The Trees Beyond the Grass (A Cole Mouzon Thriller) (14 page)

CHAPTER 37

LEAS HAD ONLY
BEEN back in Quantico a few days when he was notified the FBI had located Mouzon visiting in Charleston. After attempts to locate him by phone had failed, he was instructed to get there fast and make personal contact before anything happened.
Who is this Mouzon character and what is in Charleston?

It was Sunday and his mind was racing as he boarded his three forty-five p.m. Delta flight to Charleston. The city was foreign to him. He knew it had started the Civil War with shots at Fort Sumter and was an original colony. He’d learned in college that it had its share of violence, too. In fact, the first documented American serial killer was a woman, Lavinia Fisher, who poisoned and killed numerous men and woman in Charleston between 1810 and 1820. From what he could recall, Fisher and her husband were part of a gang of highwaymen. Together, they operated Five Mile and Six Mile House, along the Ashley River in current day North Charleston and just south of Middleton Place Plantation, a spot then called Ashley Ferry.
The Charleston News and Courier
, still operating today, reported on the events with enough excitement to rival the likes of CNN or Fox News.

The reporting detailed how the gang, including Mrs. Fisher, was frustrating Charleston’s trade routes with their thefts and murders. Locals, dissatisfied with the authority’s response, implemented ‘lynch law.’ A cavalcade of horses and riders descended on the property, and advised the residents and guests that if they did not depart within minutes, they would be lynched. All left, only to return and attack the watchman left by the citizens. Mrs. Fisher, for her part, was first to attack, choking the watchman Dave Ross and shoving his head through a window. Ross would ultimately be saved from his otherwise impending doom by a passerby. With this the authorities acted, capturing Mrs. Fisher and a majority of her gang.

The Fishers were never convicted of murder, though numerous bodies were found on the inn’s property. But the sentence for highway robbery was a public hanging, because such a crime was a capital offense in early America. On February 18, 1820, the hanging was convened and Mrs. Fisher impressed and insulted the crowd into silence with her large collection of expletives. She cursed Charleston, its government and its citizens for ‘letting a woman swing.’ Her last words were the most memorable, telling the crowd, “If you have a message you want to deliver to hell, give it to me—I’ll carry it.” Though certainly not as wicked as Aileen Wuornos’s final words to her jury, wherein she said, “May your wife and children get raped, right in the ass,” Mrs. Fisher’s remarks were certainly shocking for the time. The
Post and Courier
described to its readers that Mrs. Fisher died almost immediately. Mr. Fisher wasn’t so lucky, struggling, gasping, and swinging for minutes before death consumed him.

Looking down at a file labeled ‘Mouzon,’ Leas didn’t know what to expect when he finally landed in Charleston. But whoever was killing those who had been taken thirty years earlier was moving fast. Mouzon appeared to be the last of those survivors. Everything in the background check his office had pulled together said the guy was highly intelligent, having aced law school at Emory. The CIA had actually tried to recruit him in law school but he’d declined. Leas thought that move alone showed ‘smarts.’ Mouzon was going to need his ‘smarts’ if he was going to survive.

CHAPTER 38

COLE WALKED OUTSIDE
with the potatoes Ava had previously washed, joining Randall, who had come around to the back of the house to start dinner, frogmore stew. Randall heated the water in a giant pot over a gas burner and added a pouch each of Old Bay and Zatarains seafood spice bags to form the base for what the rest of the world would just call a seafood boil. Cole craved a beer. In the ten years since his father got dry, Cole had avoided drinking alcohol around him out of respect, even though his father was clear he would never touch the stuff again.

“So, Dad, what have you been up to since retiring?”

“I got me a job at the new Royal Hardware on Highway 17; I think my official title is ‘customer liaison.’ That’s a fancy way of saying bag boy. Keeps me busy though and out of that hen coop.” His father looked behind him to the house to reference the women inside and grinned. He continued for a few moments talking about the tools he sold and the crazy customers that walked through the door on a routine basis in a flustered attempt to finish a home-improvement project they should have never started. Cole could see his father enjoyed the escape from what would otherwise be a quiet life in the marsh backwoods.

“Where’s Henry nowadays?” Cole said.

Replying without looking up from the boiling water, Randall responded, “Oh, he’s down in Ft. Myers with Ava’s sister Fran. Got some t-shirt business or something down there. You know how he is.”

Cole nodded. Henry, Randall and Ava’s son, had always been independent and aspiring for the next big thing. Though only twenty-three, he had already started a gourmet pancake restaurant, been a partner in a parasailing company and tired his hand at a tax return prep shop—all ultimately flopping hard to the ground like his pancakes.

“So, you dating anyone?” His father had decided to pick up where the ladies had left off. Dating and relationships were things Cole never really talked much about and moments like this flustered him deeper into silence.

“Nah, not really. Well…at least nothing serious.” Randall dropped the large bowl of washed potatoes into the pot—now a rapid caldron of hot, spiced water.

