Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “What did you do?” I asked again, trying not to imagine how dreadful it would be for a kid to see something like that.

  “I ran home, jumped on my bike, and followed him. I had to see what happened. It was dark and there weren’t many people on the roads. I kept to the shadows and followed him back to Scranton Road. He took that cut-through road, so it was only about a mile. I thought he was taking William back to his house, but then he turned at the old Chauncey place and went to the family plot. I watched him bury William.” By now his face was expressionless and his voice had taken on a mechanical quality. “I waited until he left. Then I went home.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Then I kept my mouth shut.” He turned to me and said, “Who was people going to believe? A black boy or the white mayor?”

  “But you knew where he was buried. You could prove it.”

  “It was 1955. It didn’t matter what I knew. I knew if I said anything there was a good chance I’d end up in the grave next to William.”

  “You’re right.” I backed off. Who was I to question the decision of a traumatized ten-year-old in the segregated South?

  I tried to shift this new information into place. “There wasn’t a lynching. The whole thing was made up to cover up for Ava’s hit-and-run.” I walked a few steps away and sat down on a rickety wrought-iron garden bench. “Did you tell Jodi this?”

  “No. I’ve never told anyone.”

  I looked up at him. “But Coleman knows.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds; then I looked at the house, the house where Nash lived with his mother, that was now part of Crooner’s junk market.

  He said, “I’m not proud of what I done. I only done it to take care of my family. I need this place and Kate needed that house for her bed-and-breakfast.” He climbed the steps to the porch at his slow pace.

  “You realize that the sheriff’s department isn’t going to take my word for this. You have to tell them what you saw,” I said. “Things have changed. You’ve heard about the Emmett Till case being reopened, right? Lots of civil rights cases are being reinvestigated. People will listen to you now.”

  “I’m not repeating what I told you. Anyone comes asking questions, I’ll say I don’t know what that crazy lady is talking about.” He slammed the screen door and latched it.

  I pulled a Hershey’s Kiss out of my purse and popped it in my mouth. My brain processes definitely needed chocolate to work out this mess. No matter what I said to Waraday, he was going to have to talk to Crooner.

  I shook my head, thinking you really never knew what people had seen. I was in the process of unwrapping another chocolate Kiss. I stopped. You never knew what people had seen. Hadn’t I thought that exact same thing after talking to Dorthea at Nathan’s birthday party? Images formed one after another in my mind: a pickup nose-diving into the lake and the picture of the bridge fund-raiser in the paper almost crowding out the story about Nash’s disappearance. The shiny new Bel Air Dorthea described.

  I jumped up. I had to get to the lake. I realized I was holding another chocolate and it was melting, soft against my fingers. I ate it as I pulled out my keys with my other hand, wondering how long it took to search a lake bed.

  I didn’t have any trouble figuring out where to park. Instead of parking and walking across the field, I’d come down Elliott Road, which ran alongside the lake. Satellite news trucks, cars from the sheriff’s department, and regular old cars with no logo on their doors or light bar on top filled the shoulders on both sides of the road. As I crossed the field to the stand of trees, I spotted Nita’s gold Taurus and breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t sure if I could get Waraday to listen to me, but I was sure he’d listen to Nita.

  She stood on the outskirts of a group of people, looking pale and tense. Dorthea was there with her and spotted me. She waved. Nita never moved. Her focus was on the lake. The water was almost smooth. A few ripples from the gentle breeze chased across the surface.

  I hurried up to Dorthea and said, “Have they found anything?”

  “Hello, Ellie,” Dorthea said. “Yes, a pickup, a car, and a rowboat. And a lot of trash, from what I can tell.”

  “What kind of car did Coleman have before he bought that fancy one, the Bel Air?”

  Dorthea tilted her head and even Nita tore her gaze away from the lake to look at me. Both of them had concerned expressions on their faces.

  “I don’t really know. I just remembered the Bel Air because it was new and caused such a sensation. Ellie, are you feeling all right?” Dorthea asked.

