Roots of Murder (21 page)

“You might compare the tax records of the taken property to those of people like the Pickings,” Penny March suggested. “I know that they paid late on several occasions.”

“Yes, I'll do that,” Nell replied. She'd already thought of that, but it was an intelligent suggestion. “Any others that you can think of?”

“Might try the Browns. I was too grubby to take their money; Mr. Dunning always saw them himself. I think right around the time I left their little group had a falling out. Just a few things I overheard. Something about the Jacobs property being sold instead of taken for taxes. I surmised one of those in on it had bought the whole thing, when the plan had been to parcel it out.”

“No honor among thieves,” Julia snorted.

“Who got the Jacobs land?” Nell asked as she ruffled back through her notes.

“The Pelican Property group, so I don't really know who,” Penny answered. “But that gave them the marina and the back bay property in a package, quite an attractive parcel all together.”

“I can do a records search and find out who was behind Pelican Property,” Nell said. Rather, Jacko could do a search, as old records were his specialty.

They were interrupted by an aide opening the door and calling out, “Lunchtime.”

Nell glanced at her watch. Lunch was served at 11:15. She'd still been talking to Penny March longer than she'd thought.

“I'll go tuck these in your room, dear,” Julia said to Penny. She bent down and kissed Penny, then headed off.

“You've been a great help, Ms. March,” Nell told her. “You said you knew why the bodies were put in the woods. How does this connect?”

“Proof? I have none. But there was so much money involved, all that land. Three people died at the same time. Someone fought back. And died for it. Life can be brutal and it can be random, but I still hope it can't be brutal and random enough for two great evils in one place at one time, instead of just one.”

“You might be right. And we may never find proof.”

“Look. Please look. Put something bitter in their comfortable graves.” She was silent for a moment. “Can I get you to give me a wheel? I'll wait forever for one of the aides to remember I'm out here.”

“I may have other questions,” Nell said as she unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair. “Is it all right if I come here again?”

“I do have such a full social schedule, but I think I might be able to work you in.”

Nell pivoted at the door, to open it with her hips and gently bring the chair over the stoop. She flashed back to her mother in a wheelchair. The final month, as her mother lay dying of cancer. Nell had just graduated Columbia then, and yet she was still the single daughter, the one with the duty to come home and care for a dying woman. She had hoped that death so close would change her mother, but it hadn't, or not in the way Nell had wanted. If anything, dying made her mother more demanding, more grasping, as if she had to exert every last bit of control. She badgered Nell to call her brothers; she wanted constant attendance, a stream of people to see her, although she could stand only a few minutes before dismissing them. When told the summoned relative wouldn't be coming, her mother would bray, “Vivien would have gotten them to come.” Nell didn't tell her mother she'd attempted to get Vivien to help, but Vivien had dismissed her
and
their mother, saying, “It's a waste of time for anyone to go out there. A
forty-five
minute drive for a
two-second
visit? Give her a photograph.” When Nell complained about being the one her mother harangued, Vivien had also dismissed that. “She'll be dead in a few weeks; you can stand her moods that long.” Vivien had hung up before Nell pointed out that Vivien couldn't stand their mother's moods for a few minutes.

“Ah, you've taken over my duty,” Julia said, interrupting Nell's thoughts. “Thrown me over for a younger woman, have you?”

“Nothing of the kind. I merely wanted you to have time to safely stow the goods and me to get to lunch while it's still warm.”

“She always finds an excuse,” Julia said easily to Nell.

It wasn't difficult to find the lunch room; most everyone else was going in the same direction. One of the aides appeared and took over the wheelchair duty. A hasty goodbye, and Penny March was wheeled in to her lunch.

“They don't like visitors around during lunch,” Julia said. “Afraid we might steal a biscuit or something.”

They walked together back through the lobby. Indeed, Ms. Medusa, as Julia and Penny seemed to have labeled her, had her eyes watching for purloined bread.

“It must be hard to pass by that woman every day,” Nell said once they were safely out of hearing distance.

“Oh, not really. Just one of life's little challenges. We do have to occasionally remind her that these are not inmates and she is not a prison guard. But it can also be useful to have a clear adversary who is easily vanquished.”

“How long have you and Penny known each other?” Nell asked.

“Sometimes it doesn't seem that long, doesn't seem we could be so old,” Julia said softly. “Penny and I have been together for a little over
forty-eight
years now.”

“How did you meet?” Nell asked.

“I was a little wild in my youth—nothing serious, mind you, nothing at all if I'd been a boy; driving a little too fast, cussing. Judge was going to give me a fine and ten days in jail, so I piped up and asked him to give me the same chance he gave the boys and let me join the military. I didn't think he'd really do it, but he did. So there I was, signing up for the Women's Air Force. I thought I'd made a major mistake when I found out I had to wear lipstick, but I learned to like it. They decided to send a nice little Wisconsin girl to the heart of the south, so they assigned me to Keesler in Biloxi. I met Penny on my second day there.”

