Final Harvest

by Barbara Howard

  Chapter Eight

  WHEN TRACI ARRIVED, Kay McGee was sitting in her usual spot at the circular desk in McClendon Public Library. She smiled and pulled off her bifocals letting them dangle on the chain around her neck. She wore a soft yellow knit sweater set over khaki capris.

  “Hello” she greeted Traci with a wide smile and her favorite pink lipstick.

  “Hello, how are you?” Traci genuinely loved seeing this woman.

  “Great, are you here on a work assignment, Traci? What’ve you got going on, honey?” Ms. McGee said. She was always eager to help.

  “No, not this time,” Traci didn’t bother mentioning that she had been fired from NeverMore, Inc. and was now a bike courier.

  “It’s some personal stuff.” She leaned over the rainbow polka-dot laminate desk. “For a friend, actually.”

  “Ohhh,” Ms. McGee said steering her wheelchair down the ramp and around the colorful “StoryTime with Sanchia” platform. “Let’s go into my office. C’mon with me, dear.”

  Traci appreciated the privacy of the Head Librarian’s office. Even at the library, she looked through the large glass picture window facing out to the main entrance in case she was being followed. She knew it was just her emotions trying to overtake her. Once she got the information she was looking for, she would be done with all of this. She would let Milo know what she found out and wash her hands of it.

  “There’s a property where the owner died suddenly,” Traci started.

  “Rowena Garrett?”

  “Yes,” Traci said, surprised that the word had spread already.

  “I heard about it. Terrible tragedy,” she said looking at Traci and adjusting her glasses on the tip of her nose. “What do you need to know, honey?”

  Traci appreciated how Ms. McGee didn’t ask why she wanted the information or any other personal questions.

  “My friend wants to know what happens to that house and the land in a situation like this, with no next of kin or anything.”

  “Are you sure there is no family to claim it?”

  “That’s what we, I mean my friend thinks,” Traci said frowning. “Of course, I don’t know anything about her at all.”

  “Well, that’s the place to start, isn’t it?” Ms. McGee said and patted Traci’s hand. “Have you ever searched family history before, Traci? It’s a lot of fun. You never know what you’re going to find out!” she said gleefully.

  The librarian handed Traci a small notecard and stubby pencil.

  “Here, you’ll need this to jot down what we find. There’s always a trail of breadcrumbs to follow so you don’t get lost.” she said, smiling and logging into the library genealogy database network.

  Ms. McGee started scrolling through records of land sales and deed transfers, birth and death certificates, census documents and marriage certificates.

  “There he is,” Traci said, pointing to the screen.

  It was a small, grainy thumbnail picture, but Traci could tell without a doubt that was the man in the picture on Rowena Garrett’s mantle.

  “Earl Garrett, jazz saxophonist on tour in New Orleans” was the citation in the Clayborne Tribune article.

  “Do you know him?” Ms. McGee said.

  “I’ve seen a picture of him somewhere,” Traci said tapping Zoom to enlarge the photo. “Can we find out more about him?”

  “Yes, dear,” Ms. McGee said clasping her hands. “Let’s sharpen our pencils!”

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN TRACI HOPPED OFF the bus after four hours at the library, all she could think about was finding Milo. She was so excited she almost forgot how hungry she was. She dropped by the mini-mart to pick up one of their meatball sandwiches and a tall bottle of lemonade. It was a safe bet that Milo would be hungry too. So, she ordered double of everything.

  “Separate bags, please” Traci said as she paid the cashier. She stuffed the bags into her backpack and stepped out into the afternoon sun. She thought about Milo and Miss Rowena as she walked up the trail through the field. And, Officer Wells.

  “Call me Randall,” he had said during their walk back to her house, “Named after my great-grandfather.”

  She wondered about people who knew the names of their great-grandfathers. And all the names and birth dates she saw in the databases Ms. McGee had shared with her. She knew nothing about her parents or anyone else beyond them. Her strongest memory was of the pink Morgan suitcase that contained all of her belongings. It had wobbly wheels, and she dragged it from place to place. Each time it got lighter and lighter as her things would come up missing with each relocation until finally, there was nothing to pack at all.

  She stopped to adjust the brim on her cap and looked across the field again. Yes, there were people gathered back at the center pole. Traci walked over and joined them.

  “We ought to finish out the season,” someone in the crowd said.

  “Miss Rowena would’ve wanted us to keep working. God rest her soul.”

  Traci noticed a man wearing a dress shirt and business slacks standing in the middle of the growers.

  “Unfortunately, Ms. Garrett is no longer with us. Soon this land will be turned over to the city and I’ll be responsible for it.”

  “Excuse me,” Traci said approaching him, “May I ask your name?”

  “Hello,” he said turning to address her. “As I was saying, my name is Ray Winston. I’m the Deputy Director of the Community Development Corporation here in Keeferton, and this area of Magnolia Grove is part of our upcoming district project.”

