,” she replied, her voice slipping into that coolly polite tone. “I’m going because … I’m going to have to be doing these kinds of things now. This is a close election and the Crier has to come up with our endorsements soon. I’d like to do more than just base those on press releases.”
“Of course, Nell, I didn’t mean to sound critical. As always, I’m delighted to have the children. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
That was the end of the phone call. Nell was willing to bet that even as she put the receiver down Mrs. Thomas was speed-dialing all her Historical Preservation friends to ensure everything Nell did would be recounted in copious detail.
Maybe I should just wear a red dress and get it over with, Nell thought.
Then she realized it was time to get back to being a mother. She grabbed her purse; at least this time she would actually be out the door before Lizzie had to call.
I can’t get used to this, Nell thought as she hurried to the parking lot. I keep forgetting about my children, and that’s not a good thing to do with maniacs and murderers running around. And if I forget, there’s no one else to remind me or do it instead.
The traffic was kind and Lizzie and Josh were just coming out as Nell pulled up. As they approached the car, Nell realized she hadn’t gotten to the logistical follow-up. She couldn’t drop them off at home; between attackers and Mrs. Thomas, Sr.’s disapproval, that was too daunting. But she couldn’t keep dumping them on Kate.
“We’re going back to the office,” Nell informed them as they got in, Lizzie again peremptorily taking the front seat.
“Do we have to?” she protested.
“Yes, we have to. I can’t leave yet and with everything that’s going on, I’m not comfortable leaving you home alone,” Nell responded.
“Can I go to the library or is my leash shorter than that?” Lizzie asked.
“Depends,” Nell said as she pulled back out onto the street.
“On what?” Lizzie pushed.
“My mood and your behavior,” Nell answered, but she said it lightly. Lizzie was being grumpy, but it was low-level grumpy for her, and Nell wasn’t going to risk a contest of wills over going to the library. “What do you need at the library?”
“Get some books, stuff,” her daughter replied.
“Josh, do you want to go to the library?”
“Oh, God, do I have to babysit him?” Lizzie said.
“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Josh answered from the back seat.
“Did earlier this week,” was his sister’s reply.
“I’m sending Josh along to spy on you and make sure you don’t take a side trip on the back of any motorcycles,” Nell informed Lizzie. That quelled her protest.
Nell dropped them in front of the library and watched as they entered. Although the building was across the square from the Crier’s offices, she didn’t want to worry about them walking unescorted across that open space. She wondered if she was being paranoid or cautious.
Then it was back to the world of press releases, phone messages, and paperwork.
She had just gotten the new press releases and messages sorted into reasonable piles when Pam interrupted her to announce a visitor.
In the time it took Pam to tell Nell that the sheriff was here to see her, he’d crossed the newsroom and was at her door.
The mayor, the chief of police, and now the sheriff of the county, Nell thought. I must be batting a thousand.
“Afternoon, Miz McGraw,” he greeted her.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff. If you’re here about the story in the paper, I’ve already heard from the mayor and Chief Brown. To save both of us time, I will repeat what I said to them. Too many people know about the bones by now; there’s no way to suppress the story. My intent is to report in a fair and evenhanded manner, but I do intend to follow up.”
“Mayor Pickings and Chief Brown got a problem with that?” Sheriff Hickson asked.
“They seemed to think keeping it out of the local paper would be effective in killing the story. I gather the remains being found on land the mayor’s family used to own is politically embarrassing, at the very least.”
“They came over here and warned you off?”
“Beat you to it, clearly,” Nell retorted. “Now that you’re here, why don’t you tell me how the investigation is proceeding?” She motioned to the chair across from her desk.
“Mayor’s dangling a possible retirement bonus in front of Whiz, so wh
en he says jump, Whiz’s already in the air ’fore he asks how high. Tight election this year and Hubert is just fool enough to think he can tell you what to do.” The sheriff eased himself down in the chair. “Well, I’m not here to talk to you about the bones. I’d like to know who they are and who did it, but given how long ago it all was, I don’t have much hope. May have to settle for just a proper burial. I don’t have much to report yet. We’re going through old missing persons records, but fifty-some years back isn’t easy. Harold Reed, the assistant DA, is trying to pry loose some funds to do facial reconstruction. We do that, then I’d be more than glad to have you put in on the front page.”
