Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1) (13 page)

On the drive to Grand Bay, Joshua decided that as soon as he got through talking to Skip, he would drive straight to Dotty Reston’s house.

When Joshua drove up in front of Skip Normand’s shop, Skip was standing in the doorway as if he was waiting on him. Right off, Joshua figured that Todd had called ahead to give Skip a head’s up that he was coming.

Emma could not stand the thought of being back at the mercy of the two lunatics standing over her. She turned loose the roots and vines that supported her weight and began flailing her arms in an attempt to ward off capture.

Immediately, she began to slide downward.

As she did, hope surged through her veins and she fought even harder, pushing herself backward, crawfishing away from them.

It was so dark; all she could see were the lamps they held in their hands.

Emma had fought so hard to get safely on the banks of the river, now she pushed with all her might to get herself away from the muddied haven.

She could feel the vines and briars tearing at the flesh on her legs as she slithered backwards, or it could have been snake fangs, she was not sure, but, it did not matter, she would rather die of a snake bite than at their hands, and as long as she distanced herself from Earl and Vernon she had a chance for survival.

She would much rather die trying to get away from them, than to surrender without a fight!

She kept pushing until her entire body was underwater. She saw the lamplights moving ahead of her and heard Earl barking orders at Vernon.

Emma tried to turn herself around, but then felt the sticks and cumbersome tree trunks beneath her, hampering her flight. She took a deep breath and threw herself back into the swirling current.

She hoped the current would suck her body underneath the brush and into the beaver dam.

Suddenly, Emma felt something sharp puncture her arm. At first, it burnt as if she had been stuck with a hot poker, then it went numb. A snake wiggled beneath her shirt, trying to get it’s self away from her struggling body, its slithering movement terrified her, but she gained control of her emotions and relaxed.

The rivers suction did its job by drawing her downward; the snake went upward out of her shirt.

Emma could feel the debris at the bottom of the river and almost panicked, wanting to struggle again, because she remembered how hard it had been to get her self out of it the first time.

Thoughts were running through her mind at an alarming pace, so many at once that she could not separate them into any sort of order. Downward she went, her body spinning round and around in the muddied water.

Suddenly her feet hit bottom, but just as they did, her body went sideways, being swept along the bottom of the river. Emma clutched at the only clear thought that came into her mind; she began to pray.

The proverbial devil on one shoulder, saint on the other, plagued her thoughts. The devil telling her that it was no use in praying, because she was going to die and the saint yelling pray, pray, pray, because the Lord was the only one who could help her.

Emma had spent her childhood going to Sunday School, but the only prayer she could remember at that moment was “Now I lay me down to sleep” and the nagging devil was laughing at her for being so stupid. “Go away, Devil” her mind yelled, followed by a “Please help me, Jesus; make him go away.”

Emma felt herself dragging along the bottom of the river, but there was no pain.

Numbness had settled upon her body and a peaceful feeling followed, causing her to relax even more.

Emma could have sworn that she heard a flute begin to play, its soothing tone drawing her forward through the water. The sound of the flute calmed her thoughts and caused her to think of her great-grandfather, Goyaałé. He was thought by many to have magical powers and that was how he eluded capture for so long.

“Walk the proud land,” a voice said into her ear. It was in the tone of voice and accent, that Emma thought her great-grandfather would have used.

Her forward movement slowed and her body came to rest upon the bottom of the river. The voice repeated the same statement in her ear once again, spurring her to try to stand upon the riverbed.

Once footed, Emma began to take steps. She did not know which direction she was moving, but it did not seem to matter. After a few steps, she felt her head rising out of the water. Emma took in deep gulps of air, while surveying her surroundings.

Day was breaking and the complete darkness she had experienced earlier was tinged with an amber glow.

The sandbar that appeared out of nowhere had a lustrous glow in the waning moonlight and fog hung low over the bayou and across the river.

The air above the river remained fog free and Emma saw what appeared to be the remains of a dock of some sort. Her legs felt leaded, heavy with the earth’s gravity.

She got down on her hands and knees and began to crawl out of the water; the sand cut into her knees and the palms of her hands.

Once seated on the sandbar, Emma studied the wooden relic across the river.

She remembered her father telling her and her brother, that Robert Moffett was a Scottish born Cotton Factor who settled in Mobile about 1849. He owned a manservant and they owned a nanny for the wife and children.

He bought the old Mimosa Plantation there on the Escatawpa, restored and remodeled it, naming it Caledonia, which was the poetic Latin name for Scotland.

Once he settled and established his cotton business, he bought more slaves.

Her father told her that by 1855, the Plantation was flourishing and when the river was high enough, goods, such as cotton, tobacco, and rice were floated downriver on barges from other Southern Alabama plantations and unloaded at the plantation’s dock. From there, the goods would be hauled by mule train to establishments in other towns or cities, such as Mobile, where they were loaded onto ships and shipped to other cities, even to other countries. Moffett also repaired the ferry landing and restored ferry service to cross the Escatawpa and establish trade with small Mississippi Territorial towns.

Could this be the remains of the old Moffett Plantation dock? If so, then she had to be close to Escatawpa Hollow and close to Moffettville.

