by Sara Rosett
I put everything back inside my purse. I picked up the last thing, the file folder of Jodi’s notes and article printouts. It slid in neatly. I paused with my hand resting on the edge of the thick folder. I’d been carrying it around all afternoon. I’d learned to grab anything I wanted to work on and take it with me. I never knew when I might have a few spare minutes while I was waiting at Mother’s Day Out or the playground.
Why had I been so reluctant to even open this file? I was curious about Jodi and wanted to help find her, but something was holding me back. I’d been busy—that was true—any mom is busy, but there was something else. Some of the high I’d felt as I left STAND’s office was leaking away and it was because of the notes. I’d been dabbling. I was good at stuff like this—putting little things in order to make a cohesive whole. Bringing order out of chaos, that was what I did. And I knew I could do it with these notes and possibly other things to help find Jodi, but I’d been holding back because of the promise I’d made myself—that I wouldn’t get involved.
My phone chirped. It was Mitch.
“Hey, just letting you know we landed.” Mitch liked to check in with me after a flight, which was really sweet, but I was usually going in so many directions that I didn’t have time to wonder if he’d reached his destination or not. I knew he’d get there—wherever “there” happened to be that day. He was a resourceful guy.
“Oh, that’s good,” I said, trying to remember which leg of the trip he was on today. It was Tuesday, so he was in Japan. After a while all the TDYs started to merge together and it was hard to keep the destinations straight, except for those multimonth deployments to the Middle East. Those deployments were easy to remember. Thank goodness Mitch had put in his time there and wasn’t scheduled to go back for a while. The shorter TDYs were a piece of cake compared to the deployments.
“How’s everything going?” I asked.
“Uneventful.”
“Always a good thing when you’re flying.”
Mitch agreed, then asked, “So, how did your meeting go?”
“Really good. I think Scott will be pretty easy to work with and the job isn’t too overwhelming. So that’s two paying clients.”
“I’m glad for you. Anything else happening?”
I thought back over the days since he had left. Sometimes we didn’t get to talk every day, especially if he was changing time zones. I told him Nathan’s checkup on Monday went fine and that Livvy had scraped her knees—big drama and many Band-Aids involved. “And I’m staying up way too late. Have you ever seen His Girl Friday?” I asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Mitch said.
Mitch was more of a sports kind of guy. Had he ever watched a black-and-white movie?
He said, “Hey, our bus is here, I’ve got to go.” We said our good-byes and I put the phone away.
Inside the restaurant, I placed my order and snagged a high table by the windows. I put the folder on the table, still thinking about my unplanned movie night. I’d been acting like Hildy—trying to deny what I was really good at—arranging things in an orderly, efficient way—and pretending I wasn’t interested in something that I was dying to know more about. Who was I kidding? The Jodi Lockworth case fascinated me. I wasn’t going to deny it anymore.
I ran my hand over the folder, then slid my finger under the edge and flicked it open.
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Party
Children’s Party Checklist
Make guest list.
Reserve venue, if needed.
Collect names and contact info for children.
Mail or e-mail invitations.
Order cake.
Plan games or entertainment.
On the day of the party, don’t forget
Decorations.
Cake.
Ice cream.
Candles.
Matches or lighter.
Knife to cut cake.
Ice cream scooper.
Plates.
Napkins.
Forks.
Spoons.
Door prizes for game winners.
Pen and paper to keep track of gifts for thank-you notes.
Camera with fresh batteries.
Chapter Fourteen
I put Nita’s e-mails on one side and the stack of Jodi’s articles on the other side. I started with Nita’s e-mails because I’d already looked through the articles. I worked steadily, matching notes with articles. The notes usually began with a date, location, and name of the person she was interviewing. They began in July and contained notes about back-to-school stories. She’d interviewed teachers for tips on helping kids with the back-to-school transition and a nutritionist for fresh ideas for packing lunch boxes. I found those articles and saw that she’d also included tips from local moms in both articles. I found her notes from the mom interviews in the next section of the notes that Nita had transcribed.
I heard my order number called and went to pick up my French dip and half salad, wondering if Nita really needed me to do this matching thing. It was going quickly. Was she being nice to me and letting me see what I’d found? I returned to the table and continued with the matching game between bites.
Jodi had written about the on-base youth soccer tournament, interviewed the new principal at North Dawkins High School, then interviewed Scott for the article I’d read earlier about his appointment as the director of STAND.
Since Colleen had such an aversion to him, I read Jodi’s notes of the interview carefully, but it was pretty basic stuff. His name, the date, exact title, his background, and some quotes about how vital STAND was to the community along with ideas he had to increase STAND’s impact.
The first week of September, Jodi covered the dedication of the new courthouse complex and did a profile of Topaz, part of an occasional series about interesting local residents. I finished off my sandwich and salad, pushed my plate aside, and decided I had time for a few more lines.
I flipped to the next page of Nita’s notes and saw a list:
Story ideas—
Identity theft prevention tips
Nash
Hurricane Katrina evacuees—any locals??