He continued. “I got some bad news and thought it best to deliver it in person. Junior Jones made bail. Judge reduced it, somehow his brothers managed to get it, and we had to spring him this afternoon.”
“That bastard’s out?” Nell demanded. “How the hell did that happen?”
“I think his wife got to the judge, went on about needing him to provide for the family, that with all his ties here he wasn’t a flight risk …”
“Just a drunken murderer,” Nell interjected.
“Charge is manslaughter, makes it harder to set high bail. I got to say, I think Junior had his chances, could of cleaned up if he wanted, and his promises now are just jailhouse talk. I wasn’t happy to let him out.”
“You know his brothers probably assaulted my son,” Nell said. “As a warning to me. What do you think they might do now that he’s out?”
The sheriff puzzled for a moment, then said, “They ain’t forward thinking folks. He’s out now, they’re happy. They just might leave you alone until it gets time for the trial and they get hit with him going back in.”
“That’s a big comfort,” Nell said sarcastically.
“I know the police here are just a tad overworked, so I’ll tell my boys to keep a smart eye out for the Jones vehicles. Broken tail lights, anything; just let ’em know they’re being watched. Also wanted to remind you about my cousin coming to town tomorrow and donating the funds for a new squad car. I’d sure appreciate some good coverage on that.” His purpose fulfilled, the sheriff eased out of the chair.
He hadn’t directly linked the two topics. Nell admitted he probably even had decent intentions in coming to tell her about Junior Jones, but he was too much of the political animal to offer a favor without implying that one should be given in return.
“I don’t know, Sheriff,” she said. “You’re competing with the fishing rodeo and ‘Pickings in the Park’ tomorrow.” Nell couldn’t quite bring herself to give it to him on a platter. But she hastily added, “I’ll be there, ready to do you justice,” as she wasn’t sure he would see the humor.
“I’d sure appreciate that. Tomorrow at noon, right in front of the courthouse.” He stuffed his hat back on his head and shambled out of her office.
Nell again missed Thom; he would sort out the politics. She was astute enough to notice the sheriff didn’t have a great deal of professional esteem for Whiz Brown, but how did the county machinations fit in with the town? Thom had always kidded that a campaign contribution of a certain amount prevented speeding tickets in Tchula County. Nell suspected there were several good ole boy networks operating; Thom would have known for sure, as he knew the unwritten rules. She did know the sheriff had fought hiring women, firmly believing it just wasn’t a woman’s place to strap on a gun or drive squad cars after miscreants. He’d finally relented when the sister of one of his deputies needed a job after a divorce. She had a degree in criminal justice, and perhaps that helped him see her as almost equal to men with only biceps and a high school diploma. Nell didn’t believe the sheriff was on her side—whatever side that was. He would use her for his own ends, from the press coverage he wanted to feeding her select information about his political enemies. But Nell didn’t know who those where or what feuds from twenty years ago might only now surface.
With Thom, she had played the role of devil’s advocate. She would have said, “Why are we doing his bidding? Why show up on a Saturday to get a posed picture of a cousin handing him a check?” She got to stay on the sidelines and remain pure, while Thom did the grubby, glad-handing work. “So I play the sheriff’s game, the mayor’s game, the police chief’s game; I just don’t know the rules or how to score.”
Nell glanced at her watch; it was a little past five. She was waiting for Jacko to come back, as he should have been kicked out right at five. She was hoping he either got nothing or a lot. Nell was too tired to wrestle with the conundrum of questioning Hubert Pickings with only half of what was there.
As she had guessed, Jacko returned a few minutes later. Nell left her office to greet him and was surprised to notice that Dolan, Ina Claire, and Pam were all still there. They usually left at five, especially on Friday.
“I could spend days there,” Jacko announced as he put a stack of papers down on his desk.
“And you probably will,” Nell told him. “What did you find?”