Emma could not believe that she was almost home.

As she studied the area across the river, a heavy fog settled in, glowing eerily in the faint light. Emma swore she saw it rising into the shape of a woman.

There was a gap in the trees, like maybe a road or pathway once led through them.

Above the fog, against a backdrop of before dawn eastern sky, Emma thought she could make out the shape of a house nestled among the trees. It glowed brightly, when the moon made a brief appearance.

Emma watched the apparition move slowly toward it.

The glowing mist traveled upwards as if it was going up a stairway. After a few moments, it faded away. Emma lay back on the sandbar and closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a tiredness that engulfed her entire being.

She was too tired to try to get to the house right then. She decided she would rest until it was good light and then she would go there and seek help.

Skip Normand was six feet four inches of intimidating flesh as he leaned with his shoulder propped against the doorway of his shop.

Joshua could read people pretty well. Skip’s tattooed, muscular forearms folded across his chest signaled that he was not open to too many questions.

If he had any information on the tattoo, he was not going to give it up easily, Joshua could tell that right off.

“This won’t take long, Skip,” Joshua said, “I just need you to look at a picture, and I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. You’ve done nothing wrong and I am not here to harass you or to cause you any trouble,” he said, looking Skip dead in the eye.

Skip stepped sideways and signaled for the sheriff to go on into the shop. Skip left the door standing open and followed Joshua inside.

“What is this all about, Sheriff.”

“I’m working on a murder case, and I need your help.”

“I’ll do what I can to help, as long as I don’t go to jail or have to testify in court.”

“I don’t put people in jail unless they’ve done something wrong. As far as testifying in court, there is a thing called a deposition; it can be read in court. You would not even have to be present; but I don’t think it will come to that,” Joshua said, taking the Polaroid out of his shirt pocket and handing it to Skip. Skip examined the photo closely then handed it back to the sheriff.

“I put that tattoo on a young black headed chick a few months back. She said she wanted a rosebud tattooed on her hip, but she did not want it to look like everyone else’s rosebud tattoo. She gave me free rein, so I done the tattoo as I wanted.

I have only done one other rosebud that looked like that one, but it was twenty years ago. The flesh around that tattoo appears too firm and smooth to be the first one.”

“Yeah, we think she is young. What can you tell me about the girl?”

“She was a good-looking little gal. Probably 5-2 with black shoulder length hair that blazed reddish in bright sunlight; she had dark eyes. Her hair was the reason I did the rosebud black tinged with red. She came in here with some leg I figure was her boyfriend. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, even while I was trying to work on her.”

“I know it is a lot to ask, but if I sent a sketch artist out here, you reckon you could guide his hand to draw what she looked like.”

“I won’t ask why you need that done, but I can do you one better,” Skip said as he opened a drawer in an old desk. He pulled out a sketchbook and flipped several pages, then folded it back and handed it to Joshua.

Joshua Stokes looked down at the page and into the eyes of a dead girl. Her features were delicate, porcelain like in appearance.

“She looks as if she could have a little Asian influence in her bloodline,” Joshua observed. “Why do you have a sketch of her if I might ask?”

“No problem, Sheriff. Her boyfriend asked me to sketch it when I drew out the rosebud for them. When I finished, he only had enough dough to pay for the tattoo, so I kept the sketch. He wouldn’t gonna get it for nothing.”

“How much you want for it,” Joshua asked, wanting to have it for his investigation. It was not concrete evidence, but it was something he could use internally among his officers, or if a missing person’s report came in, fitting her description.

“It’s yours, Sheriff,” Skip replied pulling a scalpel out of the desk drawer. He cut the page out with one smooth motion and handed it to Joshua.

Briefly, Joshua wondered why Skip kept razor sharp scalpels in his desk drawer, but then figured it had something to do with his being an artist. He took the sketch, thanked Skip for his help, and left.

He drove straight to Wilmer and pulled up to Dotty Reston’s house.

As soon as he drove into her driveway, she came and stood in the doorway.

Joshua got out of his patrol car and began walking toward the door. He could not help but to glance at the bullet holes that dotted the front of the house.

Dotty stood there with her hand on her hip, smiling as if he were an old friend come to visit.

“What can I do you for, Sheriff?” she asked, almost chirping in tone, which immediately aggravated the shit out of him. He hated when people tried to be smart assed or cutesy with him.

Dotty hiked up her skirt as she moved to the top step.

“I come to talk to you about your boys, Dotty,” he answered, thinking to himself that by her actions, she was still a harlot; probably always would be he reckoned.

“What they done this time?” Dotty asked, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder.

“My deputy said they were fighting with the Stringer boys last night. It was also told they have been sending threatening notes to Willie Jr. at school. This kind of stuff will not be tolerated in
my
county,” Joshua said firmly.

“I don’t know nothing about it, Sheriff, but it is
our
county too, we live here too you know,” Dotty said, hiking her skirt even further as she sat down on the top step.

“Yeah, I know that, but I am going to be up front with you, Dotty. I know they had to take one of your boys to the hospital, the others scattered and run.