Nash? As in William James Nash? I skimmed the rest of the notes, but didn’t see that name again. There were only a few more paragraphs of notes and I quickly matched up her interviews of local pumpkin patch owners to her Halloween roundup article.
I dumped my trash and hurried out the door, anxious to get home and check for more of Nita’s e-mails after I freed the babysitter and heard all about their afternoon from Livvy. I paused in the parking lot as a satellite news truck from an Atlanta station lumbered by. What were they doing here in little North Dawkins? Not that North Dawkins was small in size, but it didn’t have much that would interest viewers in Atlanta. It had to be something to do with the base, I decided, as I hopped in the Jeep and started for home.
I clicked the send/receive button on my e-mail again. Still nothing.
“Mom, are you ready for our story?” Livvy stood in the living room wearing her pink pajamas with the feet, clutching Sheep in a Jeep, one of her favorite books.
“You bet,” I said. I had been stopping by the computer pretty often, checking for another e-mail from Nita, but so far nothing, except a reminder from the Find Jodi campaign about the search coming up this weekend.
After completing the bedtime routine, I crept down the hall and into the living room. I didn’t think Livvy would complain about not being able to sleep tonight because she and Anna had played the whole time. I wasn’t nearly as wiped out as I usually was at the end of the day. Having a few hours on my own had refreshed me. Since my e-mail was being so uncooperative, I decided to focus on a few things that I’d let slide during the last few days.
Nathan’s birthday party was coming up on Saturday and I still had so much to do. I definitely needed to update my lists. I jotted down the things I needed to pick up during the next few days, then called the parents to s
ee who was actually planning to show up.
Even though Abby had let me know she was going to be at the party, I dialed her number. She answered on the first ring and I said, “Hey, it’s Ellie. Hope I didn’t wake Charlie.”
“Oh no. He’s sawing logs like a lumberjack.”
“It’s just not fair that you got the angel baby,” I said.
“I know. I was so worried he’d be colicky, but he’s been so easy. Of course, it makes me wonder what’s coming, you know? It can’t always be this easy.”
“No, your next one will probably be a fright.”
“Please, don’t say anything about a next one. Jeff is already hinting that it’s time to start trying again and I’m so pooped that I can barely stand up at the end of the day.”
“I know that feeling. Do you have time to talk, or do you need to go?”
“No, I’ve got time. It feels like it’s been a month since we’ve talked.”
“I wanted to remind you about Nathan’s birthday party on Saturday. Are you guys still coming?”
“This Saturday? I thought it was next Friday.”
“No, next Friday is Mitch’s promotion party.”
“My, my. I’ll start calling you Martha.”
“Please. You know I’m no Martha Stewart.”
“True.”
“Hey! Should I be offended?”
“No way. That was a compliment. So. Your house is party central for the next two weeks. I’m writing a note right now so we don’t miss anything.”
I could hear drawers scraping in the background.
“Just as soon as I find a sticky note.”
I had to smile because Abby and her reminder notes were usually soon parted. “How about I call you again next week and remind you about the promotion party?”
“That would be better. Hold on.”
I heard the roar of the garbage disposal and shook my head. Charlie really could sleep through anything. The growling sound cut off. Abby said, “Mind if I put you on speaker for a second?”
“No.”
The phone clicked and I heard the magnified sounds of a chair scraping across the floor and papers rustling. “I have fifty papers to grade tonight,” Abby said, almost shouting.
How did speakerphones manage to amplify sounds, yet make everything sound tinny and farther away at the same time?
“Why don’t you call me back later, if you’ve got a lot to do?”
“No. No, I’m fine. I can grade most of these papers on remote control. So, what’s going on in your life that’s too much to put in an e-mail?”
She was speaking in that hesitant stop-and-go way that people do when their attention is divided. I was tempted to tell her I knew she was busy and let her go, but I did want to talk to her. “Did you hear about those remains that were found in our neighborhood?”
“Ah—yeah,” Abby said absentmindedly, but then she paused. The phone clicked as she took it off speaker. When she spoke again I knew I had her full attention. “Ellie, don’t tell me—you’re mixed up with dead bodies again?”
“Well, yes. I saw them when I was walking.”
“Was it…gross?”
“No. I mean I knew it was human, so that was disturbing, but they were only bones.”
Abby made an “ewww” sound and said, “The teachers at school were talking about it. Everyone thought it was that Jodi girl.”
“I know. Did you hear the news?”
“Are you kidding? I’m doing good if I get to check the weather before I leave the house in the morning.”
I gave her the details about the two men and she said, “Oh. Nash. I did hear that name today in the teachers’ lounge. That must be why Kendra was acting so weird.”
“Um, who’s Kendra?” Conversations with Abby could make hairpin turns, but I could usually keep up. This time I was lost.
“Kendra Jenning. She teaches first grade. I’ll have to ask Nadia for all the details—she’s the expert on all things about North Dawkins, you know, since she’s lived here so long.”
