by R. Jean Reid
Most of the town streets were now one way, so they headed back by a different route.
As the sheriff pulled to a halt at a stop sign, more to answer his radio than to obey the law, Nell noticed they were at the corner with the Jones brothers’ gas station.
She sat up when she noticed a big, dark truck in the back bay. Another car was parked across the entrance, as if they wanted to make sure the truck was as hidden as could be.
Nell had to see if the truck had a dent on the front fender.
“Where are you … ?” the sheriff said as she got out of his car.
“A dark truck,” Nell answered as she strode across the street. She wanted a quick look. If it was the truck, by tomorrow all traces of the attack might be gone.
But there was no way to sneak into the garage, and although she was sliding behind the parked car in front of the truck before anyone noticed her, it wasn’t lost on the Jones boys that Nell McGraw, with a camera in hand, was investigating their truck.
“Hey! You can’t go there!” someone shouted.
“Stop me,” Nell muttered to herself as she rounded the back end of the truck. It was parked front end in, and the passenger side was next to the wall, making it difficult to glimpse the front right fender.
“What do you think you’re doing, lady?” one of them shouted.
“Get out of there now!” the other added.
They sounded nervous. The driver’s window was open; Nell put her arm in and leaned on the horn. It blared the first few bars of Dixie.
“Goddamn it!” came another shouted curse.
Nell hurried on her circuit of the truck, squeezing in between the wall and the front bumper. It was the only way to get to the fender.
The Jones brothers were coming after her. They were large men with big beer bellies and they couldn’t slide around to follow her as Nell edged around the front of the truck to the tight space on the passenger side.
“You’re trespassing! We got a right to shoot you!”
Nell glanced up. She hadn’t thought the Jones brothers would do much more than haul her bodily off the property. You idiot, she chastised herself. They might be murderers and they might just be stupid enough to shoot her in broad daylight.
Nell looked down at the fender. It was scraped and dented, a few flecks of the same dark green color of Marcus’s car in the gouge.
Nell looked up again at the Jones brothers and was relieved there wasn’t a gun pointing at her. She was less relieved that the older of the brothers was opening a cabinet in the office. They wouldn’t be gunless for long.
To go back the way she came would take her straight to the brother now grunting and straining to follow her narrow path. But the space between the wall and the truck was a tight fit and she couldn’t cover the distance quicker than brother number one could get the gun.
If you can’t go around, you have to go over, Nell decided as she heaved herself up and into the bed of the truck.
“Fucking shit,” came from brother number two, accompanied by a ripping sound. He seemed to have wedged himself in and was now attempting to tear himself out.
But brother number one had retrieved the gun. He pointed it at Nell.
She threw herself into the bed of the truck just as he pulled the trigger. A loud boom echoed in the tight space and Nell found herself showered with plaster from the bullet hitting the wall.
“What the hell you doin’? Don’t fuckin’ shoot his truck!” shouted another voice, one Nell recognized from her whining phone calls. Tanya was standing by her man’s truck.
“Put that damn gun down.” For once in her life, Nell was happy to hear the sheriff. She was less happy when he added, “Nell McGraw, you are under arrest for trespassing and disturbing the peace. Now get out of that truck.”
Nell slowly peered out from the bed of the truck, worried that despite the sheriff being a witness, brother number one might still pull the trigger.
“Get on out of there,” the sheriff demanded.
“If he puts the gun down,” Nell bargained.
“Put that gun away and do it now,” the sheriff demanded.
A quick glance at the sheriff told Nell he had drawn his revolver. The possibility of being shot was enough to make brother number one lower the gun and, with a curt nod from the sheriff, to put in on the ground.
“Get out of there and off this property now,” the sheriff boomed at Nell.
She reluctantly lowered herself over the tailgate of the truck, keeping her eyes on brother number one and his all-too-close gun.
He didn’t move. But the sheriff did. As soon as Nell was clear of the truck, he grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around so she was braced against the car in front of the bay, and with an efficiency she didn’t appreciate, pulled one arm behind her back, slapping a handcuff first on one hand and then on the other.
“Don’t you ever try any crap like this again, little lady,” he told her as he marched her away from the garage and toward his cruiser. He had her arm in a painful grip and was almost dragging her at a hurried pace.
“Trespassing, what the hell is this?” Nell fumed as she caught her breath.
“You just come with me,” he said, giving her a good jerk on the arm to keep her in line.
Nell suddenly wondered what she’d gotten into. Was the sheriff part of this murderous mess? And smart enough, unlike the Jones brothers, to see it would not be a wise idea to take her out in the middle of town? Handcuffed as she was, all the sheriff needed to do was find an out-of-the-way place with a few feet of water and let her drown. Or bury her in an unmarked grave.
“I’m due back at the paper,” Nell said. “They’ll wonder when I don’t show up.”
“Just get in the car,” he told her in an angry voice. He opened the front door and shoved her in.
Nell landed uncomfortably on her hands and barely had time to swing her legs in before the sheriff slammed the door.
