Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

Emma coughed as dust from the cave-in settled around her. Another large chunk of earth had fallen into the cellar. It let a wide beam of sunlight stream into the darkness. She tried to stand, but her legs were weak, shaky and she feared they would not support her. After several attempts, she rose and walked to the end of the sunbeam.

She looked up and saw the tops of trees through the hole in the earthen roof.

There was still clumps of earth occasionally dropping down into the room from where she had fallen through the day before. Emma feared the entire ceiling would collapse and bury her alive.

With the larger opening above her, Emma could now see more of the room. The shelves that she had thought covered three walls did not quite cover the entire section on one wall; there was a door at the end of one set of shelves.

Emma moved toward the door, hoping it led to a way out of the cellar. The door was large and thick, and she figured she would have a hard time opening it, but when she turned the knob, it opened with ease. Emma peered into the darkness.

Not too far from the entrance, she could see sunbeams making their way into the darkened room, but it was still not enough light to see very well.

Emma did not know what was in the room, but it gave her an eerie feeling. It smelt moldy, and had a stink about it, like the yellow sulfur powder her grandfather mixed with Vaseline to rub on mangy dogs… Something in the room, did not feel human.

Emma swore she heard something skitter around after she opened the door.

She turned back into the room of shelves and looked for something she could use to see into the dark room. There were several kerosene lanterns on the shelves, but how would she light them? Emma moved toward the lanterns. Sitting on the shelf beside them was a flintlock. Emma had seen one before, in her grandfather Stringer’s garage. When the lever was squeezed, it emitted a spark. He used it to light propane torches.

She picked up one of the lanterns that still had kerosene in it and the flintlock and carried them to where the sunlight shone into the darkness. After feeling the wick to see if it was wet, Emma adjusted it and waited a few minutes for it to soak up the kerosene. Then, she positioned the flintlock over the lantern and flicked the lever several times before the wick caught fire.

Emma picked up the lantern and headed back toward the other room. The lantern lighted a good portion of the room, but she could not see into the corners.

As she walked into the room, she heard the skittering again. This time she saw movement against a far wall. Suddenly, a large rat appeared in the circle of lantern light, and then it was gone again.

Emma knew that mice and rats could get into places that many other critters could not. At first, she did not think anything of the rat being in there, but then she had to wonder if he had come through the earthen ceiling or was there a small tunnel that led into and away from the room.

Emma walked to each corner of the room, which was maybe twelve foot square, looking for signs of mouse and rat droppings. About middle ways of the second wall was the entrance to a small tunnel. It was about three and a half feet tall and she could see it was full of earthen debris, and the roots of some rather large trees.

Emma could feel fresh air coming through the tunnel; it smelt of mold and earth, probably from moss that had leached into the tunnel with the roots.

Against another wall was stacked several barrels. When Emma was close enough to read the lettering on them, she slowly began backing out of the room.

The lettering said “Black Powder” in bold letters. Emma knew that black powder was extremely dangerous. It’s been here for over a hundred years! Emma whispered excitedly. However, it is probably extremely unstable, thought Emma as she backed away. Nevertheless, when she reached the safety of the other room, Emma began to think of ways she could use her discovery.

As the sunlight streaming into the room slowly dimmed, Emma knew that she would have to spend another night in the cellar and await daylight before she could again try to find a way out.

Emma had climbed the stairs that led to the heavy trapdoor, but had been unsuccessful in pushing it upward. She thought of stacking the chairs and trying to climb out through the hole in the ceiling, but she feared they or the ceiling would collapse and she would be hurt badly or the earth would bury her and smother her.

She was, at least temporarily, still a prisoner.

Exploring the room, Emma found many artifacts; some that were probably worth something to someone, but the main thing she needed was food and water.

The canned goods had been there way to long to be safe for consumption. The bags of dry goods were moldy and not fit to eat either, but she did consume a small bit of the moldy brown sugar. Its flavor was not what she expected, but at least she felt better afterward and was not as shaky feeling inside.

