Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1)

by Lila Beckham

  “Yes Sir, I remember how highfalutin they acted.”

  “They’re too high and mighty for me too, but unless we get a break in the case, I don’t know what else to do… You do what I told you to and check out McCullough. If you find him, he might know something that will help us.”

  Joshua watched Cook walk away then stop to write something in his notebook. Then, Joshua watched as they bagged the woman’s body and loaded it into a van for transport to the mortuary. After the van drove away, he lit another smoke, got into his car and drove away.

  Joshua took the back roads, driving out Highway 45 toward Citronelle. He then turned left onto Georgetown-Chunchula Road; it ran out to Lott Road.

  After that, it was just a quarter mile south and a jackleg to the west at the hardware store and then he was on Georgetown-Wilmer Road.

  Farmers were plowing, getting ready for their spring planting. The fresh air coming through the open windows smelt of cut hay and fresh turned earth.

  Joshua always enjoyed the scents this time of year. Spring and fall were his favorite seasons. They were the beginning of the year and the end of the year for him.

  He stopped by Wilmer Feed & Seed and bought a bag of dog food for Jack and then got onto Highway 98 and headed west again.

  When he drove into his driveway, he saw a set of wide tire tracks going in. He could tell they had not come back out yet so he unsnapped his holster, drew his pistol, and laid it on the seat beside him.

  It never paid to be unprepared.

  When Joshua drove up to his cabin, there in the front, sat Tom Stringer. Joshua holstered his sidearm, got out, and walked over to Tom’s truck.

  At first, he thought Tom was passed out drunk, but apparently, he was just napping while he waited, because when Joshua walked up to the side of his truck, his eyes popped open.

  “I was not expecting to see you setting here when I got home.”

  “Well, I come to talk to you about our boys.”

  “Ain’t really anything to talk about, Tom. No charges have been filed against them; even for the one that ended up in the hospital.”

  Joshua heard an unexpected sound behind him and swung around, drawing his pistol as he did.

  It was Hannah’s husband, Leonard.

  “A little jumpy there ain’t cha, Sheriff,” Leonard said, with a shit-eating grin that Joshua had never been too fond of; it made him look as though he was up to something he ought not to be.

  “I was not expecting anyone to come walking out of the woods behind me.”

  “Well, Hell, Tom fell asleep on me. There wouldn’t anything else to do, so’s I walked down to the river and took a piss. You got a pretty place here, Sheriff. Nice swimming hole right there in your backyard. Plenty of shade trees too. I wouldn’t mind having a place like this myself.”

  “Yeah, I got lucky when I bought this place; I have never regretted it.”

  “I bet you have all kinds of haints around here though. This is part of the old plantation, ain’t it?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Thought so; I used to come hunting up here as a boy. We explored every inch of this river back then.

  I remember finding the ruins of the plantation, but most of it was torn down.”

  “Probably even more so, now, Leonard; last year, some boys tore down most of what was left of the eastern wall, windows and all. I should have salvaged them when I could, but it’s too late now.”

  “Yeah, I heard it was them boys of Autry’s, along with a few others. They said that one of em said he saw a face lookin’ back at him in the window. Ha, ha” Leonard chuckled, “it prolly was his own face he seen!”

  “Yep, probably was. We heard they were the ones who done it, but couldn’t prove it. We had to let it slide.”

  “Look Sheriff, our boys was only defending themselves and takin’ up for Willie Jr. Those boys of Autry’s have been a hell hacking that boy for years. It just all built up, till it exploded,” Tom said. Joshua turned toward him.

  “Like I said earlier, Tom, no charges have been filed against your boys or any of the others, but we cannot abide by that kind of shenanigans going on.

  All I want is peace in my county,” Joshua said firmly.

  “Well, we just come by here to tell you that as long as those boys keep going after our boys, we are not going to tell them to turn the other cheek. Its not gonna work like that. Maybe after the ass kicking they got last night, they might think twice before they start something again.”