He quickly strode to his side. Nell was used to the slow, southern, almost stereotypical sheriff, not this purposeful and capable man. He started the car, not bothering with anything like a seat belt before hitting the gas. He was quickly over the speed limit. Nell found herself thrown back against her hands, catching a finger in a painful way.
“You murdering bastard!” Nell spewed at him. “That was the truck, but you knew that, didn’t you? What’s in this for you? A little money for your self-respect and sworn duty to uphold the law?”
“You be quiet now,” he told her.
Nell had no intention of being quiet. “You make Whiz Brown look like a model lawman. Were you the one who beat an old man’s brains out? Now what, do you really think you’re big and strong enough to take a handcuffed woman somewhere and dump her?” Forget vinegar; Nell was now putting acid in her voice.
He took a corner, throwing her against the door.
“Goddamn you, just goddamn you!” Nell spit out as she attempted to right herself.
He jammed on the brakes, pulling to the side of the road. As he did so, he put an arm in front of Nell to keep her from slamming into the dashboard. Nell found one of his hands on her breast, but he held just long enough to brace her. She hoped it had been unintentional.
“Just hold your goddamn horses, excuse my French—”
“Fuck your French!”
“You keep this up and I will haul you into jail, Nell McGraw.” He grabbed her chin in his meaty fingers and forced her to face him. “Now I know you probably think I’m the stupidest lawman this side of the Mississippi, but even I ain’t stupid enough to take on them viper Jones boys with just a newspaper lady for backup.”
He let go of her chin then took the radio out. “Now, if you can manage not to cuss for the next few minutes, I might even take the handcuffs off. They would’a been stupid enough to shoot the both of us if I hadn’t hustled you
out of there and acted like I didn’t give a damn about the truck.”
“Do you think there’s any chance it’ll still be there?” Nell asked as she tried to wiggle into a comfortable position.
“Delbert and Melbert Jones ain’t a full set of teeth. They probably think I’m hauling you off to the hoosegow, so the idea it might be smart to drive that truck into the swamp hasn’t occurred to them.” He added, “Tanya might be smart enough, but it’s more than even odds they didn’t tell her if they’re using J.J.’s truck for shit. She don’t know, she ain’t gonna think of it.”
He got on the radio. “Got a truck that needs a go-over at the Jones’ garage. Can y’all spare me a few cars?” After a few more calls and responses, he started his cruiser, pulling a U turn. He stopped again as he noticed Nell was still in handcuffs. Pulling the key off his belt, he said, “We got no proof of anything. The Jones boys are stupid, but they ain’t been this criminal yet. You keep that in mind. I’m gonna turn you loose. You sit in this car, you stay in this car, and you stay out of my way. Got it?”
“Got it,” Nell answered as she turned her back to him so he could undo the handcuffs.
After letting her go, the sheriff put the car into gear again. He drove to the corner, then stopped there. They couldn’t see the garage, but they could see the street and the next corner.
Nell rubbed her wrists, then asked, “Why would the Jones brothers attack Marcus?”
“Don’t know that they did.”
“But that’s the truck,” Nell countered.
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean they were driving it. Maybe they lent it out, maybe it’s not Junior’s truck, only one like it. Maybe they’re just doing a favor for a friend—a stupid favor, fixing his truck without asking too many questions.”
Two sheriff’s department vehicles came to the far corner. The sheriff started his car again. “And Mrs. McGraw, if them idiot Jones boys start shooting, you be smart enough to duck down, okay?”
Another department car fell in behind them as they turned the corner. As if on cue, the four cars all converged at the garage at once. As they got closer, Nell craned her neck and saw the truck was still there.
“Stay here,” the sheriff told her one last time.
She watched as the sheriff and his deputies, including the one woman on the force, moved in. Confronted by seven law officers, the Jones brothers were amazingly docile. Or the true cowards they were.
Nell managed to be enough of a reporter to take pictures, but she did so through the window of the car, not the best angle. But she wasn’t going to get out.
The Jones brothers were quickly handcuffed; it took less effort for them than it had taken for the sheriff to cuff Nell. The closed sign was put on the door and two of the deputies remained with the truck until it could be impounded.
When the sheriff returned to drive Nell back to the Crier offices, she merely asked, “Do you think they did it?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he replied.
As Nell watched him she realized she had no idea who to trust. If the Jones boys were involved, would he protect them? Or let them take the blame so others could escape?
He said little more before he dropped Nell off. She rubbed her wrists as she watched him drive away.
Nell immediately started banging out the story. The election might not even make it on the front page. She then called her printer and said they might be late on the front page, but everything else would be on time. As expected, they grumbled, named a price Nell could live with, and agreed they could probably do it if they had everything in by seven. She was hoping she could get something more from the sheriff, though it didn’t seem likely the Jones would confess on deadline.
Nell finished writing and glanced up to see Aaron Dupree standing in her doorway. She wondered how long he had been there.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get back until late yesterday evening,” she stumbled out. “And today the paper goes to press, so I didn’t think I’d have time for lunch.”
“I didn’t think you’d have time either, but you have to eat.” He held up a paper sack. “I got a turkey on sourdough and a tuna salad on whole wheat from Café Bayou. Your choice.”