Emma pulled the clothes out of the pile in the corner, apologizing the entire time. She discovered more bones and several more skulls. She knew the skeletons most likely belonged to members of the Moffett family, or maybe even slaves. Emma did not want to disturb them, but she needed the material to form a makeshift bed.

After fashioning a bed, Emma tried to organize the bones. There were three adult size skulls and the smaller one that had rolled out of the first dress she had picked up. Her memory of the spirits surrounding her the first time she touched the clothes was fresh and Emma wondered if they would return to attack her again.

As darkness fell, she decided to snuff out the lamp and save the fuel. She did not know how long she might need its warmth and light.

When she picked through the clothes, Emma discovered there were only three complete ensembles; there was none for the baby skeleton. This led her to believe that the baby must have been inside one of the dead adults.

Emma felt sad for those who had died, but wondered why and how they had died. There was enough food in the cellar to support three people for a long, long time. . .

Emma shivered as she lay on the pile of clothes trying to go to sleep. Her mind was so full of thoughts that is was hard for her to relax, but finally felt herself dosing and knew that sleep would come.

Suddenly, Emma felt herself crouched into a corner. Pain ripped through her midsection. She heard loud voices and then light came into the room.

Emma watched as booted feet came down the stairs into the cellar. She felt strong arms wrap around her and turned to look into the face of the young man in the gray flannel shirt.

“It’ll be alright, Jeannie,” he mumbled softly, and Emma could tell by his eyes that he loved her very much. She wondered if she were dreaming or had she somehow slipped back through time again.

Emma’s eyes were quickly drawn back to the stairs as she heard the familiar voice of Annie, grumbling at the men who were leading her down into the room.

“You men’s is gone go straight to da devil!” Annie exclaimed angrily. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the men shoved Annie over into the corner with Emma and the young man.

Emma recognized some of them from before, the same as she had the young man in the gray flannel shirt. She turned to look at Jacob as she remembered he was called and asked, “What is your last name?” he gazed at her a moment, then said, “It’s Bohannon, Jeannie, don’t you remember?”

Emma yelped, as she felt something hard and cold suddenly shoved into her side and through her chest. It took her a second to realize that it was a bayonet on the end of a rifle muzzle.

The man wielding the weapon shoved harder, and then slowly pulled it from her. As she looked up into his eyes, she saw the same orgasmic delight in his eyes that she had seen in the eyes of Earl and Vernon when they killed the campers.

The coldness of the blade turned into a searing hot pain that took her breath away. Emma gasped for air. She could not breathe at all and began clutching at her chest. She heard Annie yell out, “Oh Lawd, Miss Jeanette!” then she felt Jacob’s arms grab her and pull her to him.

Emma heard an explosion, saw a streak of fire and then black smoke swarmed around her. She watched as Jacob was thrown back against the wall from the impact of the slug in his chest. His eyes rolled back into his head and then his head fell forward.

Then, she saw the man with the bayonet turn the weapon on Annie. He shoved the sword deep into Annie’s oversized bosom. As he removed the blade from Annie’s chest, she too began to clutch at her bosom. Emma felt Annie slump against her. Their eyes met; Emma felt her self, dying. She and Annie stared into one another’s eyes and Emma saw Annie’s lips moving.

Annie was mumbling words. Emma strained to hear what she was saying. It sounded like some sort of incantation… Was Annie putting some sort of spell on their murderers, Emma wondered; she was not sure.

She strained to hear Annie, but before she could make out what Annie was saying, she awoke. Emma was disappointed the dream had ended.

She sat up and looked around the room.

A glowing form near the doorway to the other storage room was clearly visible through the darkness.

As Emma watched the apparition, moonlight suddenly flooded the room. The form appeared to be Old Annie.

Emma could see Annie’s lips moving, but she had to strain to hear what Annie was saying. Annie’s ghost moved closer, and Emma could hear the words she was mumbling. It sounded as though Annie was saying,

“I burns thy name so it shall be cast in shame. Copeland, you and all yo followers will have no peace on earth, no rest in da grave; yo body will wake as da devil shoves his fork in your cold dark soul. Y’all is fo eva cursed!”