  “Yes. I’m feeling fine. The pickup at the bottom of the lake is Cotner’s, right?” I asked. “The one you saw go in.”

  “Well, he’s not here to identify it, but I suppose it is,” Dorthea said. “The divers said it was from the ’30s and that would have been about right. Cotner always used everything until it fell apart.”

  “Or until he pushed it into the lake, apparently,” Nita added. “It worked so well the first time, he decided to do it again with the car.”

  “No, the car isn’t his. It’s Coleman and Ava’s car. The one she was driving when she hit Nash and killed him.”

  Both women stared at me for a moment; then Dorthea said, “Ellie, dear, let’s get you out of the sun…”

  “No. It all makes sense. I talked to someone today who saw the whole thing, but this person won’t talk to the investigators. But if the car at the bottom of the lake belonged to them, it might have damage that could tell us what happened with Nash.”

  “Sherry needs to hear this,” Nita said, and had Dorthea call her. “Now.” Nita turned back to me and gripped my hands. “Start at the beginning.”

  I repeated what Crooner had told me, then described the newspaper photo of the bridge fund-raiser held the night Nash disappeared and Nita said, “Let me get Davey.”

  “Davey” didn’t look too happy, but he was a southern boy and he made an effort to hide his displeasure at being hauled away from the edge of the water. Or at least he did when he spoke to Nita.

  When he turned to me his face looked disbelieving. “You want to know what kind of car is down there?”

  “Yes. You see, I talked to someone who saw a hit-and-run car accident on the night Nash disappeared. A drunk driver hit and killed Nash as he walked home from work. The person who told me this is”—how should I put it?—“reluctant to talk to you.”

  “And you think that car is at the bottom of the lake?”

  “Yes, I do. It all fits. Coleman’s wife, Ava, was driving drunk. She’d been at the North Dawkins Women’s Society Bridge Fund-raiser. I saw her picture in the paper. There was an article and photo about it below the article about Nash’s disappearance. Everyone in the photo was holding a cocktail. Ava was an alcoholic. And the witness who saw the hit-and-run said Coleman and Ava returned to the scene and that Ava was obviously drunk. It would make sense to get rid of the car Ava was driving, and this is the only place deep enough to sink something that big.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath beside me and I looked over at Nita.

  “Are you sure she was an alcoholic, dear? That’s quite an accusation to make.”

  And accusing her of a hit-and-run wasn’t a big deal? “Yes. I spoke to her daughter-in-law, Rosalee. Well, I suppose she’d be an ex-daughter-in-law since she divorced Ava’s son to keep Colleen away from Ava.” I turned back to Waraday. “Colleen’s her daughter.”

  “I know Colleen.”

  Dorthea nodded her head. “It does explain quite a bit—Coleman doing so much for her, all of Ava’s ‘illnesses.’ I thought she had a weak constitution. I was there that night at the bridge fund-raiser. I remember because I won. The only time I ever did. Ava was there and she always had several gin and tonics. Those were her favorite. She would have driven up the state highway past the paper factory to get home, too.”

  “So this individual says he saw Ava hit Nash and drive away?”

  “Yes. The person we
nt down to help, but Nash was already dead. Coleman and Ava returned. Coleman wrapped the body in a sheet or a tarp, loaded it in the trunk, and drove to the Chaunceys’ family plot and buried Nash there. He must have started the rumor about the lynching as a distraction. Then he bought Ava a new car, a new Bel Air, a late Christmas present, and Ava never drove again.” I looked at Dorthea with raised eyebrows and she nodded.

  “She never did drive again. Anyone can tell you that.”

  “And you think they ditched the old car here in the lake instead of making a trade-in,” Waraday said.

