Читать книгу Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder - Sara Rosett - Страница 12

“There’s procedures, Nita. You can’t call for a search in Magnolia Estates,” Coleman repeated.

“I’m sure we can work it out, Coleman,” Nita said, but he didn’t sit back down.

He continued. “Magnolia Estates is private property. We can’t have a couple hundred people tramping over lawns and through flower beds.”

“The search will be of the undeveloped area. Gerald will have a map and show you the area. We’ll contact the homeowners’ association with all the details,” Nita said. She was still smiling, but her smile was a bit strained.

“That’s even worse.” Coleman’s tone was belligerent. “There’s all sorts of wildlife out there and poison ivy. Who’s liable if there’s an injury?”

“Coleman.” Nita’s voice was patient. She’d obviously dealt with him before. “I promise you, everything will be taken care of to the satisfaction of the Magnolia Estates HOA. Now, we can’t get derailed on this one point.”

I so admired a person who actually ran a meeting, as opposed to letting people wander off-topic. I glanced at my watch and realized I still had thirty minutes before I had to leave to pick up Livvy from the party. With Nita in charge I thought I’d make it.

Colleen nudged me and I realized Nita was motioning me to come up to the table beside her. My heart rate, which had calmed down during Coleman’s little speech, kicked up into high gear again and my palms went sweaty.

I took my place beside Nita, who handed me a map and several highlighters. I explained how the system would work and asked people to highlight the area of the map they were going to cover. I colored in Magnolia Estates as I said, “I’ll take my neighborhood.” I saw Coleman getting to his feet again and I hurriedly added, “Because Gerald has a permit for flyers in Magnolia Estates, I know that will be fine, but check with the neighborhood associations before you post flyers.”

Coleman sat back down and I said, “We’ll have a sign-up sheet here at the front for people volunteering to do areas that aren’t picked tonight.” I flipped one of the flyers over and scrawled, Flyer Volunteer Sign-up across the top. Nothing like organizing on the fly.

Even though my pulse was still pounding like I’d run half a mile—I’m not a big runner (obviously)—I didn’t think I was doing too bad. Then I noticed the photographer slipping out of the room and the guys operating the video cameras turning off the spotlights and moving to the back corner. Well, there you go. I wasn’t even important enough for the newspeople to keep their cameras rolling. Clearly, I could relax.

I finished my little impromptu speech with an encouragement for people to try to get the flyers in the windows of businesses so the weather would be less of a factor. I nodded at Nita and she thanked everyone for coming out, then said, “Now, y’all come on up and pick up your flyers.”

I was surprised to see Topaz was first in line. I hadn’t noticed she was in the room. How could I have overlooked her stripy angled bob, not to mention her red top with billowy sleeves paired with jeans, a turquoise and leather belt, and aqua boots?

“I’ll take my neighborhood.” She leaned over the map and a trio of necklaces swung away from her neck as she highlighted a square in the older part of North Dawkins near the base. “I’ve got time before I leave for a fair on the coast.” She stood and the necklaces fell back against her skin above the V-neck of her shirt. I bet she made those necklaces, a mixture of tiny shells and beads with a twisty chunk of metal that dangled from the longest necklace like a medallion.

“Thanks. How’s everything going?” I asked.

She shrugged, pulled a handful of flyers out of the boxes, and moved around the edge of the table to make room for the next person in line. “Same old thing.”

“So, where are you off to?”

“Tybee Island, first. Then I might stop for a few days with a friend in Savannah. It’s been a while since I’ve been there. Seems a good time of year to do the whole scary cemetery thing, right?”

“Oh, is that the one from Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil?” I’d never been to Savannah, but I knew of its most famous cemetery.

“That’s it. Bonaventure Cemetery.” She shrugged again. “I’m not sure, though. I might drive up the coast and see what I can find up there.”

“I can’t imagine traveling like that. Without a plan or hotel reservations. We’d have practically a U-Haul full of luggage.”