Joshua Stokes left Edgewood Nurseries and drove straight to the residence of Roy McGregor’s father, Royce McGregor. The only route there was through ten miles of pig trail into the backwoods of southwest Moffettville.

Royce had never had a phone installed, nor had he electrified his home. He preferred to live a hermit’s life; rarely was he seen out of the woods. Not since Missus McGregor died back in sixty-three.

When Joshua drove into Royce McGregor’s yard, there sat Cassie Bohannon’s car.

Joshua walked up to the backdoor and knocked. He could see Roy and Royce sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The aroma of fried bacon drifted through the screen door, it smelt good. Joshua’s stomach growled in complaint.

Joshua tried to remember the last time he had eaten. Roy grinned and looked as if he was about to ask Joshua something and then the color left his face. “Something’s got to be wrong for you to drive all the way out here!” Roy exclaimed.

“Jest let the sheriff get in the door first Roy, and then you can find out what he wants,” said Royce McGregor, asking, “Care for something to eat, Sheriff?”

Joshua started to refuse the offer, but when he saw the large platter of bacon, eggs, and biscuits setting in the middle of the table, he said, “Don’t mind if I do, Royce.”

Royce stood up, got a plate off a shelf over the sink and a fork, and set them down in front of Joshua.

Joshua could see that Roy was beside himself wanting to know why he was there. Before Joshua satisfied Roy’s curiosity, he took two biscuits, busted them open, and then grabbed a handful of bacon off the platter along with a spoon of scrambled eggs.

He then reached for the jar of peanut butter and the can of maple syrup. He scooped peanut butter onto the warm biscuits then smothered them with syrup. He took several bites before he assuaged Roy’s curiosity.

“I got some rather unpleasant news,” Joshua said between chews. Roy looked at him, but did not say anything, so Joshua continued. “I figured it would be better to tell you in person, if I could find you.”

“Well, you found him, Sheriff.” Royce said, after taking a swallow of coffee to wash down his food. “Why don’t you jest quit beaten ‘round the bush and spit it out.”

Joshua swallowed what food was in his mouth and then grinned at Roy. Roy gave him a go to hell look.

“That shit eating grin supposed to mean something, Sheriff.” Roy said as he reached for his pipe and stuffed the bowl full of tobacco. When he got it lit, Joshua discovered it was not regular tobacco but marijuana.

After puffing the pipe several times and inhaling a big hit, Roy offered it to Joshua, who declined, saying that he was on duty. Joshua finished his breakfast, put down his fork, took a swallow of coffee, and lit himself a cigarette.

“The reason I drove all the way out here was to ask Royce here if he’d seen you or knew where you were. I was a might surprised to find you alive and kicking; everyone in Mobile County thinks you’re dead.”

“Dead, now just why in the hell would they think that, Sheriff?”

“Because it was what I wanted them to think.”

“What the hell do you mean, it was what you wanted. Why would you want them to think I was dead? Have I done something to deserve you wanting me dead?”

“I didn’t say I wanted you dead, Roy. I just wanted them to think that until I can find out who killed you.”

“But, I ain’t dead, Sheriff. You’re looking right at me!”

Joshua took a long drag off his smoke, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Roy, who was looking at him as if he had lost his mind. Then he remembered Cassie.

“Where is Cassie, Roy?” he asked.

“She was at the house when I left there last Thursday morning to take Pop’s here to Houston to see Race. You know he’s in the penitentiary out there, going on fives years now. I take Pop’s out there about every three months or so to visit with him.”

Joshua did know that Horace “Race” McGregor was in a prison near Houston, Texas, but had forgotten all about him until Roy brought up his name.

“Have you talked to Cassie since you been gone?” Joshua asked.

“Naw, Sir, I ain’t. We don’t have a telephone, Pop and me just got back last night. I was tired, so I just spent the night here with Pop,” Roy said, appearing more and more befuddled the longer they sat, and then Royce spoke up.

“Sheriff, did something happen at Roy’s place that we need to know about? If we keep a waitin’ on you to tell us on your own, we might be here a spell.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, something did happen over at Roy’s house” Joshua said and he could see Roy becoming agitated, wondering what had happened, then Roy asked if his motorcycle was still there.