You need to talk with those boys of yours and get this shit straightened out. You and Willie screwed around and Willie was killed because of it. Autry killed him. He also killed Lacey, and tried to kill Hannah. When that didn’t work out for him, he killed himself. He would have probably killed you too, if you had been here.

Autry’s dead, Willie’s dead, that should be the end of it.

You done your time in jail, the Tyson boys are doing theirs. If you let your children keep hating, it ain’t ever going to end.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that Sheriff. I was gone for five years. They was raised hating, but not by me.

Besides, they don’t respect me no more than if I was a dog, and what about them high and mighty Stringers, they are a hating on my boys too. You don’t know all of it, Sheriff. Just what they tell you.”

“I know I don’t know all that has gone on, but it all needs to stop. I am going to Willie’s kin and talk with them when I leave here. You just talk with your boys. I would hate to see a repeat of what happened before. Those boys, your’s and the Stringer’s boys have their whole lives ahead of them, they need to get their emotions under control or they won’t amount to a dime; none of them.”

Joshua left there and drove straight to Hannah’s house. He sure hated to go there and rub salt in old wounds by having to bring up Willie and Lacey’s deaths, but he was the sheriff and it was his duty to keep the peace.

When he drove up to her house, Hannah was outside hanging laundry on the line. He literally saw her chest fall at the sight of him driving up.

He watched her sigh and then saw her shoulders droop even lower.

This part of his job was something that he had grown to dislike. He had never enjoyed having to talk to next of kin neither, but he’d done that many a time too.

Hannah turned and went back to hanging laundry. Joshua sat there a moment, deciding to have a smoke. He lit a cigarette and smoked as he watched Hannah hang clothes.

She finished what she was doing, picked up her clothesbasket and then walked over to his car.

“You got another one of those, Sheriff? I have been trying to quit, but it is not easy, especially trying to raise two hardheaded boys.

“Yep, I can imagine.” Joshua offered her a smoke. Hannah took it and leaned forward; he lit her cigarette, watched as she inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly, exactly as he did, when trying to release his frustrations.

“Look Sheriff, I know you come to talk to me about the boys fighting. I am not going to say that I did not know it was going to happen, because I did. I cannot say as I blame Willie Jr. either. Those boys have been agitating him for several years now, threatening him too. The boy can only handle so much before he snaps.

When they dared them to show up for a fight, our boys took it to them. They ended up biting off more than they could chew. Resentment is a mighty sword in a knife fight, Sheriff.”

“Hannah, I know it has been hard on y’all, but it has also been hard on Autry’s family-”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that, Sheriff, but they just won’t let sleeping dogs lie. Every chance they get, they’re stirring up shit. Willie Jr. has so much hatred in his heart for their daddy that he cannot separate it, especially when they will not let him. He lost his mother and his father. He was just an innocent little boy when all that happened, and in many ways, it has kept him from maturing and functioning the way he should.”

“I know it’s hard, Hannah, I heard your mama had her place up for sale. Maybe if she moves them out of here, it will be easier for Willie’s younguns to get their lives in order.” Hannah let out a low chuckle, but Joshua knew it wasn’t laughter.

“There won’t ever be any order in their lives, Sheriff. It is too late for that, but yes, she is selling it. She’s selling it to a man who plans to open an old-time country store. Mama will be moving out of there in a week or two, but five miles and a state line is not going to make much difference if you ask me.”

“Naw, probably not, but we can hope. How about you, Hannah, how are you?”

“I don’t even want to go there, Sheriff. I still cannot bring myself to talk about it, even with my family.

I think the hardest part of all of this is when you look into your family’s eyes, the children’s eyes, and you see the questions there. They
all
expect me to know why all that happened and I don’t. I feel helpless.” Hannah picked up her laundry basket. “I have work to do, Sheriff. You have a good day,” she said and began walking toward her house.

Joshua backed out of Hannah’s driveway and drove back to Moffett Road. He looked at his watch, debating on driving back into town. He was still not a hundred percent. He looked at the sketch lying on the seat and decided that one more day was not going to make a difference. She was dead, they did not have any missing person’s reports that he was aware of, and he was tired and hungry.

Joshua knew that much of his not feeling well had to do with the wreck he was in, and even before the wreck, he was not sleeping well. It seemed the only sleep he got here-lately was on his porch and it was not restful sleep.

Maybe I need to put me up a bed out there, he thought to himself, remembering that some folks still had sleeping porches for when the weather was nice.

Joshua picked up the microphone and radioed the Sheriffs Office. He told Mattie, the dispatcher, he was heading home and that was where he would be if they needed to get in touch with him.

He drove into the parking lot of the café in Wilmer and ordered a blue plate special to go, figuring he would take it home and whatever he did not eat he could feed to Jack, but before he could get back on the road, the radio was buzzing.

It was Mattie telling him that another body had been found. This body was off Aldock Road in a wooded area of Chickasabogue Creek, near the intersection of Interstate 65, where the old campground used to be.

“When will it ever end,” Joshua muttered as he turned toward Mobile.

“When you’re six feet under, Hoss, when you’re six feet under,” he heard his grandfather say.

“I know, Papa,” he said as he flipped on his lights and siren to part the traffic so that he could get there a little quicker.