“And you've been together ever since?” Nell asked, having finally guessed that they were more than just friends.

“Penny thought I was a little young for her, but yes, we have.” Julia was silent, then added, “This was her choice. I argued. Guess I could have argued harder, but I think we both knew when it got so hard for her to walk. She said, this way I can avoid the chores but still have the fun. This isn't such a bad place, really,” Julia continued, as if she had to explain to Nell. “The only really annoying person is Medusa, and she's only there eight hours a day. I can know Penny is well taken care of, that there are nurses around, that she'll get breakfast even if I sleep late.”

Nell put her hand on Julia's arm. “I took care of my mother for a while, less than six weeks. It exhausted me. I can only wish my family had the wisdom to make the choice you've made.”

“I guess I do explain a little too much, don't I?” Then Julia asked, “How much about Penny will be in your article?”

“I'll have to back up what she says as much as possible, but she did give me most of the story and she should get credit,” Nell replied.

“Don't worry about the credit. Penny won't care,” Julia said with the assurance of knowing someone for a lifetime. “I think she'd rather not be mentioned at all, certainly not by name. The important thing is people know what happened. Plus … I worry about her. Talking to you is one thing, but her heart is weak and if she had call after call, it would be hard on her.”

“A lot of money changed hands. Some of those hands might still be around,” Nell said. “Do you think someone might seek revenge?”

“After she's told you? It would be pointless, wouldn't it? But then criminals aren't always the most logical people. Tell the story, but leave us out if you can. She's an old woman. Death is close. But she should die in her bed.”

“Until you or Penny tells me otherwise, I won't use her name.”

“Thank you.” Julia stopped at her car. “If you ever get a hankering for poker and pizza, we do it just about every Friday.”

“Thanks. If the stakes aren't too high, I might just take you up on it.”

“Stakes are pretty high. We play strip poker.” With a wave, Julia got in her car.

Nell waved back and continued to her car. As she got in, she thought, Thom and I should have had
forty-eight
years. She suddenly pounded the steering wheel, an overwhelming feeling of fury and despair washing over her. “Goddamn Jones!” she said through clenched teeth. She sat still, fighting back tears, fighting how fragile her control was. Any step she took could open into an abyss of grief; how long would this go on? She roughly rubbed her hands across her face, as if that could wipe away the emotions.

Maybe it's not just me, Nell thought; maybe some of my anger is for all these lives ripped so far apart. What would it be like to have you home, your land, everything you'd worked for taken from you, with no justice possible because of the color of your skin?

She took a deep breath, then another and another before she was finally able to start her car. I can get Junior Jones off the road so he won't kill anyone else in a drunken stupor, she thought. And I can tell the story of this injustice.

“Maybe it's time to ask Marcus Fletcher,” Nell said aloud, willing her voice to be steady. She drove away.

ten

Dolan reported, in his
usual laconic fashion, that Carrie had assisted him with much-needed filing but he'd finally decided her talents were put to better use picking up lunch. “I ordered a tuna salad for you, I hope that's okay,” he finished.

Nell wanted to thank him for both the lunch and for taking on Carrie, but the best she could do was, “Thanks for handling everything.”

In the sanctuary of her office, she started writing down the story assignments. She was guessing the best lead they had on the bodies was Marcus Fletcher and what he knew. He might be able to hand everything to her. He might just point them in a likely direction. Jacko was clearly the one to send to the old records, but he could probably use help.

She debated for a while before finally deciding on how to handle things. She and Jacko would do most of the work on the twin stories of the bones and the property. She'd leave Carrie with most of the reporting on the upcoming elections. Carrie hated old records, but did pretty good interviews. Nell suddenly realized that she was facing the daunting task of a major story, with only two green reporters to help. She and Thom had an almost intuitive way of working together, and in a lot of ways he had been the one who had made them pull together as a team, from flirting with Ina Claire to boyish gruff kidding with Dolan to giving Carrie a male mentor she responded to. Somehow Nell needed to remold them into a team, and she needed to do it now. “Damn it, Thom,” she muttered under her breath. “Why didn't you pass on that trick before you checked out of here.”

The interruption of Carrie, returning with their lunches, did little to give her any inspiration. Nell started to grab her sandwich and go back into her office, but instead pulled a chair in front of Jacko's desk.

There were a few minutes of unadorned eating, then some talk of weekend plans. Nell wondered if her presence was damping the conversation. She often overheard some raucous laughter when people congregated to eat. Although not recently, she thought.

She finished half of her sandwich just as a lull came into the conversation. “Next week is going to be a busy week,” she said. Brilliant opening, McGraw, she told herself. For a moment, she fumbled, tried to think what Thom might say, but realized she wasn't Thom. I can only be Nell, and Nell is straightforward and blunt.