  “I understand how y’all feel and I can’t rightly say as I blame y’all. I was not taught to back down neither… y’all just try to keep it under control.”

  “Alright, Sheriff,” Tom said. Leonard nodded at him and then Tom cranked up his truck. “Got to go check on my business,” Tom said, giving Joshua a hard stare.

  If looks could kill, I’d be a dead son of a gun, thought Joshua. However, he knew how Tom was and that he had always been contrary as hell.

  “Tom, Leonard,” Joshua said with a nod of his head. “Y’all have a good day, what’s left of it.” He then walked toward his front porch, sat down in his rocking chair and watched them drive off. Jack flapped his tale a few times and then lay still.

  “Some watchdog you are,” Joshua said and then stood up. He unlocked the front door and went inside, locking the door behind him. He looked around his cabin. Nothing looked out of place and he soon relaxed.

  Joshua had never worried about locking his doors, until recently that is. He was troubled over his lack of control in what was happening around him. It seemed as if the whole world was changing, but not for the better.

  Joshua took a shower and then grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass out of the cabinet. He took both out onto his back porch, which faced the river. He sat them on the side table, and then sat down.

  He poured a stiff shot of whiskey, leaned back in his rocker, then propped his feet on the railing. He sat there holding it as he watched the sun going down over the tops of the trees across the river.

  As he sat there, his stomach began to growl, reminding him of the plate lunch left sitting on the seat of his patrol car. Remembering the food, reminded him of the sack of dog food. He knew Jack was hungry and that he should get up and feed him, but he just wanted to sit and watch the sun going down. He would get them out later.

  As if to read his thoughts, Jack wandered onto the back porch, jumped into the swing and lay down. Joshua watched him as he did and then turned his attention back onto the sunset. He sipped the whiskey, watching the purple and orange glow fade with the twilight.

  As the light faded, Joshua’s eyes drooped heavily. Sometime later, he awoke with a start and stared out into the darkness. Something was out there, but he could not determine exactly where or who it was, but he could feel their eyes upon him.

  24

  Backlash

  Dumbstruck, Emma watched the skull roll across the floor. Suddenly, she felt as if she was surrounded many people. They were pressing in on her, smothering her.

  It felt as if they were coming closer and closer and closer. “Stop it!” she screamed while backing into a corner, but they kept coming. She squatted down and buried her face in the crook of her arm. It felt as though someone was standing over her, examining her closely.

  Emma raised her head and opened her eyes. She could see shadowy figures surrounding her. Quickly, she buried her face into her arm again and begged aloud for them to leave her alone. She asked them to please back away from her and told them that they made her feel as though she could not breathe. Nevertheless, she felt they kept getting closer until they were squeezing the air out of her lungs.Slowly, her thoughts faded until she lost consciousness.

  When Emma awoke, she was laying on a downy soft featherbed. She stretched lazily, languishing in the comfort of her surroundings. Across the room, a tall, ornately carved, mirrored armoire stood almost ceiling high.

  Emma sat up.

  The polished pine floors gleamed brightl
y in the sunlight that streaked through the wavy glass panes of the windows on each side of the armoire.

  There was a commode with a pitcher and bowl by a heavy wood paneled door that could have been a closet or an entrance door; she was not sure which it was.

  In the corner, covered with a scarf, was a slop jar. Emma knew what a slop jar was, because her grandmother had always kept one in her bedroom, even after they built a bathroom onto their house.

  Emma slipped off the bed. She could feel the smooth polished wood beneath her bare feet. There was not even a grain of sand on its surface. She padded across the room to the window, knelt down, and looked out onto an expansive lawn that swept toward a river.

  She could see the river clearly from her place at the window. The lower half of the window was raised and she could hear soft Negro voices singing in the distance.

  Somehow, she knew they were the voices of slaves going about their daily chores.