“Well, you know we love Billy and all, but your mom and I would love to see you with some children, son. You would make a good father. But, more importantly, we aren’t getting any younger—so you best get to it and soon.” His father smiled, showing his playful side while looking up, his head tilted towards Cole. His father rarely gave compliments, so when he did; it was known to be heart-felt.

Cole was shocked for a moment before he spoke. Rubbing his forehead, he said, “That is certainly on the list. I need to find someone who will marry me first, though. But, don’t you worry; I’ll make sure the kids drive you utterly crazy like we did.” Cole patted his dad on the back and Randall looked up with a large grin. Cole knew retribution for all his childhood shenanigans was in store when he had kids.

With the sausage and onion already dropped in, Cole’s father added the shrimp, shells on, into the pot and let them boil until just pink. Cole called his family as instructed by Randall and the entire family ran out, Ava in the rear with a stack of paper plates. Billy was pushed back while Cole and his father lifted the large pot, almost overflowing with water and its load, and poured it out onto newspaper that had been placed on top of the old wood picnic table. Scalding water went everywhere, spilling to the ground as the rest of the family held their plates at the edges to act as a lip to hold the bounty on the table. Once the water had completely run off, Billy scooped up the first plate as the youngster. He was followed by Granny and the rest of the women before Cole and his father dove in, Cole focusing on the shrimp and sausage.

The adults now sitting around a glass patio table on the screened-in back deck of the house, Granny said, “Bet you don’t get this out there in Colorado?” Granny was dipping a shrimp in homemade cocktail sauce with one hand and holding a Bud Lime in the other. She clearly didn’t subscribe to Cole’s line of thinking about booze around his dad. “No, ma’am. No roadside-fresh shrimp or crabs to bring home, and certainly no boils.”

Granny smiled at his response; it was obvious that she saw potential for continued visits home in Cole not having such things. The family was quiet as they looked out over the marsh, enjoying its fruits. Consistent with its meaning in the South, dinner was served at three p.m.—the term supper was reserved only for a late, final meal of the day. In Cole’s youth, that meal was served Monday through Saturday, around nine pm. It was too hot any sooner than that to get in the kitchen to cook where the night temperature might drop ten degrees in an average ninety-five degree, one-hundred percent humidity day.

SUNDAYS WERE ALWAYS
special days in the Mouzon family. Until Cole was a teenager, the routine was fixed. Granny came over in her giant gold Cutlass Supreme at ten a.m. from her home behind the Red and White in the heart of town. Sticking out the window were three fishing rods, one each for Jackie, Cole, and her. Jackie and Cole would pile in the back after Granny caught up over coffee with his dad and mom. Henry, their always-reclusive younger brother, wouldn’t join until he was four and Cole fourteen. Until then, Cole and Jackie would head off to some pond up in Awendaw, over the Wando River, and unpack and wait.

Sunday was God’s day in Granny’s book, and you were not allowed to drop in your pole into the green-dyed water until twelve noon on the dot. Until then, you were on ‘the Big Man’s time,’ whether you went to church or not.

With God’s approval to clock-in after twelve noon, Jackie and Granny would use bread balls on their cane poles, created by spitting on a small piece of bread and molding it around the hook into a ball. Then, with a glorified, overly-long stick with fishing line tied at the top end, they would swing the hook and attached bobber out. Their bobbers would dip, dip, dip, and then go under before Cole had a chance to dig a fat worm out of the rusty tin can his Granny had placed them in while gardening the day before. The score was never in Cole’s favor. Whether by numbers, size or kind, Granny always won. Even when the kids challenged her and she agreed to sling an empty hook against their bait, she was the victor within ten seconds. By three Cole and his sister would usually be tired and starved, the Lance cheese toast and peanut butter nabs Granny gave them having worn off some time earlier.

Like today, Cole would long for dinner and all the food his Ava would have prepared during the cool morning hours. And like then, the remainder of today would consist of lounging around the house, with occasional small bites to eat. Little was done on Sundays back then. Cole’s Sundays in Denver were drastically different: cross-fit at Red Rocks Amphitheater promptly at seven a.m., followed by errands, then a brunch or some other social event with friends, and closing the day with a long run after sobering up from too many bottomless mimosas or beers at brunch.

In this moment, surrounded by his family, Cole missed the simplicity of his youth. His mind fought, trying to linger on the FBI agent coming to town, but he pushed it out, telling himself there would be ample time to deal with that issue later. But, for now…
Let the warm salty air flow over you and relax, Cole.

CHAPTER 39

AVA WALKED BACK
in the house to refill the sweaty pitcher of iced tea, when someone knocked on the front door. From the back deck, Cole could hear Ava greeting someone. “Well hey there Blueberry! What brings you here?”

“I just saw the car in the drive and recalled you saying Cole was going to be in town, so I figured I’d stop bye and say hi.”

“Well, of course, come on in. He’s just in the kitchen.” The entire exchange had been overheard by Cole and his sister, who along with the rest of the family had followed Ava and were now standing in the kitchen. As soon as the invite had been issued, Jackie mouthed a ‘shit.’ They had history.