She began again. “I know it's different without Thom here. It's … at times I feel like I'm in uncharted territory. We're left with the hard task of making up for all the places he was. It's probably an understatement when I say it's going to be a busy week. We've got a lot of
follow-up
to do on the bones discovered in the woods. I've stumbled onto something that might be a link, but is certainly a story—an explosive story—in its own right. In the late fifties, early sixties, a number of poor, mostly black, people were cheated out of their property by, at best, an unforgiving and unfairly applied tax collection, and, at worst, by outright thievery. Jacko, I have a feeling that following this property scam might lead us to the people in the woods, so I've got some records for you to go after. Carrie, we've got to still pay attention to the upcoming elections. I want you to continue to follow the candidates. You're going to have to pursue some hard questions, like how Hubert Pickings got his money.”

“The bones are the big story,” Carrie said testily.

“Yes, they are,” Nell acknowledged. “I'm going to be blunt here. You and Jacko are pretty new at reporting. I need to use your strengths. He does good work in hunting down the details. You're a good interviewer, able to read people and get them to reveal more than they intended. If what I've found so far plays out the way it looks like it will, the bones and the property scam will blow up this election. So far the names that have benefited are Pickings, as in Hubert Pickings, and Brown, as in Whiz Brown's family. Those are big boys, and if you're questioning them about stealing property from poor black people, you're going to be playing in the big leagues.”

“I get to do the
follow-up
?” Carrie asked.

“If you get results, you get the
follow-up
,” Nell told her.

“You don't think I can do it, do you?” the young woman challenged.

“You have to do it, since there's no one else. It doesn't matter what I think.”

Carrie was silent, then said, “Hubert Pickings is having his ‘Pickings in the Park' event this weekend. How hard do I hit him there?”

Nell considered. “Pickings in the Park” was a picnic/rally in the state park, a
not-so
-subtle reminder that his family had donated the land. “Let's see how much Jacko and I can dig up by then. If we can show that he got the land for a song, it would be a very poetic place to confront him.”

“What about Aaron Dupree?” she asked. “I know that you're going out with him on Saturday, but he's doing a meet and greet at the fishing rodeo on Sunday. What do I hit him with?”

“So far I've found nothing to link the Duprees to any of this. That doesn't mean we won't. Right now I can just suggest that you push him for his reaction to the discovery of the bodies. See how he uses the information.” Then Nell added, “And I'm not going out with him on Saturday, it's a political event. He'd probably be willing to substitute you for me.”

“I don't think he's interested in me,” Carrie replied.

“I don't think he's interested in me, either,” Nell retorted. “He wants the coverage.”

“I'm sure that's all he wants,” Carrie said, her meaning not quite clear enough for Nell to call her on it.

For a moment there was silence. It's my job to fill the silences now, Nell thought. “Are there any questions or concerns?” With that, she glanced around the room, taking in Pam, Dolan and Ina Claire as well as Jacko and Carrie.

“You might be poking some pretty big guns,” Dolan said slowly. “Hubert didn't much like the story about the bodies, what's he going to do if you come up with a story that his family cheated to get what they got?”

“Are you suggesting I back down?” Nell challenged. “What if the Pickings family did get their property by cheating a poor black man out of it?”

“Better have good proof,” Dolan said. He quickly added, “I'm not saying that to make things difficult, just … ” He trailed off.

Nell started to demand, “Just what?” but held off. Trust was a
two-way
street, and as she had to learn to know and trust what they would do, they also had to know and trust what she would do. Was the widow going to go off on a
half-cocked
crusade, an amalgam of angers, or would she be a sober reporter hunting the facts? When she could speak, she said, “Dolan has a good point. If we pursue this, we might find we've yanked the tail of a tiger. If so, we're not just going after thieves, but murderers. It's something we all need to think about.”

She paused for a moment, then continued. “Right now what I have is a witness, someone who worked in the records back when this happened. She's given me enough names that we should be able to verify everything she's told me. I'm also going to trace some of those who lost their property, get their stories. Nothing goes in the paper without adequate documentation, enough to defend the Crier should anyone sue.”

“Do people do that anymore?” Jacko asked. “Public figures? They're just about fair game for anything.”

“It doesn't mean they can't sue,” Nell said. “Nor do we want anyone to say Nell McGraw has gone mad with grief and has some crazy agenda. It's possible we'll find out that Hubert Pickings is a saint and his family gave some poor dirt farmer a nice retirement. We'll print that, too.”

“That would take a lot of proof,” Dolan said. He slowly added, “Okay, I'm in. I'm just worried about you Nell, about the paper. Don't think I can get another job at my age.”

“You know I'm with you,” Pam said. “But you knew I would be,” she added.

“Hey, it's a great story,” was all Jacko said.