  Down by the river, a long flat barge was tied to the dock. On one end, workers were unloading supplies onto a mule pulled wagon that was already overburdened.

  On the other end, workers were loading bails of cotton onto the barge. She sat and watched until they were finished unloading the supplies.

  The skinner geed to the team of mules and then up the hill they went. It traveled out of her sight as it went past the side of the house.

  Emma leaned out the window to get a closer look at what was beneath her, but all she could see was the yard. She smelt bacon cooking and it made her mouth water.

  A slate roof covered was she supposed was a front porch. Burgundy portieres were visible through a large window that she glimpsed along the side of the portico. Colored children were weeding dead grass and flowers from flowerbeds that flanked a curved driveway that ran south into the trees alongside the river. The yard was filled with palmettos and wild huckleberry bushes. The crowing jewel of the yard was a gigantic live oak in the center and on each side of it, maybe fifty feet away from the oak, were weeping willows. A cool blast of air suddenly swooshed in past Emma as a door opened behind her.

  “Miss Jeanette!” a voice exclaimed, causing Emma to jump. “You’se had better get yo self outta dat winder afore your papa spots you and comes hisself up here an whips both us.” Emma turned to see a short round Negro woman coming into the room carrying a tray.

  “You know you ain’t supposed to be outta dat bed yet. Da doctor done said so.You’se is still weak as a kitten from da malaria dat took yo little brother!”

  Emma was too afraid to say anything, although she thought to herself that a person got stronger by moving around.

  “Old Annie show is glad you’se is a feeling stronger, but I’s takes my orders from other folks in dis house and they says you is not ready ta get up so’s youse ain’t a gettin’ up. You hears me!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emma mumbled, and Annie gave her a strange look which caused Emma to clamp her mouth shut.

  “Old Annie has been a taken care of you’se since yo mama birthed you; you’se ain’t never said ma’am to me before. What is wrong wit you chile?” she asked, setting the tray on the bed and placing her hand on Emma’s forehead feeling for fever.

  “Nothing, I just wanted to get up that’s all.”

  “I know you does honey, but da doctor done gave his orders to your mama and papa and dey says to do what da doctor say. Now, you eat these cheese grits old Annie done brung up here for you’se to eat. Theys a stick to your ribs and help you’se get better,” Annie said as she fluffed the pillows around Emma and placed the tray on her lap.

  Emma sat looking at the tray and Annie placed her hands on her hips and stood there until Emma took a bite. Then Annie left the room reminding her that every bite needed to be eaten.

  Emma’s brain reeled. Why was she here? What was happening? How did she get here to this place, to this time? Emma knew that this had to be the plantation, Caledonia, and that she was back in time; but how this all occurred, was beyond Emma’s comprehension. Was it some sort of backlash through time, Emma wondered as she ate the grits and drank the milk. As soon as she finished, she ran back over to the window to watch what was going on outside.

  Down by the river, slaves, at least she suspected they were slaves, were lashing cotton bales onto the flat barge, readying it for transport south, down the river.

  A well-dressed redheaded man was mounting a big white horse and riding toward the back of the house. Emma ran over to the mirrored armoire and stood in front of it. She wanted to see what she looked like. Would she look like she always had or would she look like this “Jeanette” that Annie had called her?

  The girl staring back at her from the mirror looked nothing like herself. The girl was thin, pale and fragile looking with mousey brown hair that hung around her hips. She looked to be about fourteen. Emma moved closer to the mirror and starred into the girls eyes; they were pale blue. She had a few freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks, but she was not ugly. Emma actually thought she was pretty, just pale and weak looking.

  Emma stood there; she was completely lost. What was she to do? She knew she could not fit into this family without them discovering that she was different.

  She mouthed her name into the mirror and then said it aloud. “Jeanette” she said, and then said, “I am Jeanette Moffett.” Her voice sounded as it always had to her ears. Emma wondered if she should reveal herself as someone else stuck within the body of young Jeanette Moffett.