“Well, you have kids. You have to take the kitchen sink, right?”

Right. I felt a twinge of jealousy at Topaz’s breezy travel itinerary. It wasn’t that I wanted to go see Savannah’s cemeteries—I’d had my fill of cemeteries—but I wouldn’t mind seeing Savannah and I knew for us, it would be a major production and sightseeing would have to be planned around nap time.

The chime of a cell phone sounded. “Oops. That’s me. Just a second.” Topaz pulled her phone out of her back pocket and turned away from me.

I gave myself a mental shake and told myself to stop comparing myself to Topaz. We were different. We’d taken different routes in life. I might not be able to flit off to a city on a whim, but I had it pretty good.

I checked the table. People were still highlighting the map and grabbing flyers. The system seemed to be working. Scott Ezell had already been through the line and stood alone at one side of the room, holding a stack of flyers. Several people walked by him without speaking and I saw Colleen change direction and go to the other side of the room when she spotted him.

Topaz finished her conversation and I said, “Is this a normal-size turnout?”

“Maybe a little high because of the news, but we usually have around forty people.”

“What about him?” I looked toward Scott Ezell. “Is he usually here?”

“Yes, the pariah shows up faithfully. Although I can’t understand why he puts himself through it.”

Before I could ask what she meant, Nita joined us. She gave Topaz a hug and said, “Now, here’s one of our best volunteers. I don’t think Topaz has ever missed a meeting.”

Topaz hugged her back and said, “That’s what happens when you’re an artist. You’re broke, but you’ve got time. I’ve got to run.” She waved her flyers and called out, “See you Saturday.”

I checked my watch. “I have to go, too. I’ll take the map and the volunteer sign-up with me and contact people for the areas that aren’t covered.”

“Wonderful.” She pulled out her handheld computer, tapped in my e-mail address, then said, “So nice to have you on board, Ellie. I know you’ll make a real difference for us.”

“Some jerk keyed my car while I was at the Find Jodi meeting,” I said to Mitch when I got home. He followed me out to the garage and we examined the damage together. “Do you think it’s worth filing a claim?” I asked doubtfully.

“Nah. Not with our deductible. We might as well wait and put our money into a new car for you.” Mitch slapped his hand down on the hood as we walked back inside. “It’s about time to put The Ancient One out to pasture.”

“Maybe. It’s only a scratch. It still drives fine.” Despite its age, I liked my old clunker, a Jeep Cherokee, which I’d kept because it had four-wheel drive and that was a great thing when you lived in Washington State, but now that we were in the heart of the South, it might be time to upgrade to something with power locks and windows.

After I’d tucked in the kids, I told Mitch about the organizing work I’d volunteered for. “It’s pro bono, but at least it’s a start.”

“That’s good.”

I could tell from his tepid response that he wasn’t nearly as excited as I was. “I did think about what you said about Everything In Its Place being a business. I decided to give it until the end of the year. If I don’t have a paying client”—I blew out a sigh—“I’ll consider closing it down or possibly putting it on hold until the kids are older.”

Mitch nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I hate being reasonable,” I said as I pulled my hair back to wash my face.

He asked, “Anything else happen at the meeting?”

I told him about the plans for the search, then said, “It doesn’t make sense.” I paused before I splashed water on my face, but I didn’t hear a reply from Mitch, who was still in our bedroom. I rinsed the makeup from my face, then grabbed a towel and dabbed the water away. I walked into our bedroom and leaned on the closet door frame. Mitch was moving patches from one flight suit to another.

“What doesn’t make sense?” he asked over the sound of Velcro ripping apart.

“The whole situation with Jodi. I don’t understand it. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for her to run away. She had a loving family, a good job, two jobs if you count her part-time work for the paper, and a huge house to live in rent free. What’s to run away from? And it’s not like she had anyone to run to either. No boyfriend in the picture, according to Dorthea.”