  “What does that mean?” someone said.

  “It means he controls what happens to the properties around here,” Traci said, “But, he’s gotta go through City Hall and get permission first.” She turned back to face the man, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Winston?”

  “That is correct,” he said, “Once the approval is granted, my CDC handles the land allotments and development plans for . . .”

  “Do you have any official land transfer contracts from the County Recorder’s Office, Mr. Winston?” Traci said. “Or are you just here looking around?” She stepped closer to him, “Bothering these people on private property.”

  “What is your name?” he said, his body stiffened.

  “Tracinda Simmons,” she said, “and these are my friends.”

  “Well, Ms. Simmons,” he said straightening his tie. “You’re right. It is private property. But you and your friends don’t own this land either.”

  “That has yet to be determined, Mr. Winston. In the meantime, we have work to do here,” she said, “Have a marvelous day.” She turned her back, walked up to the pole and looked over the schedule. “Let’s stick to the original schedule. Does that work for everybody?”

  There were nods of agreement all around.

  “The water supply is through the hydrant at the end of the road. The county can’t turn it off because Miss Rowena pre-paid the annual fee for the season. No problem there,” she said, “Who owns the tools and the truck?”

  “My tools. My truck,” the Moe’s Tavern guy said, “Seeds already in the ground. Everything’s already producing.”

  “All that’s left is the chickens,” one woman said.

  “Well,” Traci said, “If anybody gives you trouble and wants to confiscate them, just turn them loose in the field.”

  Everyone laughed. Traci glanced over her shoulder and watched Ray Winston walking away.

  “Yep, if they can catch ‘em, they can keep ‘em!” someone shouted. There was more laughter, like a wave through the group.

  “Okay, I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll meet you all back here at seven,” Traci said.

  The Moe’s Tavern guy stepped in front of her. He adjusted the brim of his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a bandana.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded and looked up at the towering man with veins protruding on his neck and shoulders, chiseled jaw and soft eyes.

  “Miss
Traci,” he said pointing across the lot, “my truck, I sleep in there. Some folk sleeping out in the way over there. They scared to go back up to Miss Rowena’s place now.”

  “No, they can’t go back there. The police have closed it off,” she said looking at the women. “They’re keeping a watch on everything right now.”

  “The ladies, Miss Traci,” he said, “They ain’t got nowhere to go.”

  Traci took a deep breath, nodded and walked away. So many questions, she thought. She turned back to him and said, “What is your name, by the way.”

  “My name is Moe.”

  “You’re the Moe behind Moe’s Tavern?”

  “Yes,” he said and looked down. “I used to be. Lost it, some bad debts,” he said looking back at her. “Trying to get it back but it’s hard, you know.”

  Traci watched a faint smile slide across the man’s face.

  “Something’s gonna work out,” she said, “for all of us.”

  Traci rushed home and put the food in the fridge. She didn’t have an appetite after the confrontation with Ray Winston and the thought of the women being without shelter. She couldn’t take them in at her place. There wasn’t enough room and if she was honest with herself, they were strangers and could be trouble. The Maplewood Women’s shelter was at capacity. She didn’t even have to contact them because it always stayed maxed out. Annual donations had dropped when the local economy took a nose-dive. They scrapped plans for the new annex building while fewer people financed and more people needed their services. It was a vicious cycle that no one had an answer for.

  And where was Milo? She remembered the first time she was on her own and needed help. Myra was always just a call away. Now, she had not heard a peep from her in days. Traci checked her phone again. She was scrolling through her contacts, trying to come up with ideas, when Milo arrived at her back door.

  “Hi,” she yelled through the room, “Come in!”

  He walked in with a smile of relief.

  “I saw you talking to that cop,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if you was still okay with me coming ‘round.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said motioning for him to join her. “Never mind, sit down. I’ve got a lot to tell you while we’re having dinner.”

  Milo went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. He had a small milk carton full of brown eggs. He passed it to Traci. “Somebody’s got to eat ‘em,” he said with a shrug.

  She warmed their food in the microwave while Milo arranged the chairs and tableware. She shared the information that Kay McGee had printed out and then explained her notes.

  “So, Miss Rowena was married?” Milo said after making it halfway through his sandwich.

  “Yes, and from what I can tell,” Traci said sipping her lemonade, “they never got a divorce. That means he has legal rights to Hazelton House. It transfers to the surviving spouse, according to the law.”

  “I see,” Milo said, deep in thought, “Bent Willow, too?”

  “Yes, the farm is included. All he has to do is agree to keep things the way they are.”

  “Do you really think he’d do that?” Milo said balling up the sandwich wrapper. “I mean, what’s in it for him? People ain’t just nice like that, y’know? Except Miss Rowena.”

  “I don’t know,” Traci shrugged, “but we’re going to find out.”