“I was only able to track down a few things, but so far everything agrees with your source. The one bombshell I managed to find today is that our esteemed mayor’s father did get the property for $3,000. Three months earlier, it had been appraised for tax purposes at $32,000. However, the year before, it was listed as worth $21,200. The property assessor had decided the property had increased in value by just over a third in a year, with, obviously, a similar increase in property taxes.”
“Who was the assessor?” Nell asked.
“Albert Dunning.”
“Was there any stated reason for the increase? New buildings? Property improvement?”
“None stated.”
For a moment Nell was silent, thinking over the implications of what Jacko had found. “They used the system every way they could. If the people pay the taxes, they reassess the property and increase the taxes so they can’t pay them.”
“Hubert Horatio Pickings bought the land for less than a tenth of what it was appraised for,” Jacko stated.
“How could he get away with that?” Pam asked.
“It was the age of Jim Crow and White Citizen Councils,” Ina Claire answered. “No mass communication; lot of people didn’t even have phones. People were isolated and these men were the law.”
“According to some notes there was a lien on the property,” Jacko said. “Pickings père had loaned Elbert Woodling a tractor, with the property as collateral. It appears that the sale price included payback for the tractor. Just imagine what kind of tractor $30,000 would have bought back in those days.”
“Damn, they got the poor guy every way, coming and going,” Dolan commented.
“That’s most of what I got. It took a while to find that assessed value, but it was worth it. That’s what’s going to hang them. All the stuff looks legit, ‘back taxes.’ But then you compare it to how they were handling other properties, sudden increases in tax bills, maximum late penalties assessed if the bill was even a day late. I started on the Defouche property: they supposedly paid a day late, but I looked up a 1961 calendar and the day they supposedly paid was a Saturday, which probably means that the date was changed. They paid on a Friday, on time, but someone changed the date to make it look like they were late.”
“And sloppy enough not to check the days of the week,” Nell said. She added, “Great work, Jacko. It’s those details that will tell the story. It was smart of you to both think of them and track them down.”
“And Alberta Bonier is going to be there tomorrow catching up on some stuff and she told me I could come in if I wanted. So I’ll have a couple of hours tomorrow to keep digging.”
“Very good.”
“Young stud sweet talking those old courthouse ladies,” Dolan joshed.
“She’s got a son around my age,” Jacko replied, a hint of blush on his face. “And she said she hates to be there by herself.”
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br /> They had all worked hard and cared enough to stay late. Time to get everyone home. Nell picked up the phone on Jacko’s desk and dialed Carrie’s cell number.
When the young woman answered, Nell said, “Carrie, you are to be all sweetness and light tomorrow with Hubert Pickings. Lead him on, ask him how his family got the property, dig as much as you can into the history of it; get him to go on record about it. Fawn if you have to. Ask things like how much his father bought it for, how much was it assessed for when they donated it to the park. Ask him what he knows about who owned it before them. See how much he knows. When you come in on Monday, I’ll brief you on what Jacko has come up with and the questions you can ask when you change to steel and nails.”
Carrie ran down some questions with Nell, then said she’d see her on Monday. Nell put the phone down and told her assembled troops, “It’s late, go home, get some rest. We’ll be busy next week.”
Nell did as she told her staff. They were all quickly out the door and, by unspoken agreement, walked together to their cars.
Nell felt a little foolish driving only a block and a half to the library, especially as driving was the long route and walking would have been shorter, but she wanted the car as close as it could be. She parked in front.
“Hey, Mom, can we go to a cookout in the park?” Josh asked the second she walked through the door.
“Shush, Josh, you don’t need to be so loud here, people might be reading,” Nell said.
“No one’s reading. Late Friday is the slow time here,” Marion Nash, the librarian, answered. “And tonight is the cookout for our various reading clubs, and I know that Josh and Lizzie are members of at least one of them.”
More in the breach, Nell thought. Both her children read a good deal, but she couldn’t remember any recent outings to book clubs. Then she slowly recalled there had been a few; there just hadn’t been any in the last month.
“It’d be fun, Mom. We’d like to go,” Lizzie piped in.