Mitch transferred the last patch, then balled up his dirty flight suit. “Maybe everything wasn’t so great in her life. Appearances can be deceiving. You know that, better than most people,” he said with a smile as he dumped his flight suit in the hamper.

He was right. I’d run across people who gave one appearance to the world, but inside, they were completely different. I went back into the bathroom, pulled out moisturizer, and slathered it on my face. “You could be right, but I didn’t get the feeling that her parents were hiding anything and everyone seemed so genuinely upset that she’d disappeared. So if everything was fine in her life and she didn’t have a reason to leave, then that leaves the other option, someone either kidnapped her or killed her.”

“Or both,” Mitch inserted, his voice floating out of the closet. He tossed his gym bag on the bed, and then his workout clothes landed by the bag.

“But that doesn’t make sense either.” I went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. “No one disliked her. Apparently, she was a kind person. Why would anyone want to hurt her?”

Mitch packed his gym bag and zipped it up. “There may not ever be an answer,” he said, his voice serious. “Her parents don’t think it was her remains in the cemetery?”

I traced a finger along the stitching on the duvet. “I think they’re afraid that it is her, but they’re going ahead with their plans for a search, hoping that it’s not her.” I looked up. “If it is her, then why kill her and leave her so close to her house? Why not bury her miles away?”

“I’m sure it’s not the easiest thing to move a dead body,” Mitch said. “The gravel path is fairly deserted and there’s not much activity.”

I swallowed, thinking that if what Mitch was saying was true, then Jodi would probably have been killed close to that area. Maybe even in our house. I felt the hairs rise on my arms as I mentally ran through the rooms of the house; then I told myself to calm down. The police had been over this house, they’d searched here. If she’d died here they would have found evidence.

I thought back to the path. It was usually pretty quiet. And the graveyard was abandoned. No one would be up there, looking around. Really, it was a brilliant solution to the question of where to dispose of a dead body. What better place was there than a grave in a forgotten cemetery?

I nearly jumped off the bed when a knock sounded on our door. Even though I knew that knock, my heart was still fluttering when I opened it. Livvy stood there in her pajamas with her hair damp around her face. “I had a bad dream.”

I picked her up and she wrapped her arms and legs around me as I carried her back to bed. “I’m sorry,” I said.

I tucked her back in and smoothed down her hair. We said a prayer to chase the bad dream away and then I stroked her back until I felt her body relax and her breathing slow down. She’d wanted to sleep in her tiara and gloves, her party favors along with a huge bag of candy and a real china teacup. I’d managed to convince her to leave her tiara on her nightstand. Her gloves were spread out beside her bed on the floor and I carefully stepped over them before I walked down the hall to check on Nathan.

Now, there was a boy who loved his sleep. Livvy hadn’t been a baby who liked to sleep, but Nathan was the opposite. He always settled down to sleep with hardly a whimper and I’d wondered if something was wrong in those first few weeks after he was born. It was just one of the first things that I discovered that was different about my two kids. I peered into his room and could barely make out the soft fuzz of his hair from the hall’s night-light. His tiny snore made me smile.

I went into the kitchen and turned on the computer. I didn’t want to go to bed right away in case Livvy woke up again, and I had too many thoughts and questions in my mind to sleep right now.

I went to the Web site for the North Dawkins Standard to do a search for articles by Jodi Lockworth. The page loaded with a headline that read REMAINS IDENTIFIED. I leaned forward and scanned the article.

The remains of two bodies found in an open grave last week have been identified. Sources with the Dawkins County Sheriff’s Office confirmed that one body was that of Albert Clarence Chauncey, who died in 1919. The other remains are William James Nash. Nash, a resident of North Dawkins, has been missing since 1955.

I’d been reading so fast to get to the names of the people that I had to go back and read the first lines of the story again. Then I leaned back in the chair. Two men? The bodies were two men? I couldn’t imagine how Nita felt about this news. I knew I’d been hoping the remains didn’t belong to Jodi because that would mean she was possibly still alive, but at the same time, the news would also mean that Nita and Gerald didn’t have any more answers this morning than they had before I’d stumbled across the open grave.