  Chapter Ten

  TRACI WALKED DOWN SPRING Street, relieved that she made it through her first week at Dependable Flyers. She had planned to finish remodeling her bathroom over the weekend, but now her priorities had shifted. As she approached her house, she noticed an ominous figure on her porch. She reached in her pocket for the small canister of pepper spray and cautiously stepped closer.

  It was Officer Randall Wells, but she hardly recognized him in his sweatpants and green FAMU T-shirt. He was wrestling with something at her front door. As she got to the yard, he turned and stepped down to meet her, and smiling as always, he handed her a set of keys on a pink and silver ring.

  “Problem solved,” he said. “New locks installed. I could help you out with adding a handrail, too. City housing code requires them. You know that, right?”

  Traci stood speechless, staring at him.

  “Thank you?” he said.

  She put away the pepper spray, walked past him, looked at the door and then back at him. She could feel her face heating up.

  “I noticed there’s been a young guy hanging around the alley lately. Doesn’t seem to be up to no good. But you never know,” Officer Wells said finally. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Why were you snooping around here?”

  “Well,” he said gathering his tools, “I’ve been patrolling the Hazelton House perimeter and around the adjacent properties. And honestly, I’ve been a little concerned about you being all by yourself over here.”

  “There’s no need to be concerned about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course,” he said and backed away, “I apologize if I’ve overstepped. It was not my intent to upset you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m the one that should apologize,” Traci took a deep breath. “You did a nice thing, and I snapped at you. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

  She took another deep breath and sat on the steps. “With the way things are going, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my place. And I have to get out to the Rest Haven Nursing Home tomorrow. It’s going to take me four buses to get there with transfers. Plus, this heat. Sometimes it just makes you mad about everything. Did I say it’s been a long week?”

  “Yes, yes, you did and I hear you. Listen, I’m going out that way tomorrow. I can drive you there,” Officer Wells said leaning toward her, “if that will put me back in your good graces.” He smiled.

  “I don’t know about that. Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said stepping toward her. “Forget about taking the bus. You deal enough with that all week. Let me do this for you.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, “that would be great.”

  “What time do you want me to pick you up,” he said with an even bigger and beautiful smile.

  “How about 8:30?”

  “Perfect. That will give me time to finish my workout at the gym on Lexington. I’ll be here,” Officer Wells said, then turned and walked across the street to the black Suburban. He looked back and waved at Traci, waiting for her to wave back. She did.

  That night Traci read through her notes from the library research and spent a few minutes before bed writing in her journal. The only way she could fall asleep these days was to first put her thoughts on paper. Sometimes when she read them back out loud, she didn’t recognize herself. But there she was in black and white on the pages. And now it included so many others. Her dreams were full of their voices, young and old.

  Chapter Eleven

  OFFICER WELLS WAS RIGHT on time while Traci was still brushing on her mascara. She stopped at the door and added lip liner and a coat of her favorite Boss Berry no-smudge lipstick and met him at the sidewalk. They began the trip to Rest Haven with a stop at The Daily Drip drive-thru. He passed everything to Traci, and she added the two sugar and cream packets to his coffee as he steered the car onto the highway.

  “Who are you going to visit out here?” he said setting the GPS. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Earl Garrett,” she said tightening the lid on his coffee, “and I don’t mind.”

  “Garrett?”

  “Yes,” Traci said handing him the cup. “Rowena Garrett’s husband lives at Rest Haven and I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Why?” he said, taking the coffee from her and placing it in the cup holder.

  “Apparently, he is the next of kin and will determine what happens to the property.” She sipped her chai latte and burned her tongue.

  “Why do you care about that?”

  “I’m just looking into this for a friend,” she said, then turned her face and looked out at
the countryside. “Do you really think she fell out of that window?”

  “Until they produce evidence that shows otherwise, why wouldn’t I believe that?” he said, his brows furrowed. “Why don’t you?”

  “The attic, though?”

  “Maybe she was up there looking for her cats.” He sounded annoyed.

  “I guess,” Traci said while scrolling through her text messages.

  “You shouldn’t get involved in all of this.”

  “It just seems to me,” Traci began. She put away her phone and looked off toward the traffic backing up on the opposite side of the highway. Then she faced him again. “It just seems to me,” she repeated, “if something like that happened to me, I hope someone would care enough to investigate everything about it.”

  “Trust me,” he said looking back at her, “if anything like that happened to you, I would totally investigate it.” He smiled that smile.

  “Well, that doesn’t count, considering it’s your job.” She gave him a side-eye glance.

  They both laughed. She decided to drop the subject. She appreciated the ride and there was no reason to ruin it. She scrolled through her messages again. Nothing from Myra.

  Traci looked up from her phone when she noticed the GPS app showed they were taking a wrong turn. Exit 42-B toward Crown Hill was nowhere near Rest Haven Nursing Home. She glanced at Officer Wells, hoping that this was a short cut. But no, he drove them to Riverview Memorial Cemetery, past the manicured and sculpted hills with rows of small plastic bouquets and white wooden crosses.