  They would just think she, Jeanette, had done gone plumb crazy. What would happen then? Emma feared to think about it.

  She walked back over to the window and knelt down so that she could see better and smell the fresh breeze that lifted the leaves on the trees.

  Emma noticed that some of the leaves were changing colors. It must be autumn, she thought to herself. How can that be, it is March.

  In 1976 it is, a voice inside her head, whispered. There was a tap on the door and then it swung open. A boy of about twelve, walked in.

  “Good, you’re awake!” he exclaimed, running over and plopping down beside her.

  “Papa said that I can go to Mobile with him tomorrow. That means we will get licorice whips for Thanksgiving!” the boy exclaimed. Emma sat there starring at him, not knowing what, if anything, she should say to him.

  He looked at her and then asked, “Has the fever done fried your brain Jeannie? Licorice is your favorite, well, besides cranberry stuffing. Papa is s’posed to get some oysters too. Won’t that be grand!” he exclaimed; Emma stared at the boy. He looked a lot like her reflection did, except his hair was wavy and only touched his shoulders.

  “Yes, that will be wonderful” she said, testing her voice.

  “Are you addled, Jeannie?”

  “No, I am not addled. I have been sick. Now, quit picking on me!”

  “That’s better.I thought you was done messed up in the head. At least you didn’t die like Keith did,” he said lowering his voice. Emma knew that she should appear to be upset or sad because this Keith was her “brother,” but it was hard to appear to have feelings for someone she had never met.

  She did not know what to say to this boy, without giving herself away. Then, she decided to try it as she would with her own siblings.

  “I have a secret,” she whispered.

  “What kind of secret,” he asked excitedly, and then leaned closer to her.

  “I can’t remember anything,” Emma told him seriously. “Ever since I woke from the fever, my memory has failed me. I don’t even remember my name.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “No, honestly, I cannot remember.Please don’t tell them. Maybe my memory will come back soon. I do not want them to think I have gone crazy.”

  “I know you are joking. People don’t just forget their family,” he said doubtfully. Emma lowered her head and tried to think of how she could convince him.

  “You just have to believe me. I am really scared… I do not know what to do about it,�
�� she said as truthfully as she could.

  “Okay, I will tell you who everybody is and we will keep it a secret until you can remember on your own.”

  “Thank you so much!” Emma said excitedly, and then asked, “What is your name?”

  He gave her a strange look and then mumbled “I’m Will. How can you-” he stopped short and just stared at her.

  25

  Reflections

  Joshua Stokes sat staring out into the darkness, and it was dark. No lights were on inside the house and the moon was hidden behind thick dark clouds.

  Occasionally, moonlight would peek through the clouds; it cast fleeting shadows among the trees. Joshua swore to himself that he saw someone leaning against a tree one time, and another time, he thought he saw a horse with white paint on its rump.

  Joshua knew it was not from drinking. He had fallen asleep holding the glass of whiskey in his hand; he never finished it. He had been drunk enough to see the proverbial pink elephants before, but he had only taken a couple of sips of the glass he poured when he came out.

  Joshua had never seen Indian ghosts before. Usually, he just heard the field hollers and the slave songs; occasionally he saw an old woman in his cabin.

  He knew Indians had occupied the land long before the white man came, because there were Indian mounds all along the river. He and one of his friends, Austell Glover, had dug into one of the mounds when he was about fourteen. They had found several pieces of pottery. When they dug deeper, they found human bones.

  They had quickly covered the bones over with dirt, because Austell told him that if you messed with Indians burial places, their medicine men would put bad spells on you and you would die.

  They had not died, but for several months, they were scared to death the Indian medicine men would find them and kill them in their sleep. He thought it a little funny now that he was grown, but anything was possible.

  Joshua knew that ghosts did exist, and it was plausible that a spell could be put on a person, especially if a person believed in such, just like with Josiah Long and his fortune telling, some folks swore by such as that.