“It's more than a great story, it's a chance to right some wrongs, fix some of the things that the older generation left for us,” Carrie said, a subtle poke at Dolan's hesitancy. Nell wondered if that meant Carrie was finally taking her out of the old fogy category, or if she was just ignoring Nell's age to make her point.

As usual, Ina Claire surprised them all. “Well, I marched in Selma. Seems this is on the same road.”

Nell caught the look that took place between Dolan and Ina Claire, let the younger generation top that, it said. She was gratified when Ina Claire caught her eye and included her.

She hurried to her office and snatched a sheet of paper. “Jacko, to the courthouse. Here's a list of names and, as best I could get, dates. Go for these first, but see if you can get comparison properties. What were they selling for? Check the tax records. Were the rules strict only for some and not the others? Get what you can this afternoon. Report back to me when you're done. Carrie, you can go ahead and take the afternoon off, but I'll call you after I talk to Jacko and see what questions you might ask Mayor Pickings. And the rest of you … just carry on.”

Jacko swallowed one last bite, then said, “Off to the courthouse.” His excitement was palpable as he quickly gathered what he needed to take with him.

Carrie, at a more leisurely pace, corralled her purse and other necessities. “I may be doing some errands, so call me on my cell,” she told Nell.

They both headed out the door, Jacko restraining himself enough to hold it for Carrie, but then he quickly bounded across the town square to his car, leaving her behind.

Lunch was over. Nell carried her half sandwich back to her office. The pile of paper on her desk was daunting, everything from bank statements to ad revenue reports to press releases from every charity, organization and business in all of Tchula County. She had to go through them and make decisions about which to run and which to toss—and do it before the event date passed. There was also a long list of phone calls to return, from the printer with scheduling questions to the organizers of the fishing rodeo to Whiz Brown. Nell stared at his name. He had called twice. He left no message other than she needed to call him back. If Nell were a betting woman she'd put her money on him reinforcing the mayor's earlier message rather than any developments on Josh's assault.

Nell developed a rhythm, a few press releases, a bite of sandwich, dialing as she finished swallowing, finishing the phone call and going back to the press releases. She hated making phone calls, usually Thom did it. She started out being methodical, taking them in order, but quickly abandoned that after the third person who felt the need to say, “Oh, I was so sorry to hear about Thom's passing.” Nell sorted out those who really needed to be called back today. Then, in either a bolt of inspiration or cowardice, she sorted those into ones she personally needed to call and the ones that could be handled by someone else.

She sheepishly approached Dolan with the handful of messages. “I have neither the ability nor the patience to make all these phone calls,” Nell confessed. “Don't worry, I'm not going to dump them all on you—and if you feel there's any that really should come from me, pass them back. But any of these that you can take care of, I'd appreciate.”

Dolan looked up from his ledger and took the handful of messages. He looked through them before saying, “No problem, don't worry.” Then he called out, “Ina, your cousin Alvin is calling from the fishing rodeo. See what he wants. Pam, can you manage the fifty calls it's going to take to get the basketball schedule?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Nell chanted as she retreated to her office. In quick fashion, Dolan parceled out the messages. She overheard Ina Claire saying, “We'll give you coverage, Alvin. Don't worry, if you catch it, I'll come up with a recipe to cook it.”

The only messages left were Whiz Brown and Mrs. Thomas, Sr. Nell turned to her email. Nothing there she could use to avoid those calls. But there was an email she could write.

“Mr. Fletcher, I talked to Penny March this morning. Right now Jack Evens, one of my reporters is digging in the files in the courthouse. Can you give us any assistance in tracing the identity of the bodies found in the woods?”

Nell suddenly had another idea. “In fact, I could use assistance in other areas. Both the murdered people and the property swindle are big stories and we're
short-handed
. Would you be interested in coming to work with us at least through these stories? The Crier can't pay much, but let me know what you'd need.”

With that she hit send. She had no real idea of whether Marcus Fletcher was really a reporter or just someone who had thrown together a sheet of information, but they were short handed enough that even the latter might be a help. Nell's instincts said he could be a big asset, not just in his knowledge and connections in the
African-American
community, but in the way he had edited her story, she felt he would be good.

That left her
mother-in
-law and Whiz Brown. Being a true coward, Nell called the police chief first.

“Well, Miz McGraw, I was wonderin' when you'd call back,” he greeted her.

“So have you found them yet?” Nell cut in.

His reply, “Found who yet?”, made Nell wish she'd had someone to make her bet with.

“The men who assaulted my son,” she testily reminded him.

“Oh, them. Well, we're still investigating.”

“And what has your investigation found?” Nell questioned.

There was a silence that indicated he either didn't like the question or had no idea what the investigation had found.

Nell continued. “Have you traced the truck? Have you questioned the Jones boys? Certainly by now you should know what kind of vehicles they drive?”