“Yep, it was sitting under the oak tree where it usually sits.”

“Well, Cassie can’t ride it. If she was not there, then maybe she went ahead and left like I told her to. She was all the time a going somewheres.”

“Cassie was not there and probably has not been there since Thursday. Someone called Jasper Bohannon this morning about daylight and told him there was blood all over your house. He called the department and asked that someone go check it out, because he was afraid that something had happened to Cassie. He didn’t want to be the one to find out for sure if it did.

When our investigator got there, he discovered a dead man lying in the hallway. He had been stabbed multiple times.” Joshua watched Roy and Royce’s faces as he relayed his story, watching for any signs of knowledge of the events, but there was only shocked silence between them.

“They all thought it was you lying there dead. When I got there, John Metcalf took me inside and told me that he did not think it was you. After I got a good look at the dead man, I knew it wasn’t you; it was a man by the name of Joe Dyas. Do you know Joe Dyas, Roy?” Joshua asked, still watching Roy’s expressions.

“Yeah, Sheriff, I know Joe,” Roy replied, “but I have no idea why he would even be at my house, much less laying inside dead,” he said dryly. “Last time I saw him, he was doing side jobs for Tom Stringer.” That last detail Roy threw in sparked Joshua’s interest. He had forgotten that Tom was in the nursery business, among other things.

“Well, Sheriff,” Royce chimed in, “If Cassie kilt him, it would be justified; he had no business in there alone with a white woman!”

“There were about a dozen azalea plants in one gallon pots setting out in the backyard; were they there when you left, or had Cassie said anything about doing some landscaping?” Joshua asked Roy, ignoring Royce’s racist comment.

“Hell, Sheriff, I don’t know. I go to work and I come home; she handles the house. If she was planning anything like that, I didn’t know anything about it. We haven’t been communicating with each other much lately.”

“Why haven’t you two been communicating, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Sheriff, but I accused her of screwing around with Tom Stringer.

I saw her making eyes at him down at Uncle Joe’s Café the last time we went down there to eat. She denied it of course, but I am not stupid. I know what I saw.

I told her that if she was gonna screw around, she could just get on down the road; I was not gonna have a whore for a girlfriend.”

“Did she leave?”

“She was there when I left, begging me to please let her stay, but I was done with her. It wouldn’t the first time I saw her making eyes at somebody. I don’t want a woman I cannot trust, Sheriff. You know how that is.”

“Yeah, I do, Roy,” Joshua said, lighting another cigarette.

“Cuz, it’s like old Willie Shakespeare said, People ought to be what they seem. If I let her stay and her messing around, I would be the laughing stock of the county. Then, I’d wind up having to kill somebody.”

Joshua was no longer concerned that Roy had anything to do with the murder, but he was concerned about Cassie and her whereabouts. Even if she was fooling around with Tom Stringer, that still did not explain why Joe Dyas was laying dead inside Roy’s house.

Joshua heard the radio in his patrol car going off. He had not checked in in nearly an hour, so they were probably just concerned at the station and was checking on him.

He said his goodbye to Royce and then asked Roy if he would stay put there at his daddy’s place until he notified him that it was all right to come home. Roy agreed, although he said that he did not like it much, then he expressed his thoughts on there may be a few folks that would actually show up out to his father’s house.

“You know how folks is, Sheriff. They got nose problems as well as good hearts. Some will want to check on Pop’s, others, well, they’ll just be nosey and want to see for their selves if I’m dead.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll face that when we get to it,” Joshua said over his shoulder.

Joshua got into his patrol car and as he was driving back toward Wilmer, he radioed the station to check in with the dispatcher. That was when she informed him that a body fitting the description of Cassie Bohannon had been found floating face down in Big Creek Lake.

Joshua started to turn around and go back to Royce’s and tell them, but then decided to head to the crime scene. The scene was at the site of the old Howell’s Ferry Crossing on the west side of the lake.

“Whores, fours, and one-eyed jacks; what’s next,” Joshua muttered under his breath as he headed back out the pig trail.