***
From inside the cemetery gate, Chuck saw a familiar chest high and whitewashed tombstone. “Well?” He thought. “This one is still here. What about the others?”
The undergrowth was thick and heavy. The marker was the only one visible and barely visible among the vines. Brushing back a few, Chuck read the inscription. “C. T. Hobbs. Born 1846 Died 1890.”
Following the game trail with his eyes, Chuck estimated his grandfather’s grave would be about fifteen or twenty yards further along the path. The top cover, handmade from sun baked Georgia clay, would be laid flat with the ground and the marker was missing. He and Matt had threatened to put a new one up but such things managed to drift to the back burner of the stove. Before long, the years would stack up higher than the weeds and briars.
Chuck swatted at the gnats near his eyes to clear the air, took a deep breath. He felt better because the cemetery was still here and walked forward down the rabbit trail, but his emotions turned to anger when he reached his grandfather’s grave. There were signs of freshly dug dirt scattered among the weeds. Someone had been digging in or near the grave and recently. “For God’s sake, why would anyone do this? Would Matt?”
For ten minutes, he walked around looking and checking but found nothing. “I’ll find out who’s been here and why.” He said and turned to leave.
A deep-seated, mental itch hit him and he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore. Goose bumps rose on his arms so he started walking back toward the gate. As he passed the Hobbs grave marker, a deep voice startled him, saying, “It’s not a good place for a stroll, is it Mr. Veal?”
Chuck stumbled backwards a few steps snagging his heel on a loose vine. He almost toppled and the voice cautioned, “Easy there, Chuck. Getting jumpy in your old age, ain’t you?”
A tall man stood with the rising sun to his back. His figure was blocking the game trail out. Chuck squinted into the sun, trying to shade his eyes with one hand. The person wore a light brown uniform with a broad, round hat. Trying to hide the unexpected surprise, Chuck called, “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk up. I thought I was alone.”
“What are you doing, Chuck?” a familiar voice chided. “Don’t tell me you’re teaming up with Matt to give old lady Pary another heart attack.”
The figure stepped forward and the face cleared the shadows. Chuck attached the voice to a name, “Lord all mighty. Bill Jacobs. It’s the Po’lice.”
Jacobs laughed. “Not only the Po’lice but head cop too. I’m Chief Investigator of the county which means I take all the dangerous calls like chasing spooks through the cemetery.”
Chuck stepped forward and the two men hugged and shook hands warmly. Jacobs motioned around and said, “You’ll get snake bit out here like this. What are you doing? Are we still hunting for that confederate gold?”
Chuck smiled because, as youngsters, he, Jacobs and Matt had often searched for the proverbial hidden confederate gold in the cemetery. Some people, even recently, thought it still buried in some area of West Creek County.
The hidden confederate gold at the Veal cemetery was part of the lore of the County. An old confederate soldier buried there protected it. Late at night, one could see the man, standing picket at the gate. Chuck’s smile turned to a frown as the seriousness of the visit returned. “I’m looking for Matt. He hasn’t called in over a week now and I’m worried. Have you seen him lately, Bill?”
Jacobs, genuinely surprised, said, “Matt? I just saw him, oh, maybe two weeks ago in town. If you’re looking for him then what are you doing out here in this rattlesnake’s den?”
“I’m serious, Bill. I checked with the Sheriff’s office this week and got nothing. Matt hasn’t called or been in touch with me and I don’t know why.”
“You think something’s happened to Matt? Well, what’s happened? Did he get drunk and fall off a bridge again?”
Although the words were intended kindly, Chuck didn’t smile. As teens, the three of them had raided old man Fowler’s moonshine still one Sunday morning while he was in church. Matt had found it a few days before while hunting. With Jacobs and Chuck in tow, they “confiscated "several pint jars of the clear, bitter liquid and drank most of two. Matt either jumped or fell from the mill creek bridge into beaver creek. Chuck, a good bit tipsy, dove in afterward to save his brother. Jacobs not sober enough to care, also jumped in to save both of his drunken friends. The two, would be heroes had almost drowned before Matt swam over and pulled them from the ice-cold waters.
Chuck looked seriously at Jacobs and said, “He’s missing, Bill. Something is wrong.”
Jacobs’ face twisted and he swatted at the gnats around his eyes. “That can’t be. I heard he was gone somewhere for a couple of days. I just assumed he was driving up to see you in North Carolina. I was working graveyard shifts so I never heard anything about him leaving only that he’d left. I’ll admit it sounded strange but figured he needed a break from things around here.”
Chuck shook his head “He didn’t come to North Carolina. The last time we talked he was all excited about, uh, something, but he didn’t mention coming up to see me any time soon.”