  “Well, the car probably had damage and he couldn’t fix it without someone finding out in the small town that North Dawkins was then, and if he traded it in there was always the risk that after it was repaired someone would connect the car with the hit-and-run. No, I think he got rid of it, just like Cotner got rid of his old pickup. And remember Jodi’s note about Nash? She wanted to interview Rosalee, too. What if this is what she found out? What if she knew Ava killed Nash in the hit-and-run and then Coleman buried the body? He wouldn’t want people to know. Look at the lengths he went to ensure that no one knew about the hit-and-run. What would he do to keep Jodi quiet?”

  There was silence in our little circle; then Waraday said, “What kind of car was it?”

  Shoot! Why hadn’t I asked Crooner? “I don’t know,” I said miserably.

  Waraday frowned.

  Nita touched his shirtsleeve. “Please, would you check with the divers?” He visibly softened and strode back to the edge of the water.

  Dorthea, Nita, and I all glanced at each other and then hurried along in his wake. The divers were on the bank, packing up their equipment. Waraday addressed the closest diver, a black woman with her hair slicked back from her forehead. “The vehicles on the bottom, what were they?”

  She set down her air tank and said, “One was an old pickup. I’d say from the ’30s or ’40s. We didn’t spend too much time around them, once we confirmed there wasn’t a body there.”

  “And the car?”

  “Russ will know. He’s the car buff.” She glanced back over her shoulder to the other diver. He’d pulled off the hood of his wet suit to reveal a bald head and a ruddy complexion that the cold water must have aggravated, since his cheeks were as rosy as a department store Santa’s.

  She shouted, “Hey, Russ! That car down at the bottom?”

  “A black 1940 Ford Standard,” he said promptly.

  Waraday looked back at us and I glanced questioningly at Dorthea and Nita.

  “One moment.” Nita scanned the crowd, then hurried over to Gerald. They came back together and he looked as puzzled as the divers, but he dutifully reported, “Seems I remember Coleman May had a Ford Standard. I couldn’t swear, but I think it was a ’40 or ’42.”

  Waraday turned back to the divers. “Any damage on that car?”

  They exchanged glances and then the woman said, “We’d better go back in.” They suited up again and disappeared under the water. The breeze had kicked up, sending waves fluttering across the lake. I shivered, glad I wasn’t in that water. We waited and even the news crews who’d been packing up to leave when I arrived had stopped, sensing that something was happening.

  It felt like an eternity or two, especially since Waraday’s gaze kept skipping over to me, then back to the lake, then over to me again. Finally, the water heaved and the female diver made her way over to the bank. “There’s damage to the grille and right headlight.”

  “Could that have happened from the impact with the water?”

  “I don’t think so. It looks more like some car-on-person damage I’ve seen.”

  A deputy broke into our circle and said, “Excuse me, Detective Waraday. We got that info you wanted on the plates. Took so long because they had to go search the paper records. The pickup was registered to George Cotner and the car to Coleman May, both of North Dawkins.”

  “Let’s get her up, then.”

  An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Party

  Set the stage. If the party is at your home, a few simple things will help the party flow effortlessly, or at least appear to flow effortlessly.

  Clear out a coat closet or designate a room where guests can leave their coats and handbags.

  Put away any breakable items, preferably in a locked room.

  If children are invited, create a kid-friendly area where the kids can escape. If that area will be in one of your children’s rooms, make a sweep to remove any special toys or expensive keepsake items that you want to keep out of harm’s way. Also, remove Magic Markers, paints, and crayons, if the kids won’t have adult supervision. Your kids may know not to mark on the walls, but your guests’ kids may not be so well trained. Put the off-limit toys out of reach in another area. For older kids, set up computer games or movies.

  Unless your pets are extremely well behaved, put them in a crate or keep them in a separate part of the house away from your guests. Some of your guests may be allergic and you won’t have to worry about muddy paw prints either!

  To make your home less crowded, remove a few pieces of furniture or push certain pieces against the walls. If you’re having a buffet, think about where people will sit after they have their food. Will you need to bring in extra tables and chairs or provide lap trays?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Mom, my stomach feels funny.”