I ran the name Nash through my mind, but I couldn’t come up with anyone I knew with that last name. Who was he? There hadn’t been anything in the news about him. There were two pictures with the story, one of a white man and another of a black man. Both were young, probably in their late teens or early twenties. The caption under the white man read Albert Clarence Chauncey. His dark hair was parted down the middle of his head and pressed flat. He wore a suit and tie and a serious expression. Even with the formal clothes and the solemn face, he looked so young. There seemed to be a tentativeness in his gaze.

The name under the photo of the black man was William James Nash. He was also dressed in a suit and tie, but he was smiling, one arm flung out along the roof of an old car with wide white-sidewall tires and generous sloping curves along the wheel wells. I read the rest of the article. William Nash was born in North Dawkins in 1937. He lived with his widowed mother and worked in the paper factory. He disappeared in 1955 when he was eighteen years old. I scanned the article, then went back and studied the pictures again. He was last seen during his shift at the paper factory.

I shook my head. I guess it had been a bit foolish to assume that Jodi was the only missing person in the history of Dawkins County.

The article went on to describe Albert Chauncey’s short life. He was raised in North Dawkins and left in 1918 to fight in World War I. He contracted tuberculosis, was discharged, and returned home. He died a year later and was buried in the family cemetery. A firsthand account of his return and subsequent death could be found in his sister’s diary, which was located in the North Dawkins Museum.

I frowned over the last paragraphs of the article. The sheriff urged people to remain calm while the Nash case was investigated. Why would the sheriff say that?

I looked at the stack of flyers I’d picked up earlier with Jodi’s smiling face. She was still missing. The person everyone seemed to like and who didn’t have any serious troubles in her life. It didn’t fit. Since no one seemed to be the least bit upset with Jodi personally, maybe she made some enemies with her reporting. I typed her name in the paper’s search bar.

The first articles that popped up in the search were the most recent ones and they weren’t articles she had written, but articles about her disappearance. I read through a few of them because I didn’t remember the news coverage. I’d been so busy with our move and taking care of a newborn that I hadn’t been paying attention.

The stories covered the fact that Jodi was a hometown girl who ran the youth sports program at Taylor. They also mentioned she was employed part-time at the newspaper. One article under a picture of our house ringed in yellow crime scene tape focused on the neighbors and their reactions. Of course, everyone was shocked and worried. The official search had turned up nothing and after a few weeks the articles shifted focus to Jodi’s parents and the formation of the Find Jodi campaign.

I ran another search, this time using the search terms “Jodi Lockworth” and “reporter” with an older date range, which brought up a list of stories with her name in the byline. I printed her articles and then went to the Web site for the Atlanta paper and did the same search. Only three articles came up and a quick scan of those showed they were regional local interest pieces on fall festivals, the peach harvest, and day trips for antique lovers. I couldn’t see how any of those articles could make someone mad.

Mitch came into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bag of baby carrots. “Working on organizing stuff?”

“No. I’m looking up Jodi’s articles. The newspaper Web site is reporting that neither one of the sets of remains were hers. They were two men, a local guy who served in World War I and a man who disappeared back in 1955. Isn’t that weird?”

“Odd.” Mitch’s response was guarded. “That’s good news for Jodi’s family, I guess.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Carrot?” Mitch sat down on a bar stool and held the bag out.

“No, thanks, not unless you’ve got a vat of ranch dressing for me to dip it in.” I joined Mitch in some of his healthy snacks like popcorn, but I drew the line at raw carrots. I said, “Looks like those remains had nothing to do with Jodi.”

An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Party

Keep in mind special requests your guests might have as you plan menus. Do any of your guests have food allergies or special diets? Don’t forget to include nonalcoholic drink choices and vegetarian options.