Was that a bit of sarcasm in Abby’s tone? Nadia could be a bit intense and focused. She was the perkiest person I’d ever met and she was also one of the most persistent people I knew. When you’re constantly around someone who is perky and persistent, it can be, well, annoying. We’d discovered that when we met Nadia on the trip to Washington, D.C. Her obsession with photographing everything had irritated everyone in the tour group. Of course, she was blithely oblivious that the rest of us were ready to toss her camera into the Reflecting Pool if we heard the word snappy again. That was our attitude until we saw some of her pictures. They were amazing—interesting angles and unusual focal points. Really beautiful stuff, so we’d cut her some slack after that.
“Kendra is one of the sweetest teachers at school. She’s what every mom wants to see when they drop off their little darling for the first day of school—she looks like an updated June Cleaver without the pearls. She’s blond and always wears sweater sets. She’ll help out with any committee and she’s always so nice. I said something about Alexis Donogan’s reputation as a little stinker being right on the money and she snapped my head off, then marched out of the teachers’ lounge. I was so surprised, I asked if the body snatchers had been down in the first grade hall. It’s just not like her to be so angry.
“Then another teacher said, ‘We better not talk about the Nash thing anymore. I’d forgotten her family knows Coleman May really well.’ Apparently, she grew up next door to the Mays and was like a granddaughter to them.”
“Coleman May’s the president of the homeowners’ association here. What does he have to do with Nash?”
“I don’t know. One of the teachers said that nothing had ever been proved, so we should drop it.”
“What else did they say?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really interested. I like Kendra and all, but if she’s going to be rude to me, well, whatever.”
I knew Abby was shrugging dismissively. Other people’s angst and blowups didn’t bother her at all. She exemplified that saying “like water off a duck’s back.” Kendra’s snappishness didn’t really bother her. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t take it to heart and mull over it and worry about it. She went on with her day. Me, I’d have dissected the interaction and probably still be fretting over it.
“That’s really interesting because I came across the name Nash in Jodi’s notes.”
“Jodi’s notes? Where did you get her notes?”
I brought Abby up to date on how I’d found the notebook and she said, “My, my, my. You’re right, all of that wouldn’t have been easy to put into an e-mail. Well, you can meet Kendra yourself tomorrow. You are going to Jessica and Jasmine’s birthday party, aren’t you?”
“Oh. I’d forgotten.” I looked at the calendar. “Yep. There it is on the calendar. We’ll be there,” I said, trying to remember what possible presents I had hidden away on the top shelf of the linen closet. “I think they invited all the neighborhood kids. Why will Kendra be there?”
“She’s Jessica’s piano teacher. She has a few students she teaches on weekends. Frankly, I don’t know how she finds the time.”
“Okay, enough about that stuff. What’s going on with you?”
“Same old thing—school and Charlie. Nothing as exciting as you’ve been involved in, unless you count the fight I broke up on the playground yesterday.”
“Well, you know my life is usually diapers and laundry.” I glanced at the clock and saw it was almost nine. “I’d better let you go get those papers graded. See you tomorrow.”
I hung up and raided the gift stash. I had a set of the first four books in the A to Z mystery series that I thought would be perfect for Jessica. Her younger sister, Jasmine, who was born four years and four days later—thus the joint party—would probably like the art set with crayons, paints, and stamps. I “wrapped” the gifts using bags and tissue paper and put them in the car.
I plopped down on the o
verstuffed chair and clicked the TV on. Just until ten, I promised myself. I was going to stay away from the movie channels tonight.
The news was on. The familiar picture of Jodi flashed on the screen. The reporter’s voice-over stated, “The folks I talked to in the community said they expected the extra set of remains would be those of youth sports coordinator Jodi Lockworth, who has been missing since January eighth of this year.” The photo of Nash that had been in the paper filled the screen. “Instead, it was another missing youth in the grave, one who’s been missing over fifty years.” The view switched to a live shot of the reporter pacing in front of a live oak. “But instead of bringing closure, the discovery has opened old wounds and drawn nationwide interest.”
I flicked back and forth between the news channels. Nash’s picture and a report of his identification were on all of them, along with hints about past racial tension in North Dawkins, but no details.
Guess I was wrong. There was news in North Dawkins.
Chapter Fifteen
I went back to the computer and typed the name William James Nash in the search engine. The list of hits included all the recent news about the identification of his remains. I went to the North Dawkins Standard Web site and searched for articles about him, but that didn’t bring up anything. I supposed the original articles about his disappearance were too old to be available online.
I started over with the search terms “William James Nash” and “lynching.” The first line that popped up was a link to the Peach Blossom Inn. Not what I had expected.
I clicked over and scanned, looking for the name Nash. I found it on the page about the historic connections of the bed-and-breakfast.
Nestled between pecan groves, the Peach Blossom Inn is in the heart of historic Georgia in Dawkins County. Shopping and dining are minutes away, but history permeates every aspect of the Peach Blossom from the homemade peach ice cream that’s served each night on the wide veranda to the massive live oak on the horizon, known as the Hanging Oak, rumored site of the infamous Nash lynching.