  I scratched out my signature on the Mother’s Day Out sign-in form, then knelt down in front of Livvy. Her forehead wasn’t warm, but she did look pale. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

  “A little. And swishy.”

  She swayed a bit. My carefully coordinated plan of finishing Scott’s office while Livvy was at Mother’s Day Out and Nathan was at home with the sitter was about to crumble. I gave her a hug and said, “Well, looks like we’re going to have to head back home and tell Anna we don’t need her.” Anna was a precious find—a homeschooled teenager whose mom let her babysit during the day if she was caught up on her schoolwork. Finding an occasional daytime sitter was harder than finding Livvy’s shoes, which always disappeared moments before it was time to walk out the door.

  “But I want to stay.”

  “Well, you can’t stay, if you’re sick.”

  “All through spinning, Livvy?” asked a voice from behind me. I swiveled around and saw Miss Sandy, her teacher, leaning over the half door to the classroom. She smiled and held out her hand for Livvy’s bag, which contained her lunch, jacket, and blanket—all carefully labeled with her name in waterproof marker.

  “Spinning?”

  “You know, twirling. One of the girls started it last week and every time I turn around the kids are spinning like tops.”

  I handed over the bag and kissed Livvy. “When you twirl it makes your head and tummy feel funny. You’re going to be fine.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I had my cell phone on speaker as I pulled into STAND’s office park.

  “They didn’t get it out until almost midnight,” Nita said.

  I switched my cell phone off speaker and tucked it on my shoulder, then grabbed my tote bag and bin of supplies. I looked across the field to the dark patch of woods. The only movement was the sporadic flutter of golden leaves as they floated to the ground. “Did you stay?”

  “Yes. I felt I should be there with Sherry.”

  Mitch and I had watched the scene on one of the cable channels. They’d broadcast it live. Mostly, it was two hours of a dark night interspersed with expert interviews. Finally, the car was pulled from the lake, water streaming from it, a pretty dramatic sight, all two minutes of it.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. It’s not the answer she wanted, but when you have no answer, even the worst answer is not as bad as not knowing.”

  “And do you know if Waraday has talked to Coleman?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I’m afraid all that’s been revealed in the last day isn’t going to he
lp us find Jodi.”

  “What?” How could it not help? If Jodi knew something about Coleman, he might have tried to silence her. Surely that was a lead on a possible motive.

  “In all the excitement yesterday, I forgot that Coleman had a heart attack last year on New Year’s Day. He was in the hospital on January eighth. In fact, he was in the hospital for the next week. So there’s no way he could be involved in Jodi’s disappearance. Davey told me that when they told Coleman they’d found his car, he told him everything. Apparently, it happened almost exactly as Crooner said.”

  “Crooner?” How did she know he was involved?

  “He showed up last night after the car was pulled out of the water. He said he’d seen the news coverage and he could help Davey with the investigation. I heard him telling Davey that he’d told you everything earlier, but he wanted to talk to Davey himself. He said when he saw the car on television, he knew he had to tell what happened, that it was all going to come out and he wasn’t afraid anymore.”

  I hoped telling what happened helped him deal with what he’d seen. “What will happen to Coleman?” I wondered.

  “The district attorney told Sherry that charges will be filed against him, concealing a death and tampering with evidence. Of course, I think the loss of respect in the community will be harder for him to take than the charges. He’ll lose the very thing he tried so hard to preserve.”

  I stepped inside the bare hallway of the building and let the door close behind me. “I’m sorry. I wish it had helped.”

  “Oh, I have to go. Detective Waraday just pulled into the driveway.”

  I said good-bye, then paused, gathering my thoughts. Coleman wasn’t involved at all in Jodi’s disappearance. That meant there were precisely zero suspects. I’d been so focused on finding out what had happened in 1955 that I’d completely forgotten to wonder what Coleman had been doing on January eighth of this year.

  I gave myself a mental shake and squared my shoulders. I had to focus on organizing right now. I could kick myself later.