Jacobs pulled the hat from his head and ran a sun brown hand through his hair. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
“It’s been over a week or ten days and he didn’t just fall off a bridge someplace. Something’s happened.”
Jacobs plopped the hat back on his head and looked skyward. “You said you called the Sheriff’s office. Who did you talk with, Brian Mimbs the dispatcher? Did you ask him to file a missing person on Matt?”
“I talked to a guy named Mimbs and told him I was looking for Matt. Sheriff Brooks called me back the next day and said about the same thing you just told me.”
Jacobs shook his head and motioned him to follow. As the two men retraced their steps back to the field, he said, “Well, I haven’t seen a report but I’ll check on it for you. Now come on. Old lady Pary is going to have a duck when she finds out who it is down here. I guess I better go talk to her.”
Chuck fell in step beside Jacobs and then, pointing back at the woods said, “The graves are still in there, but....”
Jacobs looked curiously, “Those graves better be in there. Miss Pary was going to plow them under but Matt got a court order and stopped her. I think the case comes up in Swainsboro next month.”
“It’s in August. That’s what Matt told me over the phone. I was afraid she might have gone ahead and ripped the place apart anyway.”
Jacobs stopped and faced Chuck with a wary glance. “Nobody around here would defy a Macon Judge, just like nobody around here knows that Matt is missing. A state court order isn’t something even Miss Pary would tangle with unless she was dead right and in this case, she knows better.”
“That’s right but what if the person who had stopped them was no longer around and in the way. She could go ahead and reclaim the cemetery. How would it strike you, if you had walked in back there a minute ago and the cemetery had been plowed under?”
“I’d start arresting somebody after I busted some heads, and not because Matt is missing either. It’s the law and Miss Pary can’t touch the place until a judge decides the status of the youngest grave.”
“You know who’s in the youngest grave and about the year he was buried, don’t you? Didn’t Matt use our grandfather’s grave to stop her?”
“Yea but his grave marker has disappeared and there are no recent dates on the others to stop her. The local Magistrate is trying to over ride the judge’s orders right now, but I haven’t heard anything on it lately.”
Chuck glanced across the barren field. It was late July but saw nothing planted. He pointed, “Government crops?”
“The federal government pays the farmers pretty good not to plant a field these days.”
They walked along in silence for a moment and then Chuck asked, “When did all this happen with the cemetery property? Was it back in March? April?”
“Y
eah, around the first of March I think, or somewhere along in there.”
“I know that whatever has happened to Matt will not point directly to the fight over the cemetery but the property was a player piece in this puzzle.”
They crossed the old fence again and then jumped the road ditch. Jacobs fussed over his once shiny black shoes and then said, “Chuck? Miss Pary can’t legally stop you from going in there but at least do me a favor. Don’t go back until this mess gets to court next month. Okay?”
Sudden anger surged through his mind and he snapped, “What if I decide to go ahead and clean the place up this weekend? What would be wrong with cutting a few bushes down?”
“Clean it up?” Jacobs barked and then tilted his hat backward. “What on earth for, but waiting a few more weeks won’t make much difference. Now don’t you get all fired up about this like Matt did, besides, cleaning up that place will be a major job. How long are you going to be in town?”
“I’m not going back to North Carolina until I’ve found Matt.”
“Okay,” “Do what you’ve got to do but stay out of the cemetery for me until next month, okay?”
Chuck sighed. “Okay, I’ll stay out but I’m going to keep looking for Matt.?”
“Well, now you’ve got me helping. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk with Miss Abatha right now. She saw your car out here and called it in.”
Chuck thought for a second, patience thin, but common sense prevailed and he agreed. “Okay, Bill. I have some things to check out this morning. Are you going to be around town someplace?”
“I’ve got to run home and grab some sleep. I’ll be back on shift around six this afternoon but as for Matt. You have me helping too, as of right now. If something happened to him, we’ll find out what and why. Okay?”
“Thanks. I’ll be at Matt’s place if you find out anything.”
“Okay but don’t do anything without calling me first. There’s still a chance he’s off somewhere and fine. I’ll put an APB over the wire for him shortly. If he’s laid up somewhere in a hospital or something, we’ll find him.”
Chuck walked to his car, stopped and said, “That’s pretty farfetched, and you know it. If he was in a hospital he would have called by now. It’s the “or something” I’m worried about.”
Jacobs stood watching Chuck drive away in a cloud of dust. His guts turned flips and he didn’t like the feeling. Climbing back into the patrol car, he grabbed the microphone, “Brian? This is unit fifteen. I took care of the trespasser so I’m on my way to Whispering Pines to talk with Miss Pary.”
“Roger, Jacobs” the voice popped back.
“I am going to ring that boy’s neck,” Bill said aloud.
The Beginning (Whispering Pines Book 1) Page 15