Nell was touched by his thoughtfulness and guilty as hell about the bombshell she was going to drop in his life.
“So can you squeeze in fifteen minutes for me? Even if it’s just lunch at your desk?”
“You’re very considerate. And you’ve gone to a lot of trouble for fifteen minutes.”
“Trying to bribe you with a turkey sandwich to give me the paper’s endorsement,” he said. “You’re pushing yourself pretty hard these days. Someone should take care of you.”
Nell motioned him to sit down, clearing a space on her desk for the food. She desperately wanted to avoid what she was going to have to tell him. But it’s not kindness to delay a blow that has to fall, and it was too cruel for him to read about it in tomorrow’s paper.
“Thank you. You’re being very kind. And I’m afraid we’ve stumbled onto some things about your father’s property dealings that … aren’t going to do much to repay that kindness.”
Aaron stopped unwrapping one of the sandwiches and looked at her. “What kinds of things? I don’t think it’s much of a secret that he was a hard-nosed businessman.”
“It goes beyond just hard-nosed.” Nell plunged into it, telling Aaron about Pelican Properties and how quickly it had transferred the ill-gotten property to his father. “All the land used for Back Bay Estates, the country club, and the marina were taken using the property tax scam.”
At her words, his face became increasingly closed. He didn’t touch the food as he listened. When she finished, he said, “He couldn’t have known” with a sharp finality.
As gently as she could, Nell pointed out the obvious. “Aaron, he couldn’t have not known. Some of the deals were no more than months apart. It’s very possible he didn’t know the exact details and wasn’t in on it directly, but—”
“But what?” he demanded.
Nell had hoped he would see where it led instead of forcing her to say it. “But more than anyone, certainly the principals of Pelican Property, he gained from the transfers. I traced one of the women who lost her property and she claimed that Andre Dupree was acting for Pelican Property—its name was on the paperwork, but he made the deal.”
“And you believe the word of one old, uneducated black woman …” He trailed off.
“It’s not just her word—and she seemed pretty educated to me—but the accumulation of the evidence. I’m sorry, Aaron. I wish we hadn’t found this.”
“Then lose it. If you can find it, you can lose it.”
“I can’t hide the truth,” Nell told him softly.
“You’re going to report this?”
She repeated, “I can’t hide the truth.”
“Damn it, Nell, it’s not truth anymore. It’s history now. So a few people made bad deals with their land. That happens all the time. And this happened a long time ago.”
Nell didn’t know if his defensive statements were from the shock of finding out and with time he would work his way to seeing the weight and importance of what had happened, or if he so needed to believe in the honesty and integrity of his father that his rationalizations would become an impenetrable wall. “I’m very sorry,” she said again, hoping he would know she really was. “I know this is hard for you to hear. But, Aaron—and I’m not saying your father had anything to do with it—these property thefts led almost directly to the murder of the three civil rights workers.”
“Nice of you. My father is just a thief, and only hung around with murderers.”
“I can’t change the past,” Nell said quietly.
“But you can put it on the front page.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron,” she said again. “I wanted you to know before … ”<
br />
He sat silently, then he suddenly bolted up and said, “I’ve got to leave. I need to think about this.”
“I’m sorry,” Nell tried to say again, but he was out the door. Now it was her turn to sit silently, wondering if she would ever see him again, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Then she remembered the haunted look that had passed over Hattie Jacobs’ face. “No, I can’t change the past,” she said softly to herself. She took the uneaten sandwiches to the break room, giving them to Pam and Jacko.
She went back to her office and again just sat. Then she couldn’t stand staring at the wall, so she began looking over her desk for anything to distract her. She tried willing the phone to ring, for Harold Reed to call back so she could forge ahead with the murder story. Or for the sheriff to call and say that the Jones boys did it, to keep her demons all in one neat package. Or for Aaron to call back and … and what? Say he understood why she was doing what she was doing? Was that even possible? But the phone didn’t ring.
She picked up the letters from Alma Smyth and started reading the next one, but it was just another listing of the young men she had an interest in or who were interested in her. Nell stumbled over the name of Bo Tremble as a possible suitor, but he was quickly dismissed. She skimmed the next letter but it was more of the same. Then she started flipping through the envelopes, glancing at the postmarks to see if she could find anything close to the dates of Pelican Property and Alma Smyth’s part in it. Nell suddenly stopped flipping; her brain registered that something had changed. She paged back through the envelopes to see if she could discern any differences. It was the return address. The handwriting was the same, but the name and address had changed. Alma J. Smyth had married. Starting in 1959, her name was Alma J. Dupree.
“Oh, God, no,” Nell said aloud as she stared at the envelope. Alma Smyth was already Alma Dupree when she had used her maiden name as one of the owners of Pelican Property. This brought Andre Dupree closer to the murders. Hattie Jacobs had said he was one of the men burning the cross on her lawn, one of the men who had told her Michael, Dora, and Ella would never return. Just because he hadn’t been present at the murders—or in the pictures—didn’t mean he wasn’t an accessory.