Cole had walked into the house through its glass doors and joined his mother in the foyer. “Hey there, Blueberry. How’s life?” The six-foot, three-hundred-pound man clogged into the kitchen with Cole and Ava while Jackie tried to hid behind her brother. “Jackie, is that you back there?”

She peeked her head out from behind Cole. “Oh hey. Sorry, I dropped a fork. How you doing, Blueberry?” Her tone suggested Blueberry Mildred’s visit was no big deal. Cole looked humorously perplexed at his sister and then back at their guest. His faded jeans and yellowed t-shirt were a bit too loose, and but for a giant belt wrapped around his waist his pants would likely fall to the floor.

“Doin’ good, Jackie, doin’ rear good.” His Moncks Corner lazy-jawed accent sounded thick like sorghum served on biscuits. Cole could swear he had a wad of dip in the pocket of his jaw.

“I heard you was in town. How’s the fancy life in Hotlanta?” Cole had no clue how Blueberry got his name, but he’d had it when he landed at Wando High School his sophomore year.

“Have a seat, Blueberry. Make yourself comfortable.” Ava was playing host as Jackie tried to pretend like she was washing tea glasses in the sink.

The large man shook his head. “Oh, Mrs. Mouzon, I can only stay for a bit. The wife’s in the car.” Cole and Jackie simultaneously looked out the kitchen window and its slatted plantation shutters to view a large silver pick-up with someone in the passenger side.
Double shit.
Jackie wasn’t happy to see the company but her mother didn’t pick up the clue. “Well, invite her in, by all means.”

Cole attempted to steer the conversation back to their guest, hoping Blueberry didn’t take Ava up on her invitation. “Awh, man, I moved to Denver two years ago. It’s beautiful out there. Ever been?”

“Me? Nosiree, farthest I’ve been is Stuttgart, Arkansas for some duck hunt’n. But I’ve heard it’s real nice out there. Real nice. What took you there?”

“Man, just needed a change, that’s all. Atlanta is nice and all, but I like being outside year-round and the Atlanta summers are just too damn hot and the winters just too cold for me.”

Blueberry chuckled, “Colder than Denver? You’re crazy.”

Cole heard someone walking in the foyer as he spoke. “No sir. With no humidity, it’s amazing how comfortable thirty degrees is. Plus, we rarely get snow that lasts.”

“Barbra-Ann, get you ol’ass in this house and say hi.” Granny decided to stir the pot. Cole looked over to see Ava’s head down in embarrassment, clearly appalled at the means of invitation. From what Cole could gather, Granny was at the front door yelling across the lawn. “Hell girl, you doing that Paleo diet or something? You’re looking real good.” Granny was holding the door as she walked in.

“Thank you Mrs. Mouzon, I was burning up in the truck. Some people have
no manners
.” A stern look firecrackered across the room to Blueberry. Resting somewhere around five and a half feet, Barbra-Ann was almost as wide as she was tall. Her attempt at style made Granny’s outfit of pink sweatpants and a Christmas t-shirt look in vogue. A torn t-shirt that said “got pork,” a clear pun on the milk commercial overhung Barbra-Ann’s tattered, stringy daisy dukes, suggesting to the casual viewer that she had no shorts on at all. Lumps of cellulite could be seen fighting for air at the shorts’ lacking hem.

“Jackie.” Barbra-Ann nodded her head at Cole’s sister like two enemies playing nice. In high school Jackie had momentarily swooped in on Blueberry and snatched him from his then and now lover. Not appreciating the action, Barbra-Ann sliced the tires of Blueberry’s gold El Camino. Two days later, they were back together. That was twenty-five years and several pounds ago, and Jackie never looked back. She started dating Billy’s father a year later and inherited a whole ‘nother bag of earth worms.

Cole was no fan of Barbra-Ann’s either; she had been his childhood bully. Around the same time in school, all four of them plus Barbara-Ann’s sister Wanda and her boyfriend Poon were playing spin the bottle out at the Moon, an old sand quarry at the edge of town that got its name from its moon-like landscape. After losing horribly to the girls, the two older boys went skinny-dipping and the girls joined. While watching from the edge, Barbara-Ann got out of the pit, snuck up behind Cole and pushed him in. When he attempted to swim, she jumped in, pinning him with her large buttocks to the sandy floor. Half-drowned and crying, his only savior was Jackie, who pulled him from his otherwise impending death by lard.

Cole cut his eyes to Jackie, scrubbing the same glass she had picked up when the conversation started fifteen minutes earlier. She wrinkled her nose back and turned to focus on Billy playing in the front yard. Several minutes of conversation passed before the tension in the room was too much and the Mildreds decided to leave.

With the guests gone, Cole said, “I think I better go, too. I’m supposed to meet a friend later and want to get this shrimp smell off me.” Cole lied. He wanted to head back to his hotel and prepare for the FBI meeting. Throughout the day he hadn’t forgotten about Agent Leas, which he and Jackie had agreed not to mention to the family. Worrying them was